|City of Sin
Author: rchginger PM
Dean/Castiel AU-Slash heavy don't like don't read...Detective Castiel...Stripper Dean anything else would be a spoiler. NC-17-m/m sex and languageRated: Fiction M - English - Crime - Castiel & Dean W. - Chapters: 3 - Words: 5,624 - Reviews: 15 - Favs: 44 - Follows: 6 - Published: 10-19-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6412386
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Title: City of Sin
Rating: NC-17 for language and m/m sex
Notes? Prompts? Prompted by Sarkywoman on LJ's SPN KINKMEME AU
Summary: Detective Cas…stripper Dean
The City of Sin was a shit storm going down the drain fast. Death was an everyday occurrence and the prostitutes and drug dealers ruled the streets not even bothering to hide in the shadows of the night. Cops were on the take, turning their backs and closing their eyes as the crime wave washed away any innocence's that may have survived. Castiel hated it; the shit city that stunk of rotting flesh and the people that would soon as gank you than tell you 'Hello'. Sometimes Castiel thinks it would be better to just get in his Charger and drive 'till he could no longer see this fucked up place in his rearview mirror. Sometimes…but then there was Dean. Smooth talking, fast walking, self proclaimed slut of sin. Clad in leather with the body of a god that could bend and writhe and…..Castiel wonder what it said about him that the only person he cared about in this fucked up city was a stripper.
Rain pinged off the roof of his one bedroom flat; smearing down the window in ugly designs. Thunder boomed in the distance and Castiel groaned, trying in vain to shut out the glare of the red 2:00 A.M. on his alarm clock. He watched as it flicked to 2:01 before giving up on getting any sleep. The air was sticky and heavy with heat and a stench that was all Sin, Castiel leaned against the old, iron railing of the small balcony off his just as small bedroom. The first drag of the cigarette sizzled on the back of his throat, a soothing burn that was just what he needed.
There were things he could be doing, should be doing; the killer of eighteen year old Jessica Miller was still out there thumbing his nose at the fake plaster that was this city's justice system. He should be out there looking for him, hunting his ass down into the inky black pavement until the punk cried for his mama in the back of a squad car. He should be….but he'd over did it with his overtime for this week and was of the clock until Monday rolled around. It was the only thing the Chief was good at keeping track of.
So when his phone rang he knew it could only be one person.
"Damn baby you sound like someone worked you over. Should I be jealous?" Castiel could hear faint sounds of the Roadhouse. Patrons jeering for the naked entertainment splayed out before them. But the sound of Dean's voice drowned it out.
"Hmmm." He shook ashes of his fingers and scratched at a spot on his bare stomach.
"It's a damn good thing that I have strong self-esteem."
"Wouldn't want to shatter that fragile ego of yours."
"Damn straight. Now, you still looking for the one that did that pretty little girl?"
"Cause there's some dude down here bragging about havin' done her. I just thought you'd want to know."
The Roadhouse was a strip club posing as a bar, posing as a higher establishment. It was a façade but it was a pretty façade to look at. Ellen ran it right and didn't take any shit and if you touched her workers she'd kick your ass and throw you out into the gutters before you even had a chance to mutter a half-assed apology. The black painted door creaked as Cas pushed through, throwing a look at the muscled ripped bouncer. Led Zeppelin was playing over the speakers and Dean was on stage. Leather pants hugging his hips and a 'cut' hanging off his shoulders while he did downright criminal things to a metal pole and lasso.
The beer did nothing to wash away the heated lust or the heaviness between his legs as he watched Dean perform. Sometimes he couldn't stand it, watching Dean fuck metal…..watching everyone else watch Dean fuck metal. But tonight he enjoyed it and watched….wanting. But he wouldn't touch, Dean Winchester was fire and he'd burn a hole right through Castiel's heart if he'd allow. The song slipped into something grimier, something far more ugly and Dean left the stage. Cas didn't have to wait long before the younger man was sliding up to him. An arm sliding around his waist, a hand taking the brown bottle and lifting it to a full-red mouth that Castiel spent far too much time thinking about.
"Trench coat tonight babe?"
"It's raining." Blue eyes tracked the smooth line of Dean's throat as it worked down the too bitter, too weak liquor. "You looked good up there."
"I always look good up there." He slid a knee between Castiel's. "I look damn good between the sheets as well."
"Yeah, yeah I know. Can I at least get a hello kiss?"
Slightly chapped lips pressed against wet, smooth, full ones. It was all teeth and tongues dancing….twirling…mating. The only fucking Castiel allowed and Dean took it in like a dying man getting a fresh taste of air. Dean rocked into Cas, his dick finding friction of the inside of Castiel's thigh and they both groaned. A desperate broken sound of wanting. It was over too soon when Ellen came over slamming other beer onto the bar, throwing amused and dirty looks at the pair.
"Um, damn." Dean bit at his bottom lip, the action causing Castiel to groan. "You sure you don't want to fuck me."
Castiel was sure he did, he really-really did want to fuck Dean. Hard. Fast. Forward. Straight. Any and all positions the mind could imagine. He was also sure it wasn't a good idea.
