[FIC] Some Other Beginning's End for lielabell
Gift type: Fanfic
Title: Some Other Beginning's End
Author: elfladyarwen
Recipient: Lielabell
Rating: PG-13
Words: 3943
Warnings: Language, references to homosexual activity
Spoilers: Up to 6x10
Summary: Dean starts to think that pairing up with Castiel as 'pretend life partners' for a case in a local gay community wasn't the smartest idea.
Author notes: Merry Christmas! Also, I'm terribly sorry if this is offensive to anyone in the gay community, it's supposed to be the exact opposite.
Dean slammed the shot glass down on the bar, grimacing as the liquor burned a trail of fire down his gullet.
“I swear to Christ, if you get hit on one more time, I’m out of here and letting this freakin’ vamp take all the gays in the whole town,” he said between winces. The quality of whiskey in this bar was bad enough to rival Bobby’s worst rotgut, but it was cheap and designed to get a man tanked in a short amount of time. Dean appreciated the establishment’s efficiency. He motioned for the bar keep to drop another line of shots and a beer in front of him.
“I have no way of knowing how many more of these males will find my vessel sexually attractive,” Castiel said absently, his attention elsewhere as he scanned one end of the bar to the other with squinted eyes. “I am not purposefully doing anything to encourage such attentions. Am I?” he asked with genuine concern, eyes widening a bit as if it just stuck him that he might be inadvertently putting out some kind of human sex beacon. He tugged at the folds of his trenchcoat, fiddling with his crooked, backwards tie before raising questioning blue eyes to Dean.
“Uh.” Dean didn’t really want to go down this road. He didn’t want to acknowledge how good looking Cas’ vessel was. Even in the dim multi-colored bar lighting, those blue-eyes stood out like a damn signal fire, magnified and bright and easily spotted from across the room. The messy sex hair wasn’t helping either. Buried in the layers of that stupid suit, Castiel always looked rumpled and a little frayed around the edges, but Dean was secure enough in his sexuality to know an attractive man when he saw one. Of course it was different with Castiel; Cas was Cas, the socially retarded little nerd angel who usually said the wrong thing but was always in the right place at the right time. He was Dean’s friend, the guy who occasionally pulled his ass from the fire. He’d never thought of Castiel in any other way because he hadn’t known it was allowed. But now Cas was asking him to look, and so he did. He saw and if he was honest with himself, he liked it. A little too much. Maybe he always had. Or maybe this town was getting to him. This was the fifth gay bar they’d visited in two days.
Castiel must have taken his drawn out silence as a yes, because he reached up and started to rake an uncoordinated hand through his hair, making it more tousled and newly fucked looking (if that even was possible.) “Perhaps if I-” he started.
“Cas, focus. We got a job to do here, alright? We don’t have time to debate how ‘fabulous’ you look,” he interrupted quickly, desperate to change the subject. Cas just blinked blankly at him, fingers returning to wrap around the pint of beer he’d yet to drink from.
“Of course, Dean.”
“Anybody giving off creepy, monster vibes?” He pushed away from the bar, dropping a few bills down before maneuvering through the crowd to an empty table half hidden in the shadowy corner of the room. It had a clear view of the door, the dance floor, and the back exit - a perfect location to scout quarry from.
“No. There are no monsters here. Perhaps the vampire is in another bar tonight.” He slid into the seat across from Dean, frowning thoughtfully into the space between them. He looked like he was still contemplating how to mess his hair up enough to fall into the ugly category.
“Well don’t look now, but I think one slipped past your gaydar, Cas.” Now Dean didn’t hate gays. He wasn’t entirely comfortable being surrounded in the culture as he was now, but he didn’t hate them. Part of the job description of fighting for Team Free Will meant respecting the choices of his fellow humans, and if somebody wanted to dip their nib in the unconventional ink well, that was alright by him. But he sure as shit hated gays who thought they were God’s gift to men, like the tool currently approaching their table.
“Hey there, blue eyes.” Awesome. An actual pick-up line not heard since 1953. Dean somehow managed to resist rolling his own eyes.
He didn’t even bother looking up as he took a swig of his lukewarm beer. Claim your territory quickly and efficiently. That had been Gus Hensley’s advice for pulling off a believable con as two gay guys in a monogamous relationship. As the only hunter Dean knew who batted for the other team, he and had been willing to take Gus’ advice, seeing as how they stuck out in this community like a sore thumb if left to their own devices. “He’s with me,” Dean spat gruffly before Cas could do something stupid like open his mouth. Apparently he wasn’t playing his part convincingly enough because the dumbass attempting to seduce an Angel of the Lord just scoffed and wedged himself defiantly into Castiel’s line of sight.
