Author: blackdoggy1
Title: PDAs
Fandom: SPN
Pairing: Dean/Castiel's vessel
Rating: R
Word Count: 2945
Spoilers: Through Season 4 current episodes

A/N: Set in the Two Lives verse...the continuing adventures of Dean Winchester and his favorite hawt angel vessel, Walter.

No Public Displays of Affection. Those were the rules. No kissing, no fondling, no arm around the shoulders, no hand holding. Yeah right, like Dean would hold hands anyway, even if Walter had been a woman. Dean thought hand holding was for wussies. He hadn't held anyone's hand since Sammy was a kid and he'd help him across the street. Point was, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, they were just two guys hanging out. Just a couple of friends. Only Sam, Bobby, and the few close friends the boys had knew the real nature of his relationship with Walter. It was private. And that's the way Dean liked it.

Behind closed doors, that was a different matter entirely. As soon as they were out of the public eye, in a locked hotel room, they were on each other like ticks on a hound. All hands and lips, petting, groping, caressing, and hell even cuddling. Walter leaning back against him in the bathtub. Walter with his legs slung over Dean as they lounged around on Bobby's couch. Walter falling asleep curled up on the bed as Dean stroked his hair absently while he watched late night TV. Dean loved touching him, even when it didn't lead to sex. Most of the time, though, it did lead to sex.

After they worked through the initial awkward phase of 'I've never done this before', 'Ow that hurts', 'Oh yeah that feels good' and figuring out what goes where, Dean had been thrilled to find that his boyfriend was, well, a bit of a tramp. Walter just couldn't seem to get enough where Dean was concerned. He wanted it, he loved it, and he had no shame about asking for it, or even begging for it if that's what it took. Dean was shocked and amazed at that secret side of the reserved little guy, and he thanked God for it every night. If you could count screaming "Oh, God! Oh, God!" while he pounded Walter into the mattress as a prayer, that is. He figured it was close enough, or at least that's what Dean tried to tell Walter when he complained that screaming God during sex was blasphemous. Walter had some weird hang ups about blasphemy, considering he was in love with a man who had spent the better part of a year lusting after an angel.

But whatever happened in their bed at night was just between them and whoever was on the other side of the wall that the headboard made a steady WHACK WHACK WHACK against into the wee hours. Usually that person was Sam. Poor fella. He was probably scarred for life by now.

Public affection was another thing though, and it was off limits. Period. It wasn't JUST that Dean was a little overly protective about his private life. There were practical reasons for it too. In the circles the Winchesters generally traveled, that kind of behavior could be dangerous. Backwoods towns and seedy bars populated by hicks and inbreeders and testerone loaded hunters was not the place you wanted to go flying your rainbow flag. Not at all. And while Dean could kick just about anybody's ass in a fight or several anybodys for that matter, with Sam backing him up, it still wasn't smart. Being a hunter meant flying under the radar. You just couldn't go around bar brawling and drumming up the attention of the local L.E.O.s when you were trying to live off paper. That got messy, particularly when you had a few ambiguous murder charges still hanging over your head.

Big cities, on the other hand, were different. The rare times they had occasion to visit one, it was a bit of a culture shock for Dean, especially the clubs. He wasn't a prude, not in the least. he liked porn and liquor and partying just fine, and God knows he'd seen shit most people couldn't even conceive of. But there were certain things he just couldn't wrap his head around. The main one being that where he came from you didn't parade your personal business out for everyone to see.

The rules of what was acceptable in large cities were vastly different than the way he'd been raised. He'd seen sweet little All American sorority girls dancing on bars in mini skirts completely okay with the fact that everyone within 10 feet could see they'd forgotten their panties. He'd seen men dressed as women, women dressed as men, thongs hanging out, lesbians making out, bondage freaks. Maybe the most surprising thing he'd seen was guys doing lines of coke in the bathroom, cuz seriously? He thought coke went out of style with Ronald Reagan. And while none of that actually shocked Dean, he never understood why people would just throw it all out there like that for the world to see. It wasn't what people were doing that bothered him, but the fact that no line was drawn between what they did in public and what you were supposed to do in private.

Even in places like that though, the rules for he and Walter stayed the same. As much as he'd love to be able to put an arm around Walter just once outside of a hotel room or the Impala, he couldn't. No kissing, no fondling, no touching (aside from the occasional hand on the knee under a table). Maybe that sort of thing was acceptable in those clubs, probably no one would even bat an eye. But Dean Winchester was Dean Winchester…and the rules he had for himself, the ones he lived by…they didn't change, no matter where he was. He learned that from John.

