Chapter Text
Castiel Milton is tense, ticked off, and tipsy.
It’s been a hell of a week — a hell of a year, really, what with his seemingly proper and even-tempered wife betraying him and trying to run him through the wringer, thankfully getting nothing but grief and a divorce for her troubles, but for now he’s focused on this week and Tax Hell. No, scratch that — he’s focused on right here, right now. And right now, he is very, very sexually frustrated. He doesn’t know what he can do about his craptastic week, but he knows what to do about the sexual frustration. In theory, anyway.
Castiel walks into the bar a few doors down from the bar he just left. A man walks into a bar… ha. Yup, the man who just walked into the bar is quite the joke, Castiel thinks miserably about himself. Dust from an old, ratty yellow curtain by the door blows in his face. His nose twitches. He perches on the well-worn barstool – no dust here – and asks the bartender for a beer. He politely thanks the woman with the light brown hair and the no-nonsense attitude. Castiel supposes that kind of attitude is helpful if you work in a bar. He glances at his phone and opens Tinder, something his sister encouraged him to use. It’s crap, if you ask him, but he supposes it tosses out the small talk. He rolls his eyes at himself. He hates Tinder. He’s too old for it, anyway, and he’s been married. Divorced guys using Tinder strikes him as creepy, somehow. The whole thing about others knowing his location is creepy, too, and he’s not too drunk to realize that. He deletes himself from Tinder and gets rid of all traces of it from his phone as he gulps his beer. God, I suck at this.
“Dude, you look like you’re trying to murder your phone with your eyes,” a man toward the end of the bar calls. He looks a bit inebriated himself.
“Not exactly. Just this Tinder thing.”
“That’s how Big Brother gets you, you know,” the man says in a deep voice. Castiel is pretty sure it’s a joke.
“It mocks me,” Castiel frowns.
“See, that’s why I don’t use it,” he smiles as he walks over and parks himself in the seat next to Castiel. He has a great smile – straight, white teeth between plush lips above an adorable cleft chin. Adorable. For crying out loud.
“You don’t use it because your phone is stuck in 2005,” Cas comments, looking pointedly at the man’s thick flip phone.
“Gets the job done, like me,” he smirks, flashing Castiel a glassy-eyed, flirty wink. Castiel can’t quite see the color of the man’s eyes, but they look tired, and they’re searching his own. “So, what’re you in for?”
Castiel looks around him. “Did I step into a prison?” The man snickers with the delight of a person who’s not drinking his first of the evening, and he looks like he’s having fun. Fun. Now he remembers. That’s what he came here for. “Fun,” he answers.
“You’re in here for fun?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Well, man, most people have fun with other people. You look like you’re by yourself.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Castiel finishes the beer and the woman slides another one his way. He takes several gulps before the man speaks again.
“You’re here to find someone to have fun with?”
“Mmm.”
“I see.” The man’s hair reminds him of browned autumn leaves, the crunchy ones. Castiel likes it. “You got a name?”
“That’s kind of a stupid question.” He smirks at the handsome almost-stranger, whose own lips twitch in amusement. It was a bit of an asshole thing to say, but he can’t be bothered to care. He’s tired of restraint.
“Alright, I’ll rephrase,” the man says. “What’s your name?”
Who am I tonight? He knocks down another few gulps before answering, “Castiel.”
“Casa-what-now?”
“Castiel,” he says, not able to tell if his voice is slurring the syllables or if this guy is having the same problem with his name that most people do.
“I’m gonna call you Cas. It’s funner.”
“Did you seriously just say ‘funner’? I think I puked in my mouth a little.”
The man chuckles. “Yup, I did, because you are here to have fun, and ‘funner’ is more fun to say than ‘more fun,’ and Cas is the name of a guy who knows how to have fun. Right?”
“If you say so,” he shrugs, “though if you knew me you’d know I don’t really know how to have fun.” I used to, maybe.
“Sure you do, you just aren’t having fun right now,” the man says. He doesn’t know the half of it, Castiel thinks. I go to work and I come home and in the last few years I nearly forgot who I am. He refocuses on the man beside him, who’s still talking. “Like, in life. You’re not having fun in your life right now. I can tell. So why do you want to have fun?”
“Because I’m divorced and sexually unsatisfied,” he answers. It’s the truth. No need to sugarcoat it.