“You sure about that? He doesn’t seem to be having a very good time, just sitting alone over here in the dark, hiding that pretty face. I could fix that,” the douchebag said with a (what he thought to be smooth but was actually just creepy) leer, leaning in toward Castiel who glanced nervously across the table at Dean. Apparently the angel handled sexual advances from men with just as much ass-awkwardness as he did women, which for some reason gave Dean a little bit of comfort. Castiel continued to flick his gaze from Dean’s face up to the douchebag’s, shifting subconsciously toward Dean’s chair as he sought a reply that might temper the clenched, irritated look that was darkening the hunter’s face.
“I am not alone. And I am having a good time. Dean is good company, when he’s still only mildly inebriated, ” Castiel offered helpfully, confused as to why this admittance made Dean’s eyes close in dismay. But then, Cas couldn’t hear Sam’s berating voice ringing in his head; “You got drunk in the middle of a vampire infested gay bar and left Cas in the trench to take grenades all on his own? Real classy, Dean.” Imaginary Sam could shut the hell up, because he was the self-conscious pussy who had decided to sit this job out once the words ‘gay bar’ had been dropped. His insistence that Dean and Cas made the more convincing couple was utter horseshit and nothing about this night would ever reach his ears, Dean was sure of that. Especially not how easy it felt, pretending to be dating Cas.
But the hovering douchebag wasn’t ready to give in yet. Apparently Cas was a prize worth fighting for. He reached down and took up two handfuls of trenchcoat lapel, bunching the fabric briefly before smoothing it flat again, purposefully lingering greedy fingers on Castiel’s collarbone and chest. “Only good company? I could show you what it’s like to be in great company. Show you what it’s like to have a real man on top of you, who actually remembers your name in the morning.” Castiel’s brow furrowed and he gave the propositioning man a characteristic head tilt, but made no move to pry the foreign hands from his chest. In fact, he still sat ramrod straight in his chair, hand around his beer, looking detached and quizzical as fuck.
“Dean has never forgotten my name, only shortened it,” Castiel replied simply, as if that was the one statement in the entire conversation that had him perplexed. Dean would have given himself a palm to the face if it wouldn’t damage their alias, because as it was, Cas was doing a bang up job of playing the pretty dumb brunette who was too slow to realize he was being aggressively hit on. Dean slung back another shot instead, thinking he’d need about 10 more if he was going to make it through the night.
“Is he rough on you, sweetheart? We don’t take too kindly to that kind of stuff outside the bedroom around here,” the man said with a cold stare directed towards Dean, who looked up at the dick for the first time. Naturally, he didn’t like what he saw. The dude’s face was masculine and angular in a way that tried too hard, his torso looking severely ‘roided up, muscles straining to escape from underneath his barely there v-neck. He probably had a good 2 inches and 40 pounds on Dean (not to mention a clearly outlined matching pair of nipple rings), but Dean still felt the urge to bust some of his perfectly white teeth out.
He gave the jackass his best imitation of Sam’s bitchface. “Fuck off, Powerade. You don’t know us from Adam, he ain’t your sweetheart and you’re really starting to rub me the wrong way,” he snapped peevishly, feeling another layer of his patience being stripped off. If Cas was too dumb to just smite the smug bastard here and now, then Dean would just have to use some good old fashioned brute force to remedy the situation. Which was fine by him; he’d relish the chance to burn off some of extra testosterone being produced in his body as compensation for even laying eyes on this joint. He needed a good fight. Or a good lay. And he was pretty damn sure only one of those was an option tonight.
Dean took another shot of whiskey. Don’t start any shit; it will snowball and bury you before you have time to realize what you’ve gotten yourself into, Gus’ warning sounded from recent memory. So much for that helpful tidbit, although Dean reasoned it wasn’t really his fault, since he wasn’t the one who was making a goddamn fool of himself trying pathetically to get in Cas’ pants. He was just the guy who was going to make sure it didn’t happen again for the rest of the night (or the rest of Cas’ life if he could swing it.)
Cas shot him another anxious glance, still frozen in his seat, but was visibly starting to twitch in a very unangelic fashion, a sign of his discomfort at being caressed by a stranger. “It’s impossible for Dean to harm me,” he told his romancer with a touch of arrogance that sounded very angelic, “he’s only a man.”
“Oh yeah?” the douchebag laughed, obviously further charmed by Castiel’s ridiculous lack of social functioning skills. “Then what’s that make you, baby?”
“An angel.”
The beefcake laughed again, trailing a fingertip slowly along Castiel’s stubbled jaw. “I’ll say.” The wave of jealousy slammed into Dean hard enough to force the breath from his lungs and leave him reeling. He tried to pour as much hatred as he could into the stare he pinned on wannabe Romeo. Jesus, why was it always the dense-as-poles asshat gays who magnetized to Cas? And, he thought on a whim, where the hell were all of Dean’s potential suitors? He was supposed to be the one with all the sex appeal.
“Seriously, what do I have to do, hang a big red ‘claimed’ sign around his neck? He’s. Taken. So benchpress your way out of here,” Dean said acidly, waving the other man away like one might shoo a stray, unwanted dog. Who needed to scram like ten minutes ago because Dean was starting to feel more like a barbarian defending a favorite harem girl rather then a hunter in the middle of a precarious con that just happened to costar another dude. Cas wasn’t his in any shape, form or fashion and the angel could definitely take care of himself. Dean had seen him take out packs of boss demons like they were ants, he certainly didn’t need help with this chucklehead. Still, every filament spun to add to the veil of their con didn’t feel at all like a lie on Dean’s lips and he tried hard not to think about what that could mean.
“I am Dean’s angel,” Castiel repeated bluntly, his face devoid of any kind of emotion that might have given away his true feelings on the subject. But the honest ease in which he said it, made the jealous rush in Dean’s veins ebb slightly till it was downsized to a minor flood instead of a category 5 typhoon. He should have fought harder to control his smirk, but he didn’t.
“Well he can watch, if you want. Maybe I can teach him a thing or two about how to make an angel scream,” the douchebag said lewdly, lowering his voice to a purr as he ducked down to nuzzle Castiel’s jawline.
That was it.
Dean’s fist came down hard enough to rattle the glasses unfortunate enough to still be left on the table. Every person with in a 15 foot range startled, either shocked by the outburst or immediately honing in, hoping for a spark of violence. Dean was more then ready to comply.
He shoved himself back from the table so fast, his chair toppled over and clattered to the floor, the only warning Douchey McTightpants got before Dean had him pinned by the collar of his too-small shirt against the nearest wall. The bigger man could only gape for a moment as he tried to catch up with his new predicament, fumbling weakly in attempt to loose Dean’s clenched hands from his neck.
“Keep your slimy mitts off my ange- him,” he snarled low and dangerous into the other man’s shocked face, seeing fucking red. “He doesn’t want any, you pushy son of a bitch. I don’t like to repeat myself and I sure as hell don’t want to have to teach you a lesson in the middle of this bar just because you haven’t figured out yet that you don’t get to touch what isn’t yours.” Dean vividly remembered being pinned with his back to a wall in similar fashion, remembered exactly how intimidating it was to have the use of your own two feet taken from you. The dude would listen to him now. He would think twice about messing with anybody who spurned his advances from the get go. To make sure his words sunk in, Dean gave the man a rough shake, the bones of his spine popping grotesquely as they met unyielding brick.
A hand on his shoulder made him pause. He whipped his head around with a guttural growl, ready to take on whoever was stupid enough to interrupt his beat down. He was met with shocking blue eyes, steady and unnerving in the way they seemed to peer right through him.
“Dean,” the angel said, the soft utterance of his name accompanied by a reproachful look. Dean was well aware about the unspoken words behind that look; you’re getting emotionally involved for no reason- don’t cause a bigger scene then necessary- you need to focus on the true task at hand. That’s right, they weren’t here to fight. This was a job - only a job. He needed to get his head back in the game and not waste time and energy an a dumb schmuck he’d never see again once he walked out of this bar. He slowly released his grip on the douchebag, forcing the unsatisfied, still-boiling rage back down his throat.
“Jesus, you freak!” the douchebag said angrily, rubbing at his bruised neckline. “I didn’t know you were going to fly off the deep end. He just didn’t seem that into you. I was trying to do him a favor and offer him something better.”
Castiel sighed, forcefully snatching Dean back before he could take a swing at the other man, who was clearly an idiot and doing a piss-poor job of defusing the tension. “Most of the world’s problems are caused by men encroaching upon other men’s territories,” he told the jerk in a scolding tone. Dean continued to struggle against his hold, trying to punch any part of his nemesis he could reach. Castiel shoved him back, increasing the distance between the two men and feeling very much like a parent separating a pair of squabbling children. “Your overcompensation for your insecurities about your body and sexual orientation in the form of aggressive conquest for a mate is not flattering as you believe, but annoying and unwanted,” the angel continued, his blunt words making Dean’s face light up with surprised satisfaction. He was so pleasantly startled, he didn’t even complain about Castiel using multi-syllable words. He even stopped trying to kill the man against the wall.
“And I believe your assumption that you would be a better lover then Dean to be entirely inaccurate, though I have no way of testing the theory.” Dean was positively beaming with that remark. He let Castiel usher him towards the front door without protest, smirking over his shoulder the whole way.
“You really think I’d be better in bed?” Dean mumbled conspiratorially out of the side of his mouth when they were half way through the crowd. All attention was still focused on them, a drone of furious whispering rising from the bar, everyone wondering who this strange couple was. The corners of Castiel’s eyes crinkled in amusement as he gave Dean that almost-smile. “Yes.”
And just like that, with one simple word passed between them, Dean made what was probably the stupidest decision of his life. He spun on his heel, grabbed the back of Cas’ head and crushed their lips together. The bar fell deathly quiet.