And that is how he landed in his present predicament. He was in one of those clubs at that very moment. They'd been hunting in eastern Pennsylvania and when it wrapped up Sam suggested they take a few days off to visit Philly and blow off some steam. Everything had been going great and they were having a terrific time. Til about half an hour ago.

That's when Dean looked up from his game of pool with Sam and saw that Walter had company. He had a lot of company actually, because two pretty little girls and their older male friend were now sharing his table.

At first he wasn't too concerned. The girls were giggling and Walter was smiling. The whole thing looked pretty innocent and he was glad to see Walter coming out of his shell a little. Dean had been nagging him for months about trying to talk more, be a little more sociable. The thing Walter had told him when they first hooked up about being alone for years still twisted Dean's gut. Now that he (and Castiel) had dragged Walter out of his isolation, he wanted the guy to embrace the world, get used to having company. But that only went so far. Walter was his after all, and as much as Dean wanted him to enjoy himself, he didn't want anybody getting TOO friendly with his boyfriend….because in truth Dean had a jealous streak that ran a mile wide.

When Dean looked back at the table ten minutes later somebody was DEFINITELY crossing the line, but it wasn't one of those pretty little college girls. In fact, they had left the table, leaving Walter alone with the old dude. That by itself wouldn't be such a big deal, except the jackass had switched seats and was now sitting right next to Walter, leaning in just a little too close to be acceptable, at least in Dean's opinion. No. This was not good. He clenched his jaw and felt heat rising to his face.

"Dude, your shot," Sam said, trying to get his attention.

"What?"

Sam was about to repeat himself when he glanced back and got a look at what Dean was staring at. With a smirk he asked, "Problem?"

"What?" Dean asked indignantly turning back to the pool table, "No."

"You sure?" Sam asked, grinning like an idiot, "Cuz you know, if you wanna go back to the table…"

"Shut up Sam," Dean grunted, leaning over to take his shot, "you're not getting out of me whooping your ass that easy."

"Mm-hmm," Sam answered, and Dean could hear the amusement in his voice. Irritated and distracted by whatever the hell was going on across the room, he missed his shot badly, nearly bouncing the cue ball off the table.

"Shit. Your shot."

Sam just laughed and took his turn, taking advantage of Dean's choke, he knocked one ball after another into the pockets. The whole time he was shooting, Dean kept casting distracted glances over at the table. And the more he looked, the more pissed he got. Walter was engrossed in whatever conversation they were having. He wasn't doing the shy, shrinking thing he usually did around strangers at all, and while Dean should have been glad about him breaking that habit, he was just plain jealous. It didn't help matters that every time Walter did look away, the jackass was obviously checking him out. Eyes roving all over Walter like he was a piece of meat. Oh. Hell. No.

"I won."

"What?" Dean asked, not even bothering to look back at Sam, too busy trying to watch where that guy was putting his hands.

"I said, I won Dean. You owe me twenty bucks."

"Yeah, yeah okay, whatever," Dean grabbed his beer and made a beeline back to Walter and his new friend, Sam following behind, chuckling.

"Hey," Dean said gruffly and slid into the seat across from Walter. He couldn't sit next to him because that jackass was in his place.

Walter smiled warmly, "Hey. How'd it go?"

"I kicked his ass," Sam grinned as he took the last open seat.

"Shut up Sam," Dean growled and then turned to the jackass giving him a feral, warning look as he introduced himself. "Dean Winchester."

Jackass just nodded politely, ignored the look, and turned back to gaze at Walter again, obviously too stupid to know when he was about to get wailed on. But Walter did recognize the look and, though he seemed confused by the reason for it, had jumped in before the blood could start flowing, "Uh, this is Michael. He's a professor of history over at the college. He was just telling me about the adult education course he teaches at night on the Roman emperors."

Oh. history professor huh? Just fucking great. That made sense. Jackass was an expert in the one area that Walter has a weakness for, besides God and Dean that is. Walter loved history. All periods, all countries. It was his hobby. He'd stay up all night reading Civil War tomes by Shelby Foote, and one rainy weekend during their rare downtime he read "The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich" in two days flat. Walter was a total history junkie. And here he was getting macked on by a professor without even realizing the guy was just using it as an edge to get in his pants. Typical Walter. So brilliant in some things, but so completely retarded when it came to people and their motives. He thought he was having a perfectly innocent conversation. That much was clear from the oblivious look on his face, and jackass was playing that to his advantage.

Sam jumped in to ease the tension, eager to avoid having to clean up the mess Dean would no doubt leave in his wake if he lost it. He started asking Michael about Nero and Augustus and who the fuck ever and who the hell cared. All Dean could concentrate on was Walter sitting there wrapped up in the conversation, while jackass's hand was sliding ever closer to his.