"Yeah." A resigned sigh and he moved back an inch or two, picking up the new bottle of beer. "Your boy's over there."
Castiel's eyes followed to where Dean's had skipped. Gordon. The man was resting in a corner both, a blond woman on his and a blond man on his left. The man was mouthing at Gordon's collar while the woman's hand played beneath the cover of the table. It wasn't the first time Gordon had turned up in one of Castiel's cases. Gordon had his hands in everyone's pockets; the chief, the mayor, hell he was rumored to be blackmailing the governor and fucking his pretty little wife.
"Think you can get him into the back?"
Dean snorted. "I can get him into the back, naked and handcuffed like a fucked up present waiting for you to use."
"He doesn't need to be naked." Castiel blanched. There was just something's he didn't need to see.
Dean hadn't been lying, when Castiel made his way to the back room Gordon had been trumpet up like a stuff turkey in the middle of a shitty looking bed clothed in yellow stained sheets. Dean was lounging at a rusty vanity, smirking and telling Gordon that it wasn't anything personal….just business… 'I want into the Detective's pants."
Uriel hadn't been happy to see him when he dragged Gordon (literally) kicking and screaming through the bull pen. Then again the captain was never happy to see him.
"Thought I told you I didn't want to see you until Monday."
Cas shrugged and shoved Gordon towards the cage; there was a loud clang as his head hit the metal bars. "Call it an early Christmas present."
"Yeah, yeah I'm already leaving. Try to keep him in there for longer than a day this time."
Castiel was tired….a bone weary exhaustion weighing down his mind. Suppressing a wince he pushed out of the car; boots hitting the wet pavement, the driver side door slamming shut behind him. Rain snaked its way down the neck of his t-shirt and pooled in the lapels of his trench coat. Ignoring the cold sensation Cas made his way to the white townhouse, the only damn clean place on the whole damn block. For as dirty minded as Dean was he liked his shit tidy and organized. Everything in its place and a place for everything. Castiel shook his head, just when he thought he had Dean down.
It'd been a week since Dean and the Roadhouse and…shit… Castiel hated admitting it, hated himself for it, but damn he had missed him. The rough, dirty sent of leather and musk and Dean. Dreams of fucking the bendy man in positions that blew his mind had kept him company for the past week. He'd waken up sweaty and shaking…breath raspy and hand wrapped around his dick. But it hadn't been enough; the ache was still there…the need. He wondered if tonight would be the night he'd give in. Let them both take and give and delve into what they both wanted.
And damn it would be good.
The door opened before he made it up the stairs. A brown haired man tumbled out and he didn't even glance at Castiel before pushing back into Dean's space. He whispered something into Dean's ear that made his cheeks blush with heat. And….yeah.
"There a problem?" Castiel's voice was a growl….and fuck he sounded possessive.
Dean jerked, head hitting the doorjamb as he turned to look at Cas with a smile that was…relieved?
"None of your damn business." The unknown man asked still staring at Dean, still in his space. His grip on Dean's arm looked tight even to Cas who was standing a good five feet away.
Before Dean could protest, before the man could fight Cas had his head in a lock and was pulling him away from Dean.
"Do you want him here Dean?"
"You heard the man."
A snort. "Man? I think you mean slut, maybe bitch."
A twist of Castiel's arm sent the man tumbling down the granite stairs. Blood seeped from his forehead and Castiel took a sick pleasure at the sight. He loomed over the man, pushing back his trench coat, a not-so-subtle showing of the Sig on his hip.
"Cas, C'mon man." Dean took a hold of his arm. "He's not worth it."
"I could probably get off."
"Probably, but you're a good guy. You don't kill people."
"Hmmm." A kick broke rips and had the guy crying out.
Cas smiled and wrapped an arm around Dean's waist guiding him into the house. He shut the door, locked it and settled himself onto the brown sectional. The cushions shifted and Dean curled up beside him.
"You didn't have to do that."
"Did you want him here?"
"Then, yes, I did."
The wound in his side pulled as he shrugged out of his coat and jacket. The white t-shirt was slowly turning red and fuck he'd torn his stitches.
"Cas?" Dean question, helping him out the bloody shirt. He balled it up and used it to wipe away the excess blood.
"It's nothing." Cas closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch.
"So you didn't get shot?"…How the hell…? "People talk and people talk about you to me."
"People should shut up."
"Then I would never know what was going on with you." Dean stood and held out his hand. "Come on, I'm not letting you bled all over my couch."
Dean pulled him through the house, up a narrow staircase and into a large master bedroom. Castiel wondered how Dean could afford it but he didn't want to know….he really-really didn't want to know all that Dean had to do to earn the money.
A single picture of his younger brother Sam sat on the dresser in a corner obstructed by bottles of cologne and lotion. He would have missed it if he hadn't already known it was there. Dean had him lay down over the Queen sized bed and he stitched up Cas, sterilizing the needle with good whiskey before handing the bottle to Cas. He most have dozed off; the feeling of Dean's hands smoothing away the sting of the needle piercing flesh lulling him to sleep.
