Google "Ballet Dancer Sergei Polunin Dances to Hozier's Take Me To Church" to see the video that inspired this ficlet. Enjoy.

"Just him."

The voice was gravelly, demanding, with just a pinch of restrained arrogance. Dean almost dropped the camera he was unpacking as he looked up into intense blue eyes.

"Uh, Mr. Novak, we brought three cameras to capture several different angl-"

"No," Novak interrupted Bela, pointing imperiously at Dean. "I will only dance with him in the room. One camera. I can perform the moves several times to ensure you get all the angles. Everyone else must leave."

"But I'm going to direc-"

"I know the routine, Miss Talbot. I choreographed it myself. You asked me to dance, and I will dance. But only if everyone but him leaves." He waved a hand towards Dean, and Dean felt his face heat and flush.

"Uh, very well then." Bela looked down at Dean. "Call when you're through?"

He nodded.

Bela and the other two camera men left.

"As soon as you are ready, we'll begin," Novak told him. "I'll stretch while you prepare your camera."

Dean reached into the bag again, pulling the tripod loose. In his peripheral vision, he watched the lithe dancer move around the room.

Castiel Novak was one of the best; no, he probably was the best. Trained in Russia at the Vaganova, he'd danced with the Mariinsky, and on stages around the world. He was considered the finest gem in the crown of famed coach Dmitri Krushnic, and lauded by ballet critics from Paris, to New York, to Moscow, and back again.

Castiel was graceful and elegant in the way he moved around the wide open space, stretching and pirouetting, legs and arms extended.

They'd failed to warn Dean of how beautiful he was.

It was hard not to notice his body, lean and tightly muscled, but they hadn't warned him of the deep blue of his eyes, or the way his hair was hopelessly ruffled and bed headed. They didn't warn him about the oddly appealing slightly chapped pink lips, or the little crinkles around his eyes. They hadn't warned him of the little mole just to the left of his right nipple - or the set of black wings tattooed on his back.

Shit. Dean was already smitten with the guy, despite the arrogance or maybe because of it - he wasn't sure - but watching him move, in just a pair of snug fitting pants and his ballet shoes, confirmed Dean's interest in guys wasn't just a passing fancy, or a phase, as his father had one suggested.

Nope. He was 100% bisexual. No more denying that, Winchester.

Sighing, he switched on the camera, adjusting the settings to compensate for the bright beams of light pouring in through the windows. It was a large space; a big open room, almost like a barn, with huge, glassless windows, high and arched like a cathedral.

"Are you ready?" Castiel asked, bending in half to touch his toes.

"Uh, yeah," Dean muttered. "I'll start here."

"Very well. I'll do the entire dance to the music three times. You choose the angles. Then Miss Talbot can have her editors do as she pleases." Cas handed him a remote. "This will turn on the music. Please wait until I'm in position to hit play."

"Ok." Dean positioned the camera on the tripod and locked it in, aiming towards the center of the room. "Ready when you are."

Castiel ignored him. He walked in a slow circle around the center of the room, head down, eyes closed. He appeared to be deep in thought. Pacing a moment more, he stopped and dropped to his knees, resting his hands loosely between his slightly spread legs. He tilted his head forward, staring down at the floor.

"Hit play," he rasped, voice almost a whisper.

Dean pushed play on the remote.

"My lover's got humor. She's the giggle at a funeral. Knows everybody's disapproval. I should've worshipped her sooner. If the heavens ever did speak; she's the last true mouthpiece. Every Sunday's getting more bleak. A fresh poison each week."

His movements were slow, sinuous, seductive. He moved as if in pain, as if the words of the song were hurting his heart.

"'We were born sick, ' you heard them say it."

Novak jumped to his feet, falling back down to lay flat on the floor. He rolled onto his back, raising both hands over his head.

"My Church offers no absolutes. She tells me, 'Worship in the bedroom.' The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you." Castiel writhed along the floorboards, arching his back up, running a hand through his hair.

"I was born sick, but I love it." He pushed up on one arm, landing an impressive backwards flip. Dean felt his jaw drop.

"Command me to be well. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen."

With each amen, Castiel took a graceful, long legged step across the floor.

The music swelled, as the singer launched into the chorus.

"Take me to church. I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife. Offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life."

Castiel threw his body around the room, bounding, leaping, spinning in midair. He was so graceful, Dean forgot to watch through the camera, instead staring at the man as he danced.

He never missed a beat, never slowed, but threw himself into the music with his whole being, each movement echoing the words and music.

As the last notes of the song faded, Castiel sank to his knees, breathing hard. He waited a moment before catching Dean's eyes. "Was that alright?"

"Uh, yeah, that was - that was amazing," Dean stammered, blushing furiously. "You're incredible!"

Castiel smiled. "Thank you," he said softly. "Give me a few moments and I'll do it again. Feel free to move your camera while I rest."

"Ok." Dean was surprised. The arrogance seemed to be gone now. Maybe Castiel was one of those types that was socially inept. Perhaps large groups made him uneasy. Maybe he felt comfortable around Dean.