He almost missed the part where Michael invited Walter to sit in on his class. Walter politely refused, which gave Dean a small swell of pride. He'd obviously taught his boyfriend well enough not to get too involved with the people they met along the way, because involvement meant questions and and questions meant explanations and that got messy.

Then it happened, "Well then," Michael smiled and slid one arm around Walter's shoulder and his inching hand grasped Walter's wrist on the table. "How about just a nice quiet dinner then. We can discuss Alexander the Great. I have a whole bookshelf at home full of rare texts on his conquests."

Oh shit. Dean wasn't all that clear on history but he knew Alexander the Great was queer, he knew the way jackass had said 'conquests' was 12 kinds of dirty, and he knew his boyfriend, HIS WALTER, had just been propositioned to go back to this guys house for some alone time. RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM! Just as he calculated all that in his brain he looked up and saw a look of panic in Walter's eyes.

DING! DING! DING! He finally got it. He was getting hit on. Jesus, Walter, took you long enough. He pulled his hand back out of Michael's grasp but there wasn't much he could do about the arm around his shoulder without jumping up and making a scene. So he just sat there blushing three shades of red and stammered out, "I'm, uh….uh…I'm seeing someone."

"Really? Well, if I were dating someone as beautiful as you, I wouldn't let them go out at night without me. You deserve better than that. So how 'bout it? Nice dinner, some nice wine, good conversation. I promise you'll have a good time."

For a second Dean thought the guy was baiting him but then he realized the son of a bitch was so wrapped up in Walter that he really didn't see the situation. He had no idea that the 'someone' Walter was referring too was sitting across the table. But then why the hell would he? There were the rules, weren't there? Nobody knew, nobody got wise. Their thing was PRIVATE. And Dean had basically let this guy sit here for half an hour macking on Walter without doing a fucking thing about it. Of course Michael didn't think he was the boyfriend. What kind of decent boyfriend would have allowed that?

Dean Winchester, apparently. And now he was stuck. Stuck between his stupid fucking rules about what was public and what was private, and somebody feeling up his very self conscious, very uncomfortable boyfriend right in front of his face. He had no idea what to do. For some reason it never occurred to him that sort of thing would ever happen, what with Walter's shyness and all. He turned to Sam lfor some indication of the right move to make here, but Sam was no help at all.

In fact, his little brother was sitting there, mouth hanging open in shock, eyes flitting back and forth from Dean to Walter to jackass and back. He could see Sam's mind working in there, trying to grasp onto a plan that would keep either Dean from commiting murder or Walter from getting molested anymore and was apparently coming up blank. Helpless to do anything but sit there silently and wait for the bloodbath to start.

"So, sweetheart, what do you think? He's not here and I promise not to tell so how about it," Michael asked again, eyeing Walter lewdly.

"I, uh, I can't," he breathed out nervously shrinking back in on himself. He didn't out Dean. Dean knew he wouldn't. Walter always followed the rules. Not because he believed in them - he didn't. Not because he was comfortable with them -he wasn't. But because they were Dean's rules and he loved Dean. So he just sat there shifting uncomfortably under the guys touch and looking at Dean, his big blue eyes pleading for a rescue.

But if Dean attacked the guy, well that was a problem. The guy totally had it coming. Putting his hands on Walter. Putting his EYES on Walter. Fucker. But, fight equals cops equals questions equals messy, messy, messy. Violence wasn't gonna cut it. There was only one way out.

Fuck the rules. Dean stood up and as calmly as he could with his blood boiling walked around the table, grabbed Walter by the shirt and dragged him up and out of the guys reach. Then, in front of God and everybody he kissed him so hard and so deep that by the time he finished Walter was blurry eyed and panting.

Looking down he saw jackass staring wide-eyed at the scene. Dean gave him his most deadly, insincere smile and snarled through clenched jaw, "He's mine. Fuck off."

Jackass looked across the table at Sam to find him wearing an equally threatening look. That was enough for the history professor and he nearly broke his neck tripping over his chair to get away. Dean watched the guy til he was out of sight and then looked back down into Walter's eyes. He looked stunned and a little off balance.

"You okay, babe?" Dean whispered.

Walter nodded, "Yeah, I just…I didn't know he was…I'm sorry. I didn't know what he was doing."

"Hey, hey..it's okay. I know that." Dean assured him.

Then Walter's eyes got huge, "DEAN! You just, in front of everyone…I mean, you said it wasn't safe that we couldn't..and… the rules."

"Fuck the rules," Dean answered and stroked his hand gently down Walter's face, not caring who saw him petting his boyfriend anymore. Besides, no one seemed to give a damn. Not here. As he leaned in to kiss Walter again, he thought maybe big city nightlife wasn't so bad after all.