For a fraction of a second, Castiel went horribly tense under his hands. But then he was clinging to Dean, matching his every move with scalding intensity, as if he’d been waiting a million years to be kissed like this. He pressed into Dean’s body, long fingers coming up to weave through short brown hair, holding him firmly down against his lips, unwilling to give up an inch of contact. He invited Dean to plunder his mouth, reciprocating with curious, experimental little licks of his own hot tongue. He must have liked what he discovered because he inhaled sharply through his nose and slanted his mouth more securely under Dean’s.
Though he knew it was impossible, Cas tasted like pie. Like pie, and fresh sunlight and laughing with Sam and working on the Impala. Like everything Dean ever wanted and didn’t know he needed. He tasted dark and shrouded in mystery, with something bitter and nostalgic creeping in as an afterbite. If Heaven had a taste, it was Cas. His lips weren’t as soft as they looked and though the pressure of his touch was gentle and reverent, Cas was rough; all sharp angles and burning heat and the scrape of day-old stubble that Dean hoped marked his skin more permanently then this charade of a claim did.
When he thought about it later, Dean couldn’t really explain why he kissed him. It could have been because his blood was up and the masculine instinct in him demanded he stake a claim on something he wanted right then and there. It could have been Cas’ stupid eye crinkles or the whiskey shots warming his blood. It could have just been long overdue. But Dean didn’t regret that first all-too-short-lived kiss, in the middle of a gay bar plagued by vampires, as much as he should have. It was hard to regret something that felt as natural as breathing.
Eventually he pulled away as a combination of applause and wolf whistles sounded from the bar crowd. Dean flushed and gave them all a middle finger and a grin, taking a moment to pointedly give Cas’ would-be rapist a ‘eat me, asshole’ sneer. Castiel meanwhile, only had eyes for the hunter.
Dean guided the angel the rest of the way out of the door, the night air chilly enough to reveal their breaths. Neither man seemed to notice it. They walked in silence for a while, Dean looking at his feet and Castiel of course staring at Dean. He knew the angel was waiting for an explanation or excuse, he could feel the question in the gaze being drilled into the side of his head. Out of nowhere came the memory of walking shoulder to shoulder with Cas, the latter having just come from kissing a girl not really named Chastity. Dean almost laughed at the unpredictable ways the world came full circle.
“You don’t ever get to tell Sam about this,” he said at long last. Holy shit, Sammy would have a freakin’ field day with this one. Well I don’t really know how to explain it, Sam. I had to start a fight in a gay bar in order to defend the angel’s honor. We ended up making out in front of two dozen people. It was all sort of an accident cause I was half way drunk and feeling possessive as hell. My bad.
“Are you really so concerned with other people touching me?” Castiel asked, sounding suddenly shy, like he didn’t really want to know the answer.
“Nah,” Dean lied with a grin. “I was just jealous of all the attention you were getting. I’m supposed to be the pretty one, everybody knows that.” He chose to believe he’d imagined the hurt look that flashed over Cas’ face. That lasted all of 30 seconds, before the deafening scream of Castiel’s silence overwhelmed and broke him. He sighed and scrubbed at his face.
“Yeah,” he admitted in a croak of surrender, unable to met Cas’ unwavering gaze. “It pissed me off, seeing that dick trying to manhandle you- er, well...angelhandle you. Whatever.” Cas just continued to stare at him.
“It bothered me. Alot.”
Castiel exhaled slowly, the white of his breath curling up like a halo around his head. “It bothered me too.” Dean passed him a nervous little smile, feeling like he’d just been kissed again.
“Good. Why didn’t you just smite him?”
Cas shrugged. “He wasn’t evil. Just lonely.” Dean didn’t really have a good response for that, so he said nothing and watched the angel from underneath his lashes, seeing someone different then he had an hour ago.
Castiel slipped his hands into the pockets of his trenchcoat, signalling that he realized the conversation was over and would most likely never be brought up again. “I suppose we need to regroup our efforts to find this vampire. Where do you want to search next?”
“Hell, I don’t know,” Dean snorted, shoving his own hands into his pockets. “The fucker could be half way to Jersey by now. Whoa, hang on. Did you- did you use the pizza man move on me?” Dean asked incredulously as the epiphany broadsided him suddenly.
“It’s the only move I know,” Castiel said, defensiveness coloring his rasp.
Dean laughed, actually laughed this time and found himself thinking it more then coincidental that it happened so frequently when Cas was around. “We’ll have to see about getting you some new ones. Alright, Little Caeser, let’s get a move on. We got 3 more bars to hit before the sun comes up. Hope you’re ready to put on a good show for these guys, to hell with what Gus said.”
They’d talk about what transpired this night much further down the road. They’d gank the bad guy and move on to the next step in saving the world, never ever letting Sam in on their secrets. They would tear up the rule book and do things their own way, just as they always had.
