It had been a very long and tiring day at the garage, and all Dean wanted to do was go to his favorite haunt, bother Jo at the counter, or Ellen if she was in, and lose himself in the drink. However, his evening didn't particularly go as planned.


The Roadhouse was pretty packed by the time Dean managed to get there. He was trying to get farther on a restoration he wanted done within the next week, but Bobby didn't have some things he needed, and he was on the phone for an hour before he found a place nearby with matching parts. He made sure to wash the grease from his hands and face and change his shirt before he came, or he'd never hear the end of it.

He sat himself down at his typical spot at the counter and waved Jo over, who noticed him on his way in.

Jo's flirty smile dropped the moment she reached Dean. "This is your fourth day in a row, Dean. Is there something going on I don't know about?" She leaned on the counter, rag in one hand, a few bills crushed in the other.

Dean rolled his eyes, waving away her words. "Watch it. You're starting to sound like your mother." He gave her a smirk and fished out some money from his pocket, handing it over.

Jo accepted the cash, tucking it away with the rest in her apron. "Good." She smiled at him, reaching over to pop him in the head affectionately. "Maybe I can start to scare some sense into you, too." She chose to ignore Dean's muttered response and held up her hands. "So…the usual tonight?"

"You know it, babe." Dean said with a wink, though it wasn't an attempt at flirting. He had learned his place real quick where Jo was concerned, thanks to Ellen. As Jo moved off to grab him a bottle, he scanned the rest of the bar for anyone worth chatting up. There were very few women here tonight, he noticed with some amount of sadness. There must have been a game on or something. Place wasn't normally this packed mid-week.

Dean used to keep up with sports – at least to keep up with appearances – but he soon grew tired of talking players and stats with the other men at the garage and had finally brought in an old stereo he'd bought off some guy a few years back. Blasting 'mullet rock', as Sammy put it, tended to put a stop to any conversations about sports. Of course, it cost him the companionship of some of the guys there, but Dean didn't particularly care. He didn't work at Bobby's garage to make friends.

Jo slid him his drink then, forcing him to turn back around. He grabbed it, popped the cap in one smooth motion, and downed a few gulps before looking back out at the people. Staring at rows of alcohol wasn't much fun, so he figured he'd stare at some people instead. The few women he managed to spot were hanging off other men already, and one of them looked like she was paid to be there. Dean scoffed, finishing off his first beer of the night and signaling for another. Guess he'd go home alone tonight. Maybe it was for the best. He was already pretty exhausted from work.

He took a drink from his new beer slowly, peering out over the bottle for anyone interesting he might have missed, and that's when he spotted something strange. In the far back, wedged between to fake potted plants, sat a surly looking man staring down a row of five shots. His hands were shoved between his knees, and he hunched over the table with a furrow etched into his brow. He had on a pressed suit, a tan trench coat, and a five o'clock shadow, but all that wasn't really what caught Dean off guard. It was the four empty bottles scattered around him, and the half empty bottle of vodka sitting dangerously close to the edge of the table.

Dean must've made some sort of noise, or had been obviously staring, because the next thing he knew, Jo was in his ear and whispering, "See somethin' you like?" Dean moved to push her away with an annoyed grunt, but she swished away with a chuckle at his empty bottle. He dropped off the stool and pointed towards the bathrooms. Jo nodded and held up his next drink, keeping it ready for him when he returned.

He wove through the other patrons and shouldered his way into the bathroom, making it a point to go to the urinal farthest from the door. He wasn't a shy man by any means, but he'd once made the mistake of standing a little too close to a man a little too wasted and came away with ruined shoes because of it. Just as he had finally gotten comfortable and started to go, the hairs on his neck stood on end. Someone was watching him.

Without moving his neck, he glanced to his side and caught a flash of gloriously blue eyes and a touch of a smirk before the man looked away quickly. Dean looked down at himself, swallowing thickly, and made it a point not to glance back.

Was that…?

No, it couldn't be.

This place took all sorts, sure, but it hadn't exactly been a haven for gay men hoping for a hookup. He huffed out a breath and zipped up carefully before splashing some water on his hands and dashing out the door. He wasn't even sure if the other man was still in the bathroom by the time he left, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to chance it.

As he retook his seat, he wordlessly accepted his next drink from Jo, his face looking ashen. How long had it last been? Years, at least. Maybe even a decade by now. Jesus. It had to be a long time to get his heart beating this wildly; to get his hands to shake like they were. He needed a distraction while he finished his last drink and then he could go on home and let his pillows soak up his anxiety.