When he woke it was morning, Dean was pressed to his side a hand cupping Cas' harden dick. It had been the first night he slept through in….forever. And yeah he knew what it said that it was with Dean curled around him. He wasn't stupid. His phone chirped away annoyingly, he groaned reaching out; fingers brushing the bunt of his gun and the cold metal of badge before finding the dancing, singing device.
"Yeah." His voice was raspy and he cleared his throat, peeking to make sure he hadn't waked Dean.
"Detective Novak this is Dispatch, your presences in requested at 255 Main St, Red light district."
"Copy dispatch." He shut the phone. "I got go."
He knew Dean was awake, he could feel his eyes on his face.
"Yeah, I'm surprised you stayed." Dean moved onto an elbow, placing on hand on Castiel's chest.
"I liked it."
"Yeah, it was okay. Would have been better if we'd fucked first."
"I don't think me bleeding to death while fucking you would have been any fun."
"It would've been hot though."
"I worry about you sometime." Castiel allowed Dean to kiss him; ignoring the dry, heavy feeling on his tongue. "I really got to go."
"You know where to find me."
Yeah he did, because the only bright spot in his fucked up life was a stripper.
Dean had known Michael wouldn't stay away and he knew he'd probably be pissed after getting his ass kicked by Cas. But…it'd been fun to watch so Dean would put up with his shit while inwardly smiling about how he'd tumbled down the stairs and cowered beneath Castiel's glare.
"Where's your new daddy at?" Dean ignored him and continued to wipe down the bar. "Didn't know you were fuckin' a cop now. Didn't think he could afford your sweet ass."
Michael grabbed said ass and Dean glared, pushing the slightly bigger man into a table. Chairs squeaked over the sticky wood floor and the table toppled to the side.
"You really shouldn't have done that Dean. Your little cop isn't here to protect you."
Dean found himself bent over the bar, his arms twisted around his back. Michael's hench-bitch Zachariah and a new puppy dog Dean didn't know shuffled closer. The Roadhouse was closed and Ellen was banging around in the back room so no one was there to protest as the syringe nicked Dean and the drug made its way through his system. Then again this is Sin….no one would have protested anyways.
The door banged against the wall as Castiel barged through, the barely leashed anger making his head pound. Dean was missing….Dean was missing….Dean was missing.
Blood on the bar had been Dean's; he didn't need a damn lab tech to tell him that. The Impala was in the parking lot of the Roadhouse, the windows cracked and frost coating the window shield. His phone had been found next to the back right tower and Castiel had broken his against a brick wall when he picked it up.
Dean was missing…Dean was missing…Dean was missing…
Day turned to night and turned to day again and Castiel didn't sleep. He couldn't because he loved Dean and he…was..missing. Criminals fled at the sight of him, the word had spread that he'd gone rogue. Anyone that stood in his way would meet the barrel of his gun. Or the ledge of a building….like Gordon.
The man was screaming, pleading, the piss on his pants drying as the cold wind whipped at his clothes. He was hanging over the ledge, Castiel's hand on his legs the only thing keeping him from falling.
"Shit man! What? What?"
"Where's Dean?" Castiel raised his voice to be heard over the roaring wind.
"I don't know man, I don't. I ain't seen the bitch…" Castiel let him slip. "Alright, shit, I'm sorry, just…please man don't drop me."
"Where is he?"
"It wasn't me Cas, man I swear, it wasn't me. Yeah I was pissed at him for giving me up to you, but…I got eyes. I'd do that and more for a chance to get at you."
Castiel thought about dropping him, he did, but…he was the good guy, he didn't kill people. His muscles strained as he pulled Gordon back up to the roof.
"Thanks man, thanks Cas."
Gordon's nose broke under Castiel's fist and the other man crumpled to the floor.
"Don't call me Cas."
The bull pen was filled with noise, the flimsy wood door to Dean's closet sized office did nothing to keep out the voices and ringing phones. The desk chair squeaked as Castiel twisted, his blue gaze on the computer but not seeing. Dean's been gone for three days, three days with no word or sight. And Castiel was getting worried…really-really fucking worried. He almost ignored the ringing phone, almost. When he heard Jo Harvelle's voice on the other line he was glad he didn't.
"I, um Cas, I think I know who has Dean."
He could kiss the blond. Cas ignored the sneering looks his co-workers through at him as he made his way to the exit. Taking money….not even under the table….apparently was acceptable in Sin but screwing a male stripper. It didn't matter that he wasn't actually screwing Dean, everyone else thought he was. And people talked in Sin…people always talked.
"Hey Novak. Found your ass-slut yet," A couple of uniforms laughed at the punk's joke.
And usually Cas could ignore it….he would tell them to stick their pencil dicks down their pissy friends throat and flip them the fuck off. Usually…the punks nose broke, his ribs broke, and his arm popped from its socket as Castiel pounded at the prick, taking his anger and worry out on him.
"Novak!" Uriel roared as Castiel was pulled off the crumbled, weeping man. "You're suspended, a month with no pay. Get out and don't let me see your face again."
In any other city beating the shit out of a fellow officer would be cause for his badge to be pulled. In Sin it was just another day. Some days he wanted to burn this fucked up city.