Title: Some Other Beginning's End
Author: elfladyarwen
Recipient: Lielabell
Rating: PG-13
Words: 3943
Warnings: Language, references to homosexual activity
Spoilers: Up to 6x10
Summary: Dean starts to think that pairing up with Castiel as 'pretend life partners' for a case in a local gay community wasn't the smartest idea.
Author notes: Merry Christmas! Also, I'm terribly sorry if this is offensive to anyone in the gay community, it's supposed to be the exact opposite.
Dean slammed the shot glass down on the bar, grimacing as the liquor burned a trail of fire down his gullet.
“I swear to Christ, if you get hit on one more time, I’m out of here and letting this freakin’ vamp take all the gays in the whole town,” he said between winces. The quality of whiskey in this bar was bad enough to rival Bobby’s worst rotgut, but it was cheap and designed to get a man tanked in a short amount of time. Dean appreciated the establishment’s efficiency. He motioned for the bar keep to drop another line of shots and a beer in front of him.
“I have no way of knowing how many more of these males will find my vessel sexually attractive,” Castiel said absently, his attention elsewhere as he scanned one end of the bar to the other with squinted eyes. “I am not purposefully doing anything to encourage such attentions. Am I?” he asked with genuine concern, eyes widening a bit as if it just stuck him that he might be inadvertently putting out some kind of human sex beacon. He tugged at the folds of his trenchcoat, fiddling with his crooked, backwards tie before raising questioning blue eyes to Dean.
“Uh.” Dean didn’t really want to go down this road. He didn’t want to acknowledge how good looking Cas’ vessel was. Even in the dim multi-colored bar lighting, those blue-eyes stood out like a damn signal fire, magnified and bright and easily spotted from across the room. The messy sex hair wasn’t helping either. Buried in the layers of that stupid suit, Castiel always looked rumpled and a little frayed around the edges, but Dean was secure enough in his sexuality to know an attractive man when he saw one. Of course it was different with Castiel; Cas was Cas, the socially retarded little nerd angel who usually said the wrong thing but was always in the right place at the right time. He was Dean’s friend, the guy who occasionally pulled his ass from the fire. He’d never thought of Castiel in any other way because he hadn’t known it was allowed. But now Cas was asking him to look, and so he did. He saw and if he was honest with himself, he liked it. A little too much. Maybe he always had. Or maybe this town was getting to him. This was the fifth gay bar they’d visited in two days.
Castiel must have taken his drawn out silence as a yes, because he reached up and started to rake an uncoordinated hand through his hair, making it more tousled and newly fucked looking (if that even was possible.) “Perhaps if I-” he started.
“Cas, focus. We got a job to do here, alright? We don’t have time to debate how ‘fabulous’ you look,” he interrupted quickly, desperate to change the subject. Cas just blinked blankly at him, fingers returning to wrap around the pint of beer he’d yet to drink from.
“Of course, Dean.”
“Anybody giving off creepy, monster vibes?” He pushed away from the bar, dropping a few bills down before maneuvering through the crowd to an empty table half hidden in the shadowy corner of the room. It had a clear view of the door, the dance floor, and the back exit - a perfect location to scout quarry from.
“No. There are no monsters here. Perhaps the vampire is in another bar tonight.” He slid into the seat across from Dean, frowning thoughtfully into the space between them. He looked like he was still contemplating how to mess his hair up enough to fall into the ugly category.
“Well don’t look now, but I think one slipped past your gaydar, Cas.” Now Dean didn’t hate gays. He wasn’t entirely comfortable being surrounded in the culture as he was now, but he didn’t hate them. Part of the job description of fighting for Team Free Will meant respecting the choices of his fellow humans, and if somebody wanted to dip their nib in the unconventional ink well, that was alright by him. But he sure as shit hated gays who thought they were God’s gift to men, like the tool currently approaching their table.
“Hey there, blue eyes.” Awesome. An actual pick-up line not heard since 1953. Dean somehow managed to resist rolling his own eyes.
He didn’t even bother looking up as he took a swig of his lukewarm beer. Claim your territory quickly and efficiently. That had been Gus Hensley’s advice for pulling off a believable con as two gay guys in a monogamous relationship. As the only hunter Dean knew who batted for the other team, he and had been willing to take Gus’ advice, seeing as how they stuck out in this community like a sore thumb if left to their own devices. “He’s with me,” Dean spat gruffly before Cas could do something stupid like open his mouth. Apparently he wasn’t playing his part convincingly enough because the dumbass attempting to seduce an Angel of the Lord just scoffed and wedged himself defiantly into Castiel’s line of sight.