The man raises his eyebrows, likely taken aback by Cas’ straightforward answer. “Ah. Well, you need a wingman?”
“No, just a man.” Castiel arches an eyebrow at him as he gulps down the rest of his beer. A third one appears without him asking, along with another for the man before him. The man’s eyes shift, though Castiel (Cas, he’s Cas tonight) can’t quite describe how.
“Say what now?” the man asks.
Castiel focuses laser beams toward Dean, daring him. “I said I need a man.”
“Oh yeah?” the man says as he leans in and yeah, it’s been a long time but Castiel recognizes the hunger in his eyes. He sees they're a gorgeous green. Something swirls in his gut. “And what do you need a man for?”
Castiel leans in, mirroring his companion. “What’s your name?”
The man’s face scrunches in confusion at the sudden change in topic. “Dean.”
Not breaking eye contact, Cas says, “Well, Dean, I need a man to pound me so hard we crack plaster and break bed frames.”
The man’s – Dean’s – eyes dilate. “Holy fuck,” he murmurs.
“If it’s that good then yes, it will be, because I’ll be screaming his name like a prayer.”
They maintain eye contact for several moments, Dean gulping and Castiel trying desperately to regulate his thumping heart. He’s never flirted so brazenly. But the sultry look he’s going for feels foreign, and he buries his face in his hand to stave off the nervous laughter threatening to break his seduction. Dean notices and laughs the same sort of nervous laugh that Castiel is trying to restrain.
“Shit, Cas, that’s a hell of a line. You ever use it before?”
Castiel is too drunk to be suave. “No, I can’t say that I have. Six years of marriage eliminated the need to flirt.” He takes a sip of his lager to calm his nerves.
“Maybe that’s why you’re divorced,” Dean suggests with a drunken squint. “You didn’t flirt with your wife enough, keep the fire stoked.”
Castiel pretends to ponder that a moment, tapping his chin. “No, actually we’re divorced because she decided screwing the minister at her new church was in her best interest.” Dean chokes on his beer and Castiel forgets for a moment that he probably shouldn’t say things like that. He’s supposed to be luring this man into his bed. Or Dean’s bed. Any bed will do, really. He pats Dean on the back as he catches his breath. “Sorry,” he says to ease Dean’s discomfort.
Dean winces. “No, I’m sorry, man. It was kind of a shitty thing for me to say, anyway.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Castiel shrugs. “She was so insecure about my bisexuality, always thinking I was going to cheat on her, and she’s the one who ending up cheating on me. With a guy she knew I hated, the fuckin’ arrogant prick. The whole thing is worse than a telenovela.” He swigs his beer and ruffles his hair. “So why are you here, anyway?” he says, to change the subject.
“Funny you ask,” Dean says with no trace of humor in his voice. He downs several gulps of beer before continuing. “So get this… ha, fuck, my brother always says that. Anyway, so I got this boyfriend. It’s actually our six month anniversary tonight.”
“People celebrate those? Romantic. My ex-wife and I weren’t really romantic.”
“Yeah, well, I’m here getting drunk with you, so what does that tell you?”
Castiel pauses. “Tells me this isn’t going to be a nice story.”
“Exactly.”
Castiel gives him a sheepish look. “Sorry about trying to rope you into a one-night stand. Didn’t know you have a boyfriend.”
“Had, Cas. I had a boyfriend.”
“Oh,” Cas says, his inebriated mind trying to follow. “I should stop interrupting.”
“S’okay. You wanted to have a one-night stand with me?”
Cas stares at his hands, wrapped around the sweating beer bottle. Wow, I really suck at this. “Well, yes. I thought that was obvious. Was my flirting that bad?”
Dean breaks into a laugh, and Castiel tries not to feel hurt. The man settles and looks apologetic. “Sorry, no, it’s not you, it’s… God, this whole thing is fucked up. Let me finish my story.” Cas nods and Dean rubs his face and says, “Okay, so I had this boyfriend. We were roommates first, ‘cause I moved in to help him with bills and shit ‘cause his last ‘roommate’ left and took almost everything. Eventually we started dating or fucking around or whatever. So…”
“Well, which was it? Were you dating or fucking around?”
“I don’t even know anymore, Cas. I told myself we were dating or ‘together’ or whatever. I mean, we didn’t go on actual dates but I didn’t know what else to call it.”
“Ah. Sorry for interrupting. Again. Go on.”
“It’s alright. So anyway, I went home early from work a few nights ago to surprise him. Figured I’d be nice, make him dinner to celebrate our anniversary early since he said he had to work tonight. Instead he surprised me by having a strange guy in our bed.”
“Strange like weird, or like a stranger?” Castiel asks without thinking.
“Like a stranger, dumbass.”
“He could’ve been a weirdo,” Castiel says, trying to defend himself. It was a dumb question in retrospect, but he’s not about to say so.
Dean huffs a tiny smile. “Well, he did have this tattoo of the Frosted Flakes tiger on his thigh…”
The image of the famous cartoon tiger on the cereal box strikes Castiel's inebriated brain as downright hysterical, and his mood instantly lifts. Castiel breaks into peals of laughter as he says, “Tony the Tiger? Oh my God. Did he have Snap, Crackle and Pop on his ass?” and soon Dean follows, slapping the bar with his hand as he tries to catch his breath.
“Nah, he had that fuckin’ leprechaun on his ass,” Dean retorts in a terrible Irish accent, causing the two men’s eyes to tear up. “Seriously! And he was, like, ‘Wha?’ with this stupid-ass look on his face at being caught,” Dean rasps, imitating the face to Cas’ delight.
“Bet the guy told your asshole boyfriend his dick was magically delicious or some shit,” Castiel chokes out between laughs. He’s too intoxicated to think that the guy in front of him might not want to picture another guy talking about his boyfriend’s penis.
“Probably told him it was his lucky charm or something,” Dean jokes between his own breathless laughter.
“Those marshmallows are pretty tiny. The guy must’ve been disappointed,” Castiel remarks, which sends Dean into another round of hysterics before he wipes his eyes and takes another drink.
“Ah, shit,” Dean says, finally calming his breathing. “Shit, that was funny. Okay, so yeah, Tony the Tiger looks over at me with that dumb look, and he doesn’t even pull out of my boyfriend, just stares at me.”
Castiel purses his lips. “Rude.”
“Right? Then he says, ‘Hi!’ like I just came by to drop off cookies or somethin’. So I can’t fuckin’ believe it because one, there’s another dude in my bed, and two, my fuckin’ asshole boyfriend never lets me top, always said I was too pretty or some shit and he couldn’t do it, and there he is all spread out.”
Castiel tries to wrap his mind around how someone can be “too pretty” to top. It makes no sense, and it kind of pisses him off somehow. “Too pretty? What’s that even mean? What a fuckin’ asshole. Pounding should be equal opportunity! He shouldn’t always be the pounder!” he declares a bit indignantly with his fist in the air, his drunken state eliminating his usual filter. Dean doesn’t catch on that it’s an odd thing to say; he smiles and nods enthusiastically.
“Exactly! So I just stare at him and say, ‘What the fuck?’ and the guy looks at me and says, ‘Oh, sorry, you didn’t know I was coming over tonight?’ Like this is a regular fuckin’ occurrence! Turns out he told the dude we have an open relationship which hey, guess what, was news to me. So I fuckin’ turn around, cool as a cucumber, and left. I’ve been staying in the little apartment above here until I figure shit out.”
Cas looks at him with bleary but sympathetic eyes. “Wow, that sucks. At least I didn’t see my ex in the middle of it.”
“Yeah, so see? We’re like brothers in arms, man. Been in the same war.” He motions for the bartender and thanks the woman he calls Ellen, then clinks his bottle to Cas'. They drink quietly for a while.
“Heh, Quarter-Pounder,” Castiel eventually mumbles to himself.
“What?”
Castiel snickers slowly, with hazy eyes. “I was just thinking about how A.B. had to always be the pounder…”
“A.B.?”
“Asshole Boyfriend. So I was thinking about the pounder thing, and how he must be a really insecure asshole because he wouldn’t switch with you when you clearly wanted to, and how that must mean he has a tiiiiny dick, like a quarter of what most guys have. Quarter-Pounder.”
“That’s weird, dude,” Dean says, then starts chuckling. “Quarter-Pounder,” he mutters, then laughs as the name becomes funnier the more he says it. “You know what they call a Quarter-Pounder with cheese in Paris? They call it a Royale with cheese,” he slurs.
