#because his smexy masseuse smells good and looks good and has really nice hands

[stratiotis-nth]

“Dean, just go book a massage already.” Sam griped as Dean let out another groan, his muscle roller brutally pressing over the knots in his shoulder. “Campus offers sessions at the health center.”

In all honesty, Dean had been trying to do everything except go get a massage. He didn’t like the idea of strange people touching him, and it certainly didn’t help that he’d seen a lot of erotic massage porn in his day. He didn’t want to get a goddamn boner in the middle of the session and get stuck in an awkward predicament with some poor girl just making minimum wage.

“I’m fine.” Dean grumbled, wincing again as the roller bumped over the aching knot he had had since he was a teenager.

“Your appointment is on Friday at 2.” Sam replied flatly. Dean turned to stare at him, incredulous as Sam showed him the confirmation page on his laptop. He scowled.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

——————

Dean mentally cursed Sam as he sat in the relax room in nothing but a fluffy towel around his hips, anxiously waiting for the masseuse to come get him (despite the room’s literal purpose being to relax). He had tried to cancel his appointment, but Sam had done something to it so the cancellation page was guarded by a passcode. He had clearly gone lengths to get Dean’s muscles loosen up, but he also suspected this was payback for every time Sam had been forced out of their apartment so Dean could hook up with whatever chick he happened to woo at the bar.

“Mr. Winchester?”

Dean jerked his head up, startled by the low pitch of the voice. Holy fucking shitbags, was he getting rubbed up by a dude? He had been expecting some hot chick with curvy hips and big tits with soft hands that could melt him to butter—

He could practically hear Sam’s voice in his head.

You’re confusing reality with porn again.

Dean nearly choked on his words, his anxiety only increased when he realized what was about to happen.

“Y-Yeah?” His voice cracked at the end. He only just started taking in the guy’s features and felt his shoulders stiffen even more—fuck. This guy was gorgeous. Not only did he have the voice of a goddamn erotic storyteller, but he looked the part too. Glossy black hair that was unfairly messy in the most attractive way (Dean’s horny mind unhelpfully suggested his hair looked like he had just gotten thoroughly fucked), a strong jawline darkened by a five o clock shadow that was so defined Dean felt the strangest urge to bite it. His lips were a little chapped, but they were plush and pink—

All train of thought came to a screeching halt when their eyes met. Jesus Christ, did this guy inject the fucking ocean into his eyeballs? No one has eyes that blue—Dean could make out the color from across the room. They shown bright and soft, a shocking contrast from the sharp defined features of a young man in his prime.

“If you’ll come with me, we can start your session.” The guy said. Dean nearly stumbled on his goddamn feet as he stood up. He had never had a problem with guys before, so why was this one throwing him off kilter?

It’s just because he’s gonna have his hands all over you in a minute. Dean reasoned to himself, anything to stop the feeling of panic fluttering in his chest. He silently followed the guy into one of the rooms, once again distracted by how fucking good the guy smelled. Maybe it was just the aromatherapy mentioned on the center’s website, but this guy smelled deeper, like almond extract and honey mixed with pine and campfires. Woodsy but sweet and Dean felt his shoulders relaxing involuntarily—until the sharp scent of lavender hit his nose and the guy’s scent was wiped out. The lavender immediately brought him back to the present, and he snapped out of his daze to realize the guy was standing patiently by the massage table—right. Dean was supposed to lay down on it.

“Have you ever had a massage here before?” The guy asked as Dean laid down and self consciously adjusted the towel now unwound from his waist and spread out on his pelvis.

“N-No.” Dean managed in a somewhat level voice.

“Well, welcome.” The guy gave him a small smile. Somehow, it made him feel better. “I’m just going to go through the standard procedure you ordered before we begin, alright?”

“Kay.” Dean squeaked, immediately making up for the embarrassing noise with a low grunt as he cleared his throat.

The guy started to calmly inform Dean of the places he would be putting his hands, all while pouring sharply sweet smelling oil on them. While he talked, Dean’s gaze somehow latched themselves onto the now-shiny hands that were about to be on him. They were nice hands—really nice hands. The knuckles were defined and his fingers were slender and strong. Dean could see the veins and tendons rolling under tan skin as he worked the oil around.

“—is that alright?”

He blinked, tearing his eyes away from the dude’s hands and back to that too blue gaze.

“Yep.” He said, all without really hearing a word the guy had said. It was an automatic response, one that the panicking part of Dean was screaming to take back.

“Your form says your problems areas are your shoulders and upper thighs.” The guy said casually. Dean felt the tips of his ears burn—his thighs were just fine, Sam knew that.

Fuck. Sam had done it on purpose, hadn’t he? To fuck up Dean’s world in cruel retaliation.

“Please turn on your back so we can begin.”

Dean tensed up the moment he was in position and the guy’s warm, slick hands touched his shoulders. His masseuse didn’t seem fazed, because he immediately went to work, strong fingers pressing into his skin as they work down his upper shoulders.

It took him a moment, when he felt Dean relaxing under his ministrations, to really begin. Dean bit back a groan as the hands suddenly became brutal, zeroing in on the knots and forcing them down with accurate strength. Dean tried to breath through the agonizing pain as he felt his muscles get pinched between strong fingers and pulled on the harsh rub downwards.

The guy worked diligently even though he had to know how much Dean was struggling. His body was both encouraging and protesting his actions, because while the knots hurt, Dean found himself floundering whenever the hands disappeared from his skin for more oil.

He felt himself sinking into the cushy table, melting like wax under this guy’s hands. As the pressure of fingers stayed on Dean’s upper shoulder and neck, there wasn’t even a buzz of arousal that he had expected. Porn lied to him, clearly, because this was perfectly okay and clinical—

And unmanly whimper escaped Dean’s clamped lips as he felt the hands slid downward without warning and suddenly there was warmth shooting down his pelvis—oh no…

The hands never stopped, traveling further down his spine and sides, pausing here and there to work out kinks. Dean did his best not to squirm, to think of disgusting things if only to dispel the chubby he probably had. The hands were nearly at his hips, pressing on either side of his tailbone and jesus fucking christ surely the towel was covering him up?

The hands disappeared, and immediately, Dean despised the loss. All his panicking vanished, replaced by a yearning to feel the touch again. He nearly jumped when the hands suddenly pressed into the back of his thighs, just below the crease of his ass. Another spike of hot arousal shot down his spine, and Dean sincerely prayed he wouldn’t be asked to turn over.

But jesus, this guy was working magic. He found knots that Dean didn’t even know he had, nearly making him cry when he worked out a particularly harsh one in his calf.

He was there for nearly an hour, fighting between states of arousal and panic in complete silence while this poor (but very hot) guy did his job in total blissful ignorance of Dean’s internal war.

“If there are any areas on your front you would like me to work on—“

“No!” Dean said a little too quickly. “No, I’m fine. Just—“ While panicking, his shoulders had tensed up again. And maybe a small part of him didn’t want to leave just yet. “Can you work on my shoulders a little more? I’m always tensing them.”

“Of course.” Came a rumbling reply, and those glorious hands were back on his shoulders, carefully pressing out the knots trying to form again. Dean immediately melted again, his shoulders slumping against the pressure.

He thought that would be the end of it. Dean had gone to the massage like Sam wanted (maybe he was thinking about going back, because he hadn’t felt that relaxed and loose in years), and now Dean could get back to classes and the garage. And if maybe he jerked off to a massage porn video imagining his masseuse instead of the faceless guy in the flick, if maybe Dean started having wet dreams about him basically every night, if maybe Dean was starting to question is already questionable sexuality all because this guy gave him a massage, it was no one’s business but his. Not like he’s ever gonna see the guy again anyway, because how could he go back now that he’s jerked off to the guy? That’s just rude.

So imagine his shock, terror, and panic when he walked into the first day of his tech class to see Mr. Massage sitting at a nearby work table, talking quietly with the professor. Mr. Magic Hands is Castiel Novak, Dean’s TA…and his lab partner for the year.