“You sure about that? He doesn’t seem to be having a very good time, just sitting alone over here in the dark, hiding that pretty face. I could fix that,” the douchebag said with a (what he thought to be smooth but was actually just creepy) leer, leaning in toward Castiel who glanced nervously across the table at Dean. Apparently the angel handled sexual advances from men with just as much ass-awkwardness as he did women, which for some reason gave Dean a little bit of comfort. Castiel continued to flick his gaze from Dean’s face up to the douchebag’s, shifting subconsciously toward Dean’s chair as he sought a reply that might temper the clenched, irritated look that was darkening the hunter’s face.
“I am not alone. And I am having a good time. Dean is good company, when he’s still only mildly inebriated, ” Castiel offered helpfully, confused as to why this admittance made Dean’s eyes close in dismay. But then, Cas couldn’t hear Sam’s berating voice ringing in his head; “You got drunk in the middle of a vampire infested gay bar and left Cas in the trench to take grenades all on his own? Real classy, Dean.” Imaginary Sam could shut the hell up, because he was the self-conscious pussy who had decided to sit this job out once the words ‘gay bar’ had been dropped. His insistence that Dean and Cas made the more convincing couple was utter horseshit and nothing about this night would ever reach his ears, Dean was sure of that. Especially not how easy it felt, pretending to be dating Cas.
But the hovering douchebag wasn’t ready to give in yet. Apparently Cas was a prize worth fighting for. He reached down and took up two handfuls of trenchcoat lapel, bunching the fabric briefly before smoothing it flat again, purposefully lingering greedy fingers on Castiel’s collarbone and chest. “Only good company? I could show you what it’s like to be in great company. Show you what it’s like to have a real man on top of you, who actually remembers your name in the morning.” Castiel’s brow furrowed and he gave the propositioning man a characteristic head tilt, but made no move to pry the foreign hands from his chest. In fact, he still sat ramrod straight in his chair, hand around his beer, looking detached and quizzical as fuck.
“Dean has never forgotten my name, only shortened it,” Castiel replied simply, as if that was the one statement in the entire conversation that had him perplexed. Dean would have given himself a palm to the face if it wouldn’t damage their alias, because as it was, Cas was doing a bang up job of playing the pretty dumb brunette who was too slow to realize he was being aggressively hit on. Dean slung back another shot instead, thinking he’d need about 10 more if he was going to make it through the night.
“Is he rough on you, sweetheart? We don’t take too kindly to that kind of stuff outside the bedroom around here,” the man said with a cold stare directed towards Dean, who looked up at the dick for the first time. Naturally, he didn’t like what he saw. The dude’s face was masculine and angular in a way that tried too hard, his torso looking severely ‘roided up, muscles straining to escape from underneath his barely there v-neck. He probably had a good 2 inches and 40 pounds on Dean (not to mention a clearly outlined matching pair of nipple rings), but Dean still felt the urge to bust some of his perfectly white teeth out.
He gave the jackass his best imitation of Sam’s bitchface. “Fuck off, Powerade. You don’t know us from Adam, he ain’t your sweetheart and you’re really starting to rub me the wrong way,” he snapped peevishly, feeling another layer of his patience being stripped off. If Cas was too dumb to just smite the smug bastard here and now, then Dean would just have to use some good old fashioned brute force to remedy the situation. Which was fine by him; he’d relish the chance to burn off some of extra testosterone being produced in his body as compensation for even laying eyes on this joint. He needed a good fight. Or a good lay. And he was pretty damn sure only one of those was an option tonight.
Dean took another shot of whiskey. Don’t start any shit; it will snowball and bury you before you have time to realize what you’ve gotten yourself into, Gus’ warning sounded from recent memory. So much for that helpful tidbit, although Dean reasoned it wasn’t really his fault, since he wasn’t the one who was making a goddamn fool of himself trying pathetically to get in Cas’ pants. He was just the guy who was going to make sure it didn’t happen again for the rest of the night (or the rest of Cas’ life if he could swing it.)
Cas shot him another anxious glance, still frozen in his seat, but was visibly starting to twitch in a very unangelic fashion, a sign of his discomfort at being caressed by a stranger. “It’s impossible for Dean to harm me,” he told his romancer with a touch of arrogance that sounded very angelic, “he’s only a man.”
“Oh yeah?” the douchebag laughed, obviously further charmed by Castiel’s ridiculous lack of social functioning skills. “Then what’s that make you, baby?”
“An angel.”
The beefcake laughed again, trailing a fingertip slowly along Castiel’s stubbled jaw. “I’ll say.” The wave of jealousy slammed into Dean hard enough to force the breath from his lungs and leave him reeling. He tried to pour as much hatred as he could into the stare he pinned on wannabe Romeo. Jesus, why was it always the dense-as-poles asshat gays who magnetized to Cas? And, he thought on a whim, where the hell were all of Dean’s potential suitors? He was supposed to be the one with all the sex appeal.