He soon found himself eying the tax accountant in the corner, who was still staring down the shots like they held the secret of the universe. His position had changed, slightly, but his mood was left undamaged.

Before he knew what he was doing, Dean had moved over to the table and had taken up hovering near the other man. Dean almost jumped back when suddenly one long-fingered hand swept out and snatched the first shot. The man snapped his head back, eyes closed, and downed it expertly, leaving the empty glass upside down and unwanted on the table.

Dean cleared his throat, and the man's hand paused around the second shot. "Bad night?"

The shot was downed and overturned a second later. Then, a gruff voice with an edge of playfulness answered. "It's looking up." A third shot, a third glass discarded. Dean quickly got the message that his presence wasn't wanted and started to move away from the table, but the man looked up, a touch of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Have a seat?" He asked, voice sugar-sweet, hand sweeping out to indicate the chair in front of him.

Dean's breath caught in his throat, his mouth going dry. He took a sip from his nearly forgotten drink, but that did little to help. He couldn't take his eyes off the striking blue ones in front of him. Those same blue eyes from the bathroom, above the same smirking mouth. Only now they were attached to this ruffled looking man who was downing shots like they were skittles. Dean coughed, and quickly took a seat once he realized he was making a fool of himself without even being properly drunk. "Thanks,"

The other man wasted no time in further unraveling Dean. "So, not used to getting hit on in this place, I assume?" He slowly spun his fourth shot in place, the glass making soft sounds against the grain in the table.

"W-what?" Dean sputtered, his free hand going flat, palm down against his thigh, as if to steady himself.

"You heard me. I know you saw me looking," He pushed the glass in his hands away and sat back in his chair, studying Dean. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and Dean couldn't help but follow its path, which immediately reddened his face once he noticed what he had done. "In fact," The man drawled. "I saw you looking before." He gestured over to where Dean sat earlier; Dean knew - he didn't have to follow the man's hand. "And I see you looking now." He reached up to loosen his tie and chuckled deeply when Dean's eyes followed the movement.

Dean swallowed the last of his beer, finally able to find his voice. "What do you want?" He asked, though he already knew. The nerves from earlier came rushing back full force. Was he really about to do this?

The man smiled wickedly, eyes flashing. "I think you know."

Oh, he knew. How could he not? But wasn't he getting too old for this? He had work tomorrow. Parts to pick up, classic cars to fix! He had no right acting like a teenager at his age, not when he had responsibilities. He couldn't.

He didn't realize he had stood up. "Yeah, okay." He found himself saying, his hands tucked deep within his pockets to keep them from shaking. What on earth was he doing?

The tax accountant with the freaky eyes stood up, taking Dean loosely by the elbow and leading him from the bar. "I'm Castiel, by the way." He leaned in to whisper, his breath smelling strongly of alcohol. Dean would have recoiled, but he was having a hard enough time as it was trying not to run into anything on his way out.

He caught Jo's curious look while he exited the bar with this 'Castiel' - whatever the fuck kind of name that was - but he could only offer her a halfhearted shrug as he was dragged outside and into the alley off the side of the bar.

He found himself being backed up roughly against a wall once they were a few feet into the shadow, and before he could process the feeling of hard brick through his leather jacket, Castiel's hands were all over him, and one had already wormed its way up the front of his shirt.

Dean was frozen, his hands twitching against his thighs, wanting to move, to help things along, to touch, feel. But it really had been a long time. Too long. He just couldn't quite make himself move. However, Castiel didn't seem to mind, and instead latched himself to Dean's neck, licking up some of the old sweat from the day, probably tasting oil, and nipping at his skin. "Hey, uh," Dean started, his neck turning to the side in an unconscious gesture, offering more of his throat. "Ya think, maybe we should, uh, go someplace else?" Not in the open, for god's sake.

Castiel chucked deeply, and this time he was close enough for Dean to feel it reverberate through him. He pressed tighter against Dean, one of his hands under Dean's black tee, gripping his side a bit roughly, and the other resting on his shoulder. He brought up one leg and pressed it between Dean's knees, pulling a sharp gasp from Dean's mouth. Shit. He didn't even remember getting so hard.

Castiel hummed in amusement, pleased with Dean's reaction. "Turn around." He ordered, his voice sounding even more wrecked if such a thing was possible. When Dean hesitated, he pulled his hand out from under Dean's shirt and gripped the other shoulder, ready to bodily move him if he had to. "Now." He growled out, mouth pressed to Dean's ear, his warm breath contrasting with the cool air of the night.