Dean stood and brushed off his pants and lifted the camera and tripod. He walked across the room and set up the camera again. This time, he'd follow Castiel with it, follow his movements as he danced around the room.

He pulled a bottle of water out of his duffle and walked back to where Castiel was still kneeling. "Here," he said, holding out the water.

Castiel looked up, blue eyes wide. "Thank you," he murmured, seemingly surprised by the gesture.

Dean nodded as he sat beside him, waiting for Castiel to take a long swig from the bottle. "So how long you been dancing?"

"Since I was two. My mother was determined I'd be a dancer."

"And you're an American right?"

"Yes. Mother campaigned for me to be allowed to audition for the Vaganova and I was accepted on the spot."

"Wow. And now you're living the dream."

"Well, I'm living somebody's dream. Not mine," Castiel said bitterly.

"Oh. Well, I'm not living mine either. So at least we're in the same boat, right?"

"Hmm. What did you want to do?"

"Go to MIT. Be a mechanical engineer. Instead, I'm pulling down odd jobs to keep my brother in Grad school."

"That doesn't seem fair."

"No, but neither does being forced into a dancing career at two years old."

Novak snorted. "Fair enough." He drained the rest of the bottle and tossed it away. "I didn't get your name, by the way. I'm afraid I was a bit rude to you at first."

"It's ok. I'm Dean. Dean Winchester."

Castiel held out his hand and they shook. "Castiel Novak, but you knew that."

"Nice to meet you, Cas."

A strange expression crossed the dancer's face.


"No one's ever called me that before."

"Oh. Dude. I'm sorry."

"No. I find I rather like it." He stood. "Come, let's do the second run."

"Uh, ok." Dean stood, not nearly as easily or gracefully as Cas. "Ready when you are," he said as he lifted the camera.

This time, he followed Cas with the camera, catching every movement, every leap and spin.

When the song ended, Dean set the camera aside and brought Cas another bottle of water.

"Thank you. No one ever bothers to do this for me."

"Really? You're an athlete. Shouldn't you have a coach with you, looking out for your needs and stuff?"

"I did. But Dmitri - he's moved on to younger and brighter."

The look on Cas's face suggested there was more to that than just the coaching. Dean wanted to push, and ask Cas what that meant, but didn't feel it was his place.

"Do you know why I chose you today?"

"I uh, I did kinda wonder," Dean said honestly.

"You were the only one focused on work and not staring at me like I'm a piece of meat or a meal ticket. It gets incredibly lonely," Cas said quietly. "I'm the best male dancer in the world according to several sources. The second coming of Mikhail Baryshnikov, they say. But it makes me - a pariah. I'm too good to be friends with the others. I'm too much of a star, and my very presence makes them feel inferior. I never wanted this. This is my mother's dream. I wanted to raise bees. Sell honey." He buried his face in his hands. "I just get so tired," he said softly, voice muffled by his palms.

"Then walk away."

"What?" Cas's head shot up, and he stared at Dean incredulously.

"If you're miserable, walk away. You've probably made more than enough money to buy a farm and raise those bees. Learn how to knit. Make bread. Just - be. Live. Get out while you're still young enough to enjoy it. Let this video be your swan song, your goodbye."

Cas seemed stunned. He stared at Dean with his jaw hanging open.

"I - I -" he sighed. "We should finish the last part."

Dean nodded. "Ok," he said sadly, feeling like he'd crossed a line. He stood and moved the camera into the final position, in a corner facing the windows. Cas would be dancing through the brilliant beams of sunlight streaming in from the glassless openings.

"I'm ready," Cas murmured from his kneeling position on the floor.

The music blasted through the room again, and Cas moved through the dance. At first, he seemed detached, disinterested, but at one point, he looked up, right at Dean. Their eyes met, and electricity crackled in the air.

The dance changed.

Cas threw himself into the steps, pushed himself harder. He kept eye contact with Dean as much as possible, and Dean startled, jarring the camera when he realized.

Cas was dancing for him.

"Take me to church. I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife. Offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life."

Dean found it hard to breathe, as Cas threw himself around the room, tugging at his hair, raising his hands in a mockery of prayer. He spun and leapt, the wings on his back extended to their full length. And through it all, those blue eyes stared at him, cut into his soul.

His jeans had become very uncomfortable.

"Take me to church. I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife. Offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life."

As the last note faded, and Cas knelt on the floor, Dean realized he'd been breathing hard for some time. Sweat trickled down his back, as Cas look up, staring at him with a gaze so heated, Dean felt like he would burn up.

They were drawn together, both of them standing and walking across the floor, drawn to each other from their very different worlds onto the common ground of lust – and maybe something else. They stood as close as they could without touching. Dean felt helpless, under the thrall of this man.

God, but he wanted him. Wanted him anyway he could have him.

"You're beautiful," Cas growled, trailing fingertips up Dean's forearm.