“Seriously, what do I have to do, hang a big red ‘claimed’ sign around his neck? He’s. Taken. So benchpress your way out of here,” Dean said acidly, waving the other man away like one might shoo a stray, unwanted dog. Who needed to scram like ten minutes ago because Dean was starting to feel more like a barbarian defending a favorite harem girl rather then a hunter in the middle of a precarious con that just happened to costar another dude. Cas wasn’t his in any shape, form or fashion and the angel could definitely take care of himself. Dean had seen him take out packs of boss demons like they were ants, he certainly didn’t need help with this chucklehead. Still, every filament spun to add to the veil of their con didn’t feel at all like a lie on Dean’s lips and he tried hard not to think about what that could mean.
“I am Dean’s angel,” Castiel repeated bluntly, his face devoid of any kind of emotion that might have given away his true feelings on the subject. But the honest ease in which he said it, made the jealous rush in Dean’s veins ebb slightly till it was downsized to a minor flood instead of a category 5 typhoon. He should have fought harder to control his smirk, but he didn’t.
“Well he can watch, if you want. Maybe I can teach him a thing or two about how to make an angel scream,” the douchebag said lewdly, lowering his voice to a purr as he ducked down to nuzzle Castiel’s jawline.
That was it.
Dean’s fist came down hard enough to rattle the glasses unfortunate enough to still be left on the table. Every person with in a 15 foot range startled, either shocked by the outburst or immediately honing in, hoping for a spark of violence. Dean was more then ready to comply.
He shoved himself back from the table so fast, his chair toppled over and clattered to the floor, the only warning Douchey McTightpants got before Dean had him pinned by the collar of his too-small shirt against the nearest wall. The bigger man could only gape for a moment as he tried to catch up with his new predicament, fumbling weakly in attempt to loose Dean’s clenched hands from his neck.
“Keep your slimy mitts off my ange- him,” he snarled low and dangerous into the other man’s shocked face, seeing fucking red. “He doesn’t want any, you pushy son of a bitch. I don’t like to repeat myself and I sure as hell don’t want to have to teach you a lesson in the middle of this bar just because you haven’t figured out yet that you don’t get to touch what isn’t yours.” Dean vividly remembered being pinned with his back to a wall in similar fashion, remembered exactly how intimidating it was to have the use of your own two feet taken from you. The dude would listen to him now. He would think twice about messing with anybody who spurned his advances from the get go. To make sure his words sunk in, Dean gave the man a rough shake, the bones of his spine popping grotesquely as they met unyielding brick.
A hand on his shoulder made him pause. He whipped his head around with a guttural growl, ready to take on whoever was stupid enough to interrupt his beat down. He was met with shocking blue eyes, steady and unnerving in the way they seemed to peer right through him.
“Dean,” the angel said, the soft utterance of his name accompanied by a reproachful look. Dean was well aware about the unspoken words behind that look; you’re getting emotionally involved for no reason- don’t cause a bigger scene then necessary- you need to focus on the true task at hand. That’s right, they weren’t here to fight. This was a job - only a job. He needed to get his head back in the game and not waste time and energy an a dumb schmuck he’d never see again once he walked out of this bar. He slowly released his grip on the douchebag, forcing the unsatisfied, still-boiling rage back down his throat.
“Jesus, you freak!” the douchebag said angrily, rubbing at his bruised neckline. “I didn’t know you were going to fly off the deep end. He just didn’t seem that into you. I was trying to do him a favor and offer him something better.”
Castiel sighed, forcefully snatching Dean back before he could take a swing at the other man, who was clearly an idiot and doing a piss-poor job of defusing the tension. “Most of the world’s problems are caused by men encroaching upon other men’s territories,” he told the jerk in a scolding tone. Dean continued to struggle against his hold, trying to punch any part of his nemesis he could reach. Castiel shoved him back, increasing the distance between the two men and feeling very much like a parent separating a pair of squabbling children. “Your overcompensation for your insecurities about your body and sexual orientation in the form of aggressive conquest for a mate is not flattering as you believe, but annoying and unwanted,” the angel continued, his blunt words making Dean’s face light up with surprised satisfaction. He was so pleasantly startled, he didn’t even complain about Castiel using multi-syllable words. He even stopped trying to kill the man against the wall.
“And I believe your assumption that you would be a better lover then Dean to be entirely inaccurate, though I have no way of testing the theory.” Dean was positively beaming with that remark. He let Castiel usher him towards the front door without protest, smirking over his shoulder the whole way.
“You really think I’d be better in bed?” Dean mumbled conspiratorially out of the side of his mouth when they were half way through the crowd. All attention was still focused on them, a drone of furious whispering rising from the bar, everyone wondering who this strange couple was. The corners of Castiel’s eyes crinkled in amusement as he gave Dean that almost-smile. “Yes.”
And just like that, with one simple word passed between them, Dean made what was probably the stupidest decision of his life. He spun on his heel, grabbed the back of Cas’ head and crushed their lips together. The bar fell deathly quiet.