Dean complied easily, swirling around and pressing his cheek against a sign nailed into the brick, his hands about waist level and gripping into what he could of the wall, his legs spread a bit and ass presented. He closed his eyes and huffed, drawing in his lip to bite at it. If only I could see myself, he thought with a touch of bitterness, I probably look like a wanton whore.

But if he was completely honest, he couldn't be bothered to give a fuck what he looked like at that moment. He opened his eyes when he felt those curious hands return to his body, and laughed a nervous, self-conscious laugh. "Cas, right?" He grit out, feeling the man in question press himself hard against his ass. "I'm Dean." He said, though it came out more of a grunt when Cas pressed an arm against his shoulders and shoved him more roughly against the wall.

Cas' leg returned to its spot between Dean's knees, knocking them further apart. He felt the hands on his sides slide down to his pants, undoing them in a few flicks of the wrist. Dean closed his eyes again, pressing his forehead on the cool metal sign. He wasn't ready for this. He really wasn't. Not mentally anyway, but some deep part of him – some part he thought he'd neatly tucked away – needed this, so he went along with that part for now. It was easier than fighting it.

Suddenly, his jeans were bunched around his calves, the material catching on the tops of his boots. He heard Cas drop to his knees. At the feeling of those long fingers creeping up the insides of his thighs, his cock gave an interested twitch. He breathed out slowly, controlled, as his underwear was pulled down his legs, and then he was half naked to this stranger, to anyone who happened upon them. Dean twisted and looked behind himself, flushing a little at the look Cas was giving him, but mostly from the embarrassment. Outside was a new experience for him, and hell, men might as well have been a new experience, too.

"Aren't you a little…overdressed?" Dean asked, trying to sound snarky and sure of himself, but it didn't come out the way he wanted.

Cas looked up, his eyes on him sharply, that dammed smirk on his lips still. "Not at all. I'm perfectly comfortable." He answered coolly, though Dean saw the small movement he made, pressing his palm down against his crotch. So that's how it was.

Dean decided, since he was already exposed and at this point had nothing to lose except maybe the remainder of his dignity, he would play with Cas, by Cas' rules. If he wanted Dean to be the only one naked, then Dean would make sure Cas hated himself for that idea. He braced himself on the wall, leaning forward into it some more, and pressed his ass out farther, his legs scooting apart as far as he could make them go without losing his balance. He heard a quiet gasp behind him, and counted that as a personal win.

At least, he did, until he felt two hands gripping and pulling apart his cheeks. Warm breath settled over his skin, and he had to force himself from pulling away from the sensation. Okay. This was definitely a new experience. "Cas…?" He asked shakily, not daring to look back.

He heard a hum in the affirmative, which he quickly learned was his only warning before a warm, wet tongue laved at his hole. The fingers holding him open gripped tighter, nails digging into the soft skin. He made some sort of choked noise when the tongue pushed passed the ring of muscle and bucked his hips backwards, wordlessly demanding more, even if he wasn't sure if he liked the feeling yet or not.

Cas chuckled, pulling away and sitting back on his haunches a moment to catch his breath before resuming his earlier activities. As that tongue did sinful things inside of him, Dean carefully removed one hand from the wall and brought it down to circle his dick. He didn't even get a chance to stroke once before his hand was smacked away and a warning growl came from Cas' throat that Dean actually felt.

Dean was abandoned once more.

"You don't get to come like that." Cas explained, voice rough. Dean may or may not have whined. "Patience." Cas promised, pulling apart Dean's cheeks again, though this time, he only used one hand. Dean heard him spit, and that knot in his stomach twisted a bit further. He felt curious fingers circling his hole, pressing down, but not quite breaching.

"Just do it," Dean grit out, huffing against the arm he had brought up to rest his head against. "You're fuckin' killing me here."

Cas chuckled and pushed a finger all the way inside in one swift motion. Dean wiggled against it, but otherwise said nothing. Cas took this as a go-ahead and stuck in two more a little roughly. This caused Dean's breath to hitch and he pulled his hips away a little before forcing himself to relax. "Sorry," He grunted, moving his hips back to where they had been, and subsequently pushing the fingers further into him. "Ah,"

"S'okay," Cas managed, sounding a little more wrecked. He started moving his fingers now, crooking them at each down stroke and spreading them at each entrance.

After a few thrusts of the fingers, Dean started pressing back against them, trying to get Cas to the spot he knew would be able to get him off. He hadn't played with himself in a while this way, but he felt Cas was close, so close, and "Oh!"

