Chapter Text
In the back of his mind he knew standing in this very spot was not good for him, but it was the kind of not-good-for-you that felt good and right in the short term, and only in the future would he maybe regret it. But he wasn’t sober enough for those kinds of thoughts.
Castiel stood about two feet from a gigantic black speaker that was taller than he was, with heavy bass vibrating out and into his body. He drank in the sounds that could have been music or could have been someone screaming into a microphone along with the heavy thumping in his head and ringing in his ears. Rapidly cooling sweat was running down his back making his tight, black t-shirt cling uncomfortably. Beads were forming on the top of his head and forehead, but somehow this sweat just added to the moment – the damp black hair and the saltiness on his lips. Other people were constantly pressing into him, and he was pressing back into them indiscriminately. Occasionally one person would stay with him and they would grind together, almost drowsily, and in those moments not all the sweat on his body belonged to him.
Castiel had his arms in the air and was swaying his narrow hips to a particular beat when he felt a body sidle up behind him and place hands on his hip bones. The body starting grinding into his ass, and Cas instinctively moved backward, showing his interest. He was pulled flushed to this stranger, who was definitely male by the roughness of the movement and the stiffness he could now feel being pushed and rubbed against him. The stranger’s hand snaked across Cas’s exposed stomach at the top of his jeans, and began palming his half-hard cock over the top of his pants. Cas dropped his head back, which landed on the person’s shoulder, and let out a moan that wouldn’t be heard by anyone. Desperate to increase the friction, Cas’s hips continue grinding both against the guy’s own hard cock, and his hand simultaneously. A tongue, that almost felt cool against his flushed skin, was slowly trailed up Cas’s neck and long the shell of his hear. His body trembled in response. The hand become bolder and sneaked its way back up and then in his jeans. Immediately there was skin-on-skin, because Cas wasn’t wearing any underwear. He thought he felt the hand, and body behind him, briefly stop as if surprised, but before the thought could fully form his Cas’s fucked-out mind, the hand continued moving and found his semi-erect shaft. The other hand, still on Cas’s other hip, tightened to the point of pain. Cas should have been embarrassed by how quickly he came, it felt like mere minutes of contact (when in reality it could have been seconds or an hour, he had no idea), but he didn’t have it in him to care, and the freshly cooling cum in his jeans demanded seeing-to at some point soon. The hand removed itself from his jeans the pressure of the body behind him disappeared. He wondered how many people watched what had just happened. The thought brought a smile to his face. Shame had long since left his repertoire. He continued dancing, but now a more contented and satisfied sway, until the song changed.
He manoeuvred through the bodies, some looking just as fucked as he felt, towards the bathrooms. Like all club bathrooms, these ones left a lot to be desired. There were six stalls in total; two were missing doors; another two seemed to be permanently blocked and overflowing with contents almost too foul even for him; one toilet was missing half of the wall dividing it from the rest of the bathroom (and always had him wondering how that happened); and the last toilet was the only decent one and seemed to be permanently occupied. The women’s toilets had a better ratio of useable to unusable stalls. He walked to the large stainless steel troughs along the right wall, grabbing some toilet paper from an unoccupied stall along the way, and unzipped his pants.
His sweaty body meant his cum hadn’t dried at all and it was easy to wipe away most of it. Once that was done he gave a very satisfied exhale as his bladder began to empty. He glanced to his right when he realised someone else had stepped up use the trough next to him. He noticed the tan, muscular arms first, and then bee-lined for a look at his ass. Impressive is what he found. He heard a throat-clearing type noise and slowly brought his gaze up. He couldn’t muster enough energy to move any faster if he was being honest. The man’s face was beautiful in a rugged kind of way. But Cas quickly realised he knew that face. Freckles, full pink lips, and striking green eyes looked back at him. Cas felt his head tilt to the side and eyes narrow as his brain tried to connect as many dots as it could to place the face.
“Dean Winchester” Cas managed to grind out, in a voice that sounded like an axe was being dragged across jagged concrete. He couldn’t hear his own voice properly, his ears still ringing from the speaker, as well as the singing and screaming he’d done tonight. He wasn’t quite sure Dean had heard him but it didn’t matter, he wasn’t interested in a conversation. He wasn’t sure if Dean even knew him or was just pissed off he was staring at his ass, because they certainly didn’t run in the same friendship circles at school. Cas didn’t really have a circle to begin with, and Dean was somewhere near the top of the popularity ladder. They weren’t even in the same universe, as far as Cas was concerned. After staring at each other for what felt like a socially inappropriate amount of time, Cas gave Dean a smile and a wink. Dean’s eyes narrowed, and Cas knew instantly he wasn’t the type to laugh off the innuendo. And he wasn’t surprised, someone with a social standing like Dean didn’t put up with come-ons from anyone but the prettiest and blondest of girls. Dean yanked his zip up and shot a “fuck off, fag” at Cas whilst looking down his nose at him. Cas chuckled to himself and noted he still had a bit of his own come on his hand.
He stood at the edge of the dancefloor under a dull light, deciding what he felt like doing next. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and a bright 3:30am flashed on the screen. He knew he should probably head home. He made his way down the narrow, red carpet stairs that were so sticky and wet-sounding that even he would thoroughly consider whether it was worth getting on his knees. He made it towards the front door and winked at the female hostess with her headset and clipboard allowing people entry. He’d met Amanda a few months ago through a mutual acquaintance. She told him she could get him free entry whenever he wanted to a club she worked at. She also liked anal. They had a good arrangement. The cold wind of the night hit him like a brick to the face, and he felt a little bit more sober as he wobbled down the alleyway towards the main road. Whilst waiting for a cab to come down the street, Cas pulled out a cigarette from a box in his back pocket and lit it hungrily. The first pull of smoke into his lungs was heavenly, he closed his eyes and imagined the nicotine being sucked into his bloodstream and hurtling through his body. He leaned against the cool brick wall of a closed office building and pushed his sweaty black hair out of his face. The air was cooling him down and a brief but violent shiver went through his body.
A yellow car pulled up in the taxi rank not far from where he was standing, and Cas slowly made his way over, snuffing out what was his third cigarette since coming outside. He climbed into the back passenger seat. The driver turned around to ask where he would like to be taken and Cas saw a brief flash of disgust before an exasperated sigh, like driving around fucked up teenagers in the dead of night wasn’t part of his life plan. He supposed he must look pretty awful by this point though, he hadn’t slept in almost 24 hours, with the last six or so being spent dancing, and the mixture of alcohol and drugs that had been pumped through his system in that amount of time couldn’t be doing anything positive for his overall appearance.
“Corner of Barkley and Walker. Do you mind?” Cas held up his cigarette pack and the driver – Edgar, according to his license - waved the back of his hand to him as he turned around to face the front. Pulling out another cigarette, he wound down the window and lit up, resting his head against the headrest and closing his eyes, shifting down in the seat. He didn’t bother to look out the window because it’d most likely come across as a complete blur and make his stomach do pirouettes. Castiel didn’t think about much, he focused on the high-pitched ringing in his ears, and green eyes sparked across the inside of his eyelids once or twice. What he would give to be staring into those eyes with a cock pumping into his ass. The ringing and white noise in his head grew louder in the silence of the cab and he sucked down on that cancer stick with passion.
“$35.60” a voice from the front floated quietly through his damaged ears and registered slowly in his brain. He hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped. Cas lifted his hips up off the seat; a new cigarette between his lips and eyes still closed, and pulled out a 50 dollar note from his back pocket. He took his cigarette in hand, opened the door, muttered his thanks to the driver, who still looked disgusted in a conflicting appreciative way, and closed the door before his change was given. The car drove away, the driver not even trying to insist he take his change. Maybe Edgar thought it would be compensation for having to be in such close proximity to the dirty teenager, or maybe he needed it to go scrub clean his backseat. Cas found himself standing in the gutter laughing.
He could see the seven foot tall white rendered brick fence of his house a few houses down from where he stood and he groaned and rolled his eyes, making his way reluctantly to the impressive building. It was rendered white, like the fence, and stood two stories with beautifully manicured lawns. He approached the black gates of the driveway and leaned his head against the cool metal. Coming home was always the worst part of going out. His slightly trembling fingers punched in the code for the gates and they slid silent apart and into the walls, inviting him in to the premises they protect.
Cas drifted up the long driveway, which curled around to his front door, but made a slight detour to the water fountain on the lawn on the other side of the driveway. A while ago he realised the hard way that he needed to hide a spare key somewhere, because through the course of a typical night for Cas, he had a habit or losing or forgetting things. And now he rarely brought his keys with him when he went out; it’s too much of a hassle to hold onto them all night, especially when wearing the tightest jeans in existence. Those pockets are valuable real estate and he needed to save it for the important things, like his phone, money and condoms. So that’s why when he comes home, his arm is usually wet up to the elbow when he walks in the front door.
He walked slowly along the white marbled tiles in the foyer and headed towards the large staircase situated directly opposite the front door. It was one of those grand wooden staircases that were so opulent it sometimes made him cringe. The tread was painted black while the riser and stringer were white and it split into two half way up, both sides leading up to opposite ends of the next floor. Clinging onto the handrail for support, Cas veered right and walked down the large landing to the last door on the left. It was unlocked, as it always is.
It was a fairly large room with white walls and dark stained wood floorboards. The walls were sparse, a poster or two. A large queen bed sat against the wall opposite the door, slightly to the right, with coffee coloured unmade bedspread. There were large black-framed double sliding doors along the same wall as his bed that opened out onto his balcony, and they were flanked on either side by heavy brown curtains. On the right wall was a door to his ensuite and that’s where he headed first, stripping as he went and throwing clothes and shoes on the ground in his wake. He got to the bathroom stark naked and turned around to face the mirror. He looked like absolute shit.
His eyes were eerily bloodshot and there were stunning dark circles framing his eyes due to the paleness of his skin and sleep deprivation. His hair was matted and oily and stuck up at ridiculous angles, and lips were chapped and bitten. His neck had a couple of dark red hickies from people whose faces he can’t recall, and his eyes fell gradually from them to the small bruises that littered his pale chest and thighs. Some were a few days old and he could account for probably three or four of them; at least one was from falling over and landing awkwardly on the edge of the stage, while at least two would be from repeatedly being elbowed by fellow club-goers. There was one on his left hip and he absently prodded it and thought perhaps it was from that guy with the tongue that made him cum too fast. His arms and legs had small scratches from falling and bumping into sharp things, nothing noteworthy though. He laughed at the small bruises on his knees. He knew for certain what they were from.
Cas washed his dirty, cut up hands first before forming them into a cup and splashing handfuls of water on his face. The small hairs on the back of his neck stood up from the coldness. He scrubbed his face hard and ran his hands through his hair. It would have to do because he couldn’t bring himself to have a shower, there was no energy left. No one would whether he was clean or not tomorrow anyway. Cas threw on some shorts and stepped out on his balcony for one last cigarette before bed. He sat on one of the wrought iron chairs and brought his skinny legs up to his chest to conserve warmth. He exhaled on the smoke onto his legs in an attempt at warming them. Pitiful felt like the right word. On the last inhale, cheeks hollowed out, he stubbed the stick out on the ashtray on the table and made his way inside to his wardrobe. Inside, at the back, were small metal drawers. His head was pounding and he had what felt like nerve pain down both legs. A horrible ache-come-burning pain that was most likely from dehydration. Cas pulled out a small metal tin that was a tin of mints in a previous life, and found two yellow oblong pills that spilled out into his hand. He smacked his palm against his mouth and felt the pills settle on his tongue. With a large mouthful of water from a glass next to his bed, they were gone.
Castiel made his way to his bed and crawled ungracefully over to the right side, leaning over the edge and finding his phone charger. He struggled trying to connect the tiny charger to his phone in the dark. Why do they have to keep making them so small? He felt the satisfying push of the charger into the port and the screen lit up. It read 4:25am.
“Shit”. He flopped onto his back and draped an arm over his face, a mess of limbs and blankets.
Only two hours before he had to be up for school.