For a fraction of a second, Castiel went horribly tense under his hands. But then he was clinging to Dean, matching his every move with scalding intensity, as if he’d been waiting a million years to be kissed like this. He pressed into Dean’s body, long fingers coming up to weave through short brown hair, holding him firmly down against his lips, unwilling to give up an inch of contact. He invited Dean to plunder his mouth, reciprocating with curious, experimental little licks of his own hot tongue. He must have liked what he discovered because he inhaled sharply through his nose and slanted his mouth more securely under Dean’s.
Though he knew it was impossible, Cas tasted like pie. Like pie, and fresh sunlight and laughing with Sam and working on the Impala. Like everything Dean ever wanted and didn’t know he needed. He tasted dark and shrouded in mystery, with something bitter and nostalgic creeping in as an afterbite. If Heaven had a taste, it was Cas. His lips weren’t as soft as they looked and though the pressure of his touch was gentle and reverent, Cas was rough; all sharp angles and burning heat and the scrape of day-old stubble that Dean hoped marked his skin more permanently then this charade of a claim did.
When he thought about it later, Dean couldn’t really explain why he kissed him. It could have been because his blood was up and the masculine instinct in him demanded he stake a claim on something he wanted right then and there. It could have been Cas’ stupid eye crinkles or the whiskey shots warming his blood. It could have just been long overdue. But Dean didn’t regret that first all-too-short-lived kiss, in the middle of a gay bar plagued by vampires, as much as he should have. It was hard to regret something that felt as natural as breathing.
Eventually he pulled away as a combination of applause and wolf whistles sounded from the bar crowd. Dean flushed and gave them all a middle finger and a grin, taking a moment to pointedly give Cas’ would-be rapist a ‘eat me, asshole’ sneer. Castiel meanwhile, only had eyes for the hunter.
Dean guided the angel the rest of the way out of the door, the night air chilly enough to reveal their breaths. Neither man seemed to notice it. They walked in silence for a while, Dean looking at his feet and Castiel of course staring at Dean. He knew the angel was waiting for an explanation or excuse, he could feel the question in the gaze being drilled into the side of his head. Out of nowhere came the memory of walking shoulder to shoulder with Cas, the latter having just come from kissing a girl not really named Chastity. Dean almost laughed at the unpredictable ways the world came full circle.
“You don’t ever get to tell Sam about this,” he said at long last. Holy shit, Sammy would have a freakin’ field day with this one. Well I don’t really know how to explain it, Sam. I had to start a fight in a gay bar in order to defend the angel’s honor. We ended up making out in front of two dozen people. It was all sort of an accident cause I was half way drunk and feeling possessive as hell. My bad.
“Are you really so concerned with other people touching me?” Castiel asked, sounding suddenly shy, like he didn’t really want to know the answer.
“Nah,” Dean lied with a grin. “I was just jealous of all the attention you were getting. I’m supposed to be the pretty one, everybody knows that.” He chose to believe he’d imagined the hurt look that flashed over Cas’ face. That lasted all of 30 seconds, before the deafening scream of Castiel’s silence overwhelmed and broke him. He sighed and scrubbed at his face.
“Yeah,” he admitted in a croak of surrender, unable to met Cas’ unwavering gaze. “It pissed me off, seeing that dick trying to manhandle you- er, well...angelhandle you. Whatever.” Cas just continued to stare at him.
“It bothered me. Alot.”
Castiel exhaled slowly, the white of his breath curling up like a halo around his head. “It bothered me too.” Dean passed him a nervous little smile, feeling like he’d just been kissed again.
“Good. Why didn’t you just smite him?”
Cas shrugged. “He wasn’t evil. Just lonely.” Dean didn’t really have a good response for that, so he said nothing and watched the angel from underneath his lashes, seeing someone different then he had an hour ago.
Castiel slipped his hands into the pockets of his trenchcoat, signalling that he realized the conversation was over and would most likely never be brought up again. “I suppose we need to regroup our efforts to find this vampire. Where do you want to search next?”
“Hell, I don’t know,” Dean snorted, shoving his own hands into his pockets. “The fucker could be half way to Jersey by now. Whoa, hang on. Did you- did you use the pizza man move on me?” Dean asked incredulously as the epiphany broadsided him suddenly.
“It’s the only move I know,” Castiel said, defensiveness coloring his rasp.
Dean laughed, actually laughed this time and found himself thinking it more then coincidental that it happened so frequently when Cas was around. “We’ll have to see about getting you some new ones. Alright, Little Caeser, let’s get a move on. We got 3 more bars to hit before the sun comes up. Hope you’re ready to put on a good show for these guys, to hell with what Gus said.”
They’d talk about what transpired this night much further down the road. They’d gank the bad guy and move on to the next step in saving the world, never ever letting Sam in on their secrets. They would tear up the rule book and do things their own way, just as they always had.