"There we go." Cas breathed, letting go of the cheek he'd been holding open and instead twisting his hand around Dean's thigh. To steady himself or Dean, Dean wasn't quite sure. His fingers changed to the correct angle then, hitting Dean's prostate with each movement, causing Dean to buck up against air and back against Cas' fingers.

"Please," Dean said after a few more minutes had passed. He wasn't sure if he could take being on edge much longer, and from the sounds Cas was making, he desperately needed to touch himself as well.

"Mm, yeah, okay. Hold on." Cas mumbled, withdrawing his fingers and wiping them off on the leg of his dress pants. Dean heard some rustling, then a soft, "Fuck,"

Dean looked back and saw Cas sitting on his knees, coat draped around his body, the bottom gathered to his lap as he searched through it. "What?" He asked, getting the feeling that something wasn't right.

Cas glanced up at him, and jesus was Dean wrong when he said Sam had the most ridiculous puppy dog look. Those big blue eyes looked at him mournfully and all Dean wanted to do was gather Cas up in his arms. "I didn't bring condoms." Cas admits after a moment, his head ducking down to his chest.

Dean let out a choked laugh and straightened himself up. "Seriously?" He asked, turning around slowly and starting to grab at his pants to pull them back on. "Hey, it's cool, man. We can, uh. Did you drive?"

Cas looked back up at him and stared in a way Dean was quickly starting to realize was just how Cas looked at people. He noticed a bit too late, however, that Cas wasn't staring at his face and hastily pulled up his underwear and pants, zipping them up halfway and not bothering with the button. Cas nodded slowly, holding out a hand, and Dean helped him to his feet. He wobbled in place for a second, gathering himself before answering. "Yeah, but… I'm not good to drive… you?"

Dean sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I've driven on worse before." He eyed Cas, and he'd be damned if that lost expression wasn't killing him. "We could go to my place? I'll drop you off for your car in the morning, if you want."

Cas blinked. "Okay."

Dean wasn't sure where that cocky and sure of himself man he met went, but he wasn't particularly complaining about this more docile and reserved version, either. "Alright. Follow me."

He lead Cas to his car and swelled with pride when Cas' eyes widened and he smiled brightly. "This yours?" He breathed, running his hands down the side of the Impala. "It's so pretty."

Dean coughed, motioning for Cas to stop feeling up his ride and get in. Cas muttered something that sounded like an apology and dropped inside, his fingers touching the dash, the door, the leather seats. "Careful," Dean warned, starting her up. "You might just overexcite the poor girl." He laughed at Cas' expression of surprise that quickly dissolved into something exasperated, complete with an eye roll.

"How far away is your place?" Cas asked after a few songs had come and gone on the radio. Dean looked over to see him wiggling in his seat, and was surprised to see an erection still tenting his pants. Dean's own cock had mostly settled by now, though his ass was feeling a bit of discomfort from earlier activities. Thinking about what had actually happened in that alley brought life back to his deflated cock, and his fidgeting matched Cas' next to him.

"Close," Dean offered, when he spotted the familiar street ahead of him.

Within five minutes, they had parked haphazardly in the parking lot, survived it through the short elevator ride without doing anything obscene, and made it inside Dean's modest apartment. Cas once against latched himself to the same spot on Dean's neck, and Dean was sure he'd have a bruise there tomorrow. "Cas," He started, receiving only a hum in response. "Do you have a thing for pressing people against walls, or can we take this to my bedroom?"

Cas mouthed 'oh' around Dean's neck and backed off, his hands out in a sort of surrender. "Lead the way."

Dean pulled off his jacket and placed it carefully on the back of a chair and waited for Cas to do something with his coat. When he didn't, he shrugged and continued to the bedroom, unzipping his pants and stepping back out of them. He pulled his shirt over his head and toed off his boots and socks before sitting on the edge of his bed and looking expectantly over at Cas.

Cas, for all his earlier bravado, stood in the doorway, frozen. Dean felt that at some point during the night, the tables had turned. "Hey, you okay?"

Cas shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and started to untuck and unbutton his dress shirt. In one movement, he pushed off the shirt, his jacket, and his coat, leaving them in a heap on the floor as he kicked off his shoes and started to undo his pants. Dean frowned at the methodical way he undressed, but he said nothing as more and more skin became visible. For all the work Dean did outside in the sun, Cas was surprisingly a lot more tan for a tax accountant – or whatever he was. Finally, he stood before Dean in a pair of black briefs and a white undershirt.