"I um -"

"No one's ever said that to me before. It's always been an argument. They always argue for me to continue dancing. What a waste it would be if I didn't. But you," his other hand came to rest on Dean's waist, his thumb finding the skin just about the waistband of his jeans, "you come in and tell me I can be my own man, that I can walk away and just live my life. You're right. You've given me one hell of gift here today."

"Cas, I um - I don't -"

"If I'm reading you wrong, please say so," Cas said softly. He leaned forward to nip at Dean's jaw. "But I don't think I am."

Dean whimpered.

"No, I'm not," Cas said, "I'm not reading this wrong at all." He pressed forward, pushing the length of his body against Dean's. He sucked Dean's earlobe into his mouth, and Dean was sure that his knees turned to jello. "Let me see you," Cas said, tugging on the hem of Dean's tee.

Dean lifted his arms and Cas pulled the shirt over his head. He tossed it aside and dragged the tips of his fingers down Dean's chest. "So lovely. Look at all your freckles."

Dean blushed furiously.

"God, pink is such a pretty color on you," Cas murmured. "Sets off those gorgeous green eyes." He slipped his fingers into the waistband of Dean's jeans, unsnapping the button. He fell gracefully to his knees as he slid Dean's jeans down his legs. His boxers went with the pants. Cas's fingers pulled the laces on his boots free, and he gently pulled each boot, sock, and Dean's pants and boxers off.

He stared up at Dean, pupils huge in blue eyes, and swept his hands up Dean's naked legs.

Dean felt himself flush another, darker shade of pink. His heart felt like it was going to pound itself right out of his chest.

"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Cas leaned forward, and took Dean in his mouth.

He gasped, hands shooting out to wrap in thick strands of dark hair. His knees wobbled, as Cas sucked him in, down to the root, all the while staring up at him through heavily lidded eyes.

"Cas -" Dean breathed.

Cas hummed as he pulled back, the vibrations traveling through Dean's body. His knees gave, but Cas caught him, held him in his strong grasp as he gently lowered Dean to the floor.

"Wow. You're strong," Dean murmured.

Grinning brilliantly, Cas went back to work, sucking just the head of Dean's dick into his mouth, as he swept his tongue through the slit and around the frenulum.

"Jesus -" Dean wheezed, as Cas sucked him down again. His hands tightened in Cas's hair, hips thrusting up into his hot mouth. "Nnngh. Gonna - I'm gonna -"

Cas pulled off and wrapped his hand around the base of Dean's cock. "Not yet," he growled. He laid several open mouthed kisses along the inside of Dean's thigh, moving upward across the join of his hip, up the trail of fine hair to his navel, up his breastbone until they were face to face again. "I haven't even kissed you yet," Cas said softly.

"Well, y'know," Dean grinned, holding his arms open.

Cas tumbled into Dean's arms, mouths finding each other easily. The first kiss was sweet, searching, but subsequent kisses grew hotter and more passionate. Cas was a fantastic kisser. He pried Dean's mouth open with his tongue and swept along the inside.

Dean rolled them, rolled Cas onto his back, taking over the role of aggressor. He slammed their mouths together, shoved his groin into Cas's.

"Fuck, yes, Dean, yes," Cas groaned in between kisses. He wrapped those beautiful dancer's legs around Dean's waist and flipped them again.

"Take me to church. I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife. Offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life."

They must have rolled onto the stereo remote but neither one of them cared. Cas slammed his hips into Dean's.

"Take me to church. I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife. Offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life."

Dean squirmed, and Cas reached for his wrists, pinning them over his head as he picked up the rhythm. Dean's naked erection rubbed against Cas's clothed one, the slightly silky fabric of his dance pants creating just the right amount of friction.

"No Masters or Kings, when the Ritual begins. There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin.

"In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene, only then I am Human, only then I am clean."

"Amen," Dean gasped. "Amen."

Cas's eyes burned into his.

"Amen. Amen."

Dean's head fell back, his eyes rolling into his skull as Cas picked up the pace even more.

"Take me to church. I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife. Offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life."

Dean came violently on the last line of the chorus, stars exploding in his eyes.

"Fuck, Dean!" Cas cried. He slammed his hips into Dean's one last time before stilling.

"Take me to church. I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife. Offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life."

The music faded, and they lay still. Cas released Dean's wrists but didn't move.

"That was amazing," Dean finally said.

"You're amazing. You made me feel - you made me feel -"

Dean ran his hand down Cas's back.

"You made me feel like a person."

"You are a person."

Cas sighed happily and nuzzled into Dean's chin. "I'd like to see you again. After this, I mean. I think I'd like to see you a lot."

"I'd like that too."

Dean felt Cas smile against his neck, as they laid on the floor of the barn, sunlight heating bare skin.

"And I'm going to do it."

"Do what?"

"Retire. Raise bees. Just - be."

"Good. I'm glad. I think you'll be so much happier."

"Me too. And you should try and go back to school."

"Yeah," Dean said with a soft smile, "maybe I will."

Five years later, Dean whispered the Amens into Cas's ear again -

In the bedroom of their little farmhouse on their wedding night.