Castiel recognizes the lines from one of his brother Gabriel’s favorite movies and plays along. “A Royale with cheese. What do they call a Big Mac?”
“Le Big Mac,” Dean screeches, and they both bury their faces in their arms as they laugh, peeking at each other as their laughter dies down and reigniting when they see each other’s faces.
“Okay, you two, you’re scaring the customers,” Ellen the bartender says. She takes Dean’s right arm and Castiel’s left and leads them to a table in the back. She returns a minute later and tosses some nachos between them, along with two more beers and two glasses of water. “Sit. Eat. Try to control yourselves,” she barks, but her look is fond. “And no more alcohol after this.”
“Thanks, Auntie El!” Dean shouts loud enough for a few patrons nearby to hear. Her fond look turns to a glare as she squints her eyes at the man before walking away. Cas knows enough not to laugh until she’s out of earshot.
“She really your aunt?” he asks.
“Yeah. Well, not really really, but yeah.”
They sit and eat the nachos for a while in a comfortable silence. Eventually, Dean smirks and leans toward Cas across the table. “So, did you really come here for a one-night stand?”
“Mmmhmm,” Cas answers, but with the crunchy chip he’s chewing he’s sure he doesn’t look sexy at all. He speaks around the chip in his mouth. “I mean I want another relationship eventually, but tonight I just came here looking for a good fuck. No strings, no awkward expectations, just a good time.”
“Fuckin’ right, man. That’s what I’m doin’ from now on. No muss, no fuss. I’m swearin’ off relationships. Too fuckin’ complicated, can’t trust anyone.” He takes another drink of his beer before eyeing Castiel. “So… you said you were trying to flirt with me? Want me in your bed for the night, Cas?” Dean asks. He’s still smirking but the arrogance looks fake; Castiel can see the self-doubt in his eyes. The question, though, is absurd. Why wouldn’t he want the gorgeous, delightful man? The question should be posed in reverse.
Cas lets his eyes rove blatantly over Dean. “Ohhhh yesss,” he purrs. “You’re no Quarter-Pounder, I can tell.” Dean throws his body back in a hearty laugh, and Castiel grins both at how he made him feel better and at how cute he is. Great. First adorable, now cute. He slumps down in the worn, hard-backed booth seat and watches the man across from him, the grin still adorning his face. When Dean stops laughing, he leans forward on his elbow and tucks his chin into his hand, watching Cas with a grin of his own that’s soft and genuine.
“Do you want to, Dean? With me?” Castiel says after a few moments of staring. Dean nods with heat in his eyes, and they both throw some cash on the table to cover their bill and a tip. “Ah, shit,” Cas frowns as they stand up.
“What?”
Cas sits back down, shoulders slumped. “We really should be tested first. I wanna be fucked so well I remember it, but I don’t want any lasting reminders, you know?” he says, thankful that he’s not so drunk as to have forgotten the potential risk to them both. “We were both cheated on, condoms break, et cetera, et cetera.”
“Oh yeah. Well fuck, that sucks,” Dean says, the wind out of his sails as he plops back into the booth. “I was lookin' forward to it.”
“Me too. Guess I’m gonna have to buy a toy to use ‘til I can get the real thing.” He looks Dean up and down and smiles.
“You, uh, still want to?” Dean asks uncertainly. “Like, do the one-night stand thing? With me? After we’re tested?”
The idea is a little strange to Castiel’s alcohol-soaked mind, but deep down Cas is nothing if not a little strange. “Sure, why not? It’ll benefit both of us, hmm? Besides, I’d have the same problem with anyone else. At least you were honest.”
“Won’t really help you tonight,” Dean notes.
“Meh, you know what? Talking with you took the edge off. Plus I’m probably too drunk to get it up anyway. And I’d rather remember it, especially with you, there, Green Eyes.” He winks slowly and points his finger like a gun at Dean, and the two of them giggle at Cas’ silly attempt at flirting.
“Alright, my future one-night stand… to the sex store!” Dean calls as he takes Castiel by the hand.
“To the sex store!” Cas repeats loudly.
Neither of them notice the stares and snickers of the bar patrons as they clatter out.