Dean beckoned him to where he sat on the bed and tugged at the undershirt once Cas was close enough. Cas pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the heap of clothes on the floor and settled between Dean's legs, his hands coming to rest on Dean's shoulders.

Dean looked up at Cas, seeing his chest heave and his cheeks go pink. "So. Look. I have work tomorrow, and while this was a good idea at the time, maybe we could not-" Dean was cut off when Cas pushed him on the bed and settled on top of him.

"Shh…" He whispered into Dean's ear, going back to Dean's neck and nipping at the skin of his collarbone and all long his jaw. Deft fingers smoothed over Dean's sides and down to his underwear, pulling them down to Dean's thighs before he pulled his own down as well.

"Wait, what are you-" Dean gasped arching into Cas' hand and simultaneously pressing himself against Cas' dick. "Oh," He breathed, thrusting up into Cas' fingers and bringing his hands up to smooth over the man's shoulders. Cas lowered himself some more, propped up now by only his elbow, his other hand working slowly and slickly at their cocks. Dean was fully hard again, and Cas was making a right mess of things with his precome, but Dean wasn't paying it much attention. He thrust up against Cas again and opened his eyes to the expanse of Cas' back.

"Wow." Dean said softly, smoothing his fingers over the inked patterns of wings he found there. Cas' muscles made the wings ripple with each movement. "These are beautiful." Dean managed in between pants.

Cas huffed and mumbled out a gruff 'thank you', though there was a smirk playing at his lips. Dean brought one of his hands around to scrape down Cas' chest, and smiled when he noticed a single freckle near one of Cas' nipples. He let his nails drag across the bud slowly a few times; smiling wider at each hitch of breath he managed to draw from Cas. "Might wanna stop that," Cas warned, his hand picking up pace now. "Close," He added, by way of explanation.

Dean just smirked, though if he was honest with himself, he was right back at the edge again, too. He leaned up; thumb still playing with the nipple, making it red. "Then come." He said silkily, thrusting against Cas once, twice more before he was spilling into Cas' fingers and on his stomach. Cas grunted and gave a small cry as he came, his face pressed into Dean's neck.

"Shit." Cas groaned, letting both their cocks fall from his hand while he caught his breath.

"I'd have to agree." Dean said, a smile in his voice, though a yawn quickly followed. "For being tired and drunk, I'd say we did pretty well." The knot in his stomach had settled once he realized he wasn't going to allow himself to go all the way so quickly, and now that the endorphins had settled, he was ready to roll over and pass out. He started to shift underneath the weight on him. "You're heavy," He complained.

He felt Cas chuckle before he was face to face with those blue eyes again. "Lemme clean us up." He said, pushing off Dean and the bed and reaching over for his undershirt, wiping off his hand and cock and tucking himself back in. He did the same for Dean and tossed the shirt back in the heap of clothing. The last thing Dean was aware of was his legs being moved completely on the bed, and then, nothing.


Dean woke up to the noise of the shower running. It took him a moment to fully wake up and register who'd be in the shower, but when he did, he found himself smiling. Cas stepped out of the bathroom in a towel, dark hair mussed up and water still clinging to his chest. He had one of Dean's old plaid shirts in his hand, and a pair of sweats slung over his arm. Dean squinted at him. "You still here?"

Cas rolled his eyes and pulled the towel off, revealing the briefs he had been wearing last night. If Dean was disappointed, he kept his mouth firmly shut while Cas dressed. Surprisingly, Dean wasn't upset at the idea of this man just casually borrowing his clothing. "You said it was okay." Cas explained, buttoning up the plaid top. "Besides," He smiled, sitting on the end of the bed and pulling back on his dress shoes - looking terribly mismatched and yet still somehow endearing. "I figured you owe me one." He got up and wandered away into the living room, leaving Dean behind, confused and still half asleep.

Dean managed to get up a few minutes later and hop in the shower himself, washing off the dirt and sweat and grease from work, as well as the added layer of grime from last night. When he got out, he smelled food being prepared, so he dressed in his work outfit quickly, making his way into the kitchen where he assumed the good smells were coming from.

When he entered, he saw a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon waiting for him at the table. Cas was leaning against the counter, staring down the toaster in a way that reminded Dean of last night. He looked away from it when Dean walked in and gestured at the offered plate with a smile. "Breakfast first?" He asked with a raise of his brow.

Dean laughed outright and took a seat, stabbing some of the eggs. "A man after my own heart." He teased. When he looked up, smiling around a mouthful of bacon, he noticed the stare directed at him again. And oddly enough, the knot dissolved completely.