Chapter Text
Lady Luck just can’t seem to help herself from kicking Dean in the balls.
Dean drags his sorry ass into the tiny efficiency apartment above the Roadhouse, the bar his Aunt Ellen owns. It’s a Friday and the parking lot is already filling up, but Dean’s not worried about finding a seat later if he wants it. Somehow he knows he always will, right at the bar, like it just sits there and waits for him to arrive after he fucks up yet again. Well, it won’t be disappointed, he thinks as he drops his clothes into the laundry basket at the end of the bed that barely fits two grown men. Not that it needs to.
Dean showers the grease and dust from work off his body and changes into a fresh t-shirt and jeans. He settles on the shitty rust-brown couch and flicks through Netflix and Hulu for God knows how long before he turns his computer off and stares at the wall. Dean sighs and makes himself stand up. He doesn’t know what he wants to do tonight, but he knows he doesn’t want to be stuck in this pathetic apartment with his pathetic train of thought. He needs to eat something, maybe. He hasn’t really been very hungry the past few days. Gah, stop thinking about that!
Not quite sure what he wants to do with himself just yet, Dean figures beer is a good start. He moseys down the back staircase and steps into the bar, taking a seat toward the end of the varnished wooden surface. Yep, of course the seat is there for him, like some sort of consolation prize for his bruised nuts and bruised ego. Ellen eyes him sharply and delivers a beer.
“You watch yourself, now,” she warns. “Don’t go doin’ anything stupid.”
“Already did,” Dean says as he takes a swig. “Six months of stupid, actually.”
She ruffles his hair but says nothing else.
Dean glances around, checking out the people wandering about, talking like everything is just fine in their lives. Maybe it is. Well, good for them. He gets lost in his thoughts and two (or three) more drinks before he notices the guy perched a few stools down from him. Dark hair and a suit. Professional guy. He wonders how he found his way here. The guy asks Ellen for a beer; she assesses him and hands one over. He sees the guy’s face a bit better and hears himself make an appreciative sound in his throat. He’s hot. Not that it matters, but hell, I’m not dead. Dean watches the guy focus on his phone. His eyes roll sarcastically, as if he’s talking to himself about something ridiculous. His brows and lips twist into a scowl as he punches at his phone until, seemingly satisfied, he tosses it down and takes a long drink of his beer, the same kind Dean is drinking.
“Dude, you look like you’re trying to murder your phone with your eyes,” he calls out. He can’t help himself. The guy looks so intense, it’s comical.
“Not exactly. Just this Tinder thing.”
“That’s how Big Brother gets you, you know,” he jokes. He hopes it was funny. In his current state, he’s not sure if he sounds funny or crazy.
“It mocks me,” the guy frowns, squinting at the fancy phone.
The guy’s little scowl at his phone is cute, no denying it, and when he sits down next to him he realizes the guy isn’t just cute, isn’t just hot, he’s really fucking hot. He never knew he had a thing for guys in suits, but there it is. Despite his desire to avoid everyone and everything after the way Benny screwed him over, he turns on the charm like a bad habit (which it kind of is).
“See, that’s why I don’t use it,” he smiles.
“You don’t use it because your phone is stuck in 2005,” the guy snarks. Oh, it’s like that, is it?
“Gets the job done, like me,” he smirks as he winks, watching for his reaction. Most people (women and men alike) are easily fooled by his flashy charm, but this man seems to see beyond it. It’s a bit disconcerting; he doesn’t want this guy to see how vulnerable he is. Time to change the subject. “So, what’re you in for?” he asks.
The brunet looks around and asks if he stepped into a prison, and for some reason it strikes him as absurdly funny. Maybe it wouldn’t be if he hadn’t had a few already, but now he thinks of every bad prison porno he’s ever seen and he can’t stop himself from snickering.
“Fun,” the guy says. It takes Dean a moment to remember why the guy might be saying that, then he remembers his question.
“You’re in here for fun?” he asks. The guy doesn’t really look like he’s dressed for fun, nor is he with anyone else. He looks kind of sad, actually. Dean should know. When he comments on it, the man says that he’s here to find someone to have fun with. It shouldn’t, but it makes his dick perk up a bit. He can’t help his bodily reactions, even if he’s in no mood for a new guy in his life.
“You’re here to find someone to have fun with?”
“Mmm.”
Intriguing. God, this guy is hot as fuck. Maybe… nah. But maybe? “You got a name?”
“That’s kind of a stupid question,” the guy says, and Dean can’t help but smirk. What a smartass. He likes it.
“Alright, I’ll rephrase. What’s your name?”
The guy’s name is Castiel. It seems like a fancy-ass name to go with the fancy-ass suit, but not with the less-than-fancy-ass guy drinking by himself on a Friday night. He wants to have fun, he said, and the guy looks like he could use it.
“I’m gonna call you Cas. It’s funner,” Dean decides, just to goad him a little. It works. The guy seems grossed-out by his use of “funner,” but not in some pretentious way. He says he doesn’t know how to have fun, but Dean isn’t convinced.
“Sure you do, you just aren’t having fun right now,” he tries to convince the guy. Cas. “Like, in life. You’re not having fun in your life right now. I can tell.” Of course I can tell. Same-same. “So why do you want to have fun?”
“Because I’m divorced and sexually unsatisfied,” he answers, which Dean did not expect at all. The divorced thing, maybe, but the other part, hell no. Huh. Come to think of it, Dean’s been pretty unsatisfied himself, and this has been a shitty week. Maybe they can help each other out.
“Ah. Well, you need a wingman?”
“No, just a man.”
Well, that’s surprising and promising. Don’t overreact.
“Say what now?” Dean asks, just to be crystal-clear.
“I said I need a man.” His eyes are defiant. He seems to think Dean might give him shit about it. Well, he certainly will not. Not when this fine opportunity is presenting itself.
“Oh yeah?” Dean asks, leaning in just enough to show his interest if Cas looks closely. “And what do you need a man for?”
Castiel leans in, mirroring his companion. “What’s your name?”
Uh, okay. That’s a weird segue. “Dean.”
“Well, Dean, I need a man to pound me so hard we crack plaster and break bed frames.”
“Holy fuck,” he murmurs. It’s all he can think of.
“If it’s that good then yes, it will be, because I’ll be screaming his name like a prayer.”
Dean’s at full attention now. He can’t believe that this guy - this hot professional whose voice sounds like thunder - is into guys and into bottoming. Shit. It’s like his fuckin’ dream come true, especially after everything with his boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. He gulps and shifts around, hoping Cas can’t see how turned on he is. Suddenly, Cas buries his face in his hand. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh; a rosy blush is overtaking his face. It’s completely charming in a totally not-sleazy way. Dean can’t help his own nervous laughter; this guy is doing things to him that shouldn’t be happening. Things like making him forget to be cool and forget that he’s miserable.
“Shit, Cas, that’s a hell of a line. You ever use it before?”
Castiel seems to say “fuck it” when he says, “No, I can’t say that I have. Six years of marriage eliminated the need to flirt.” He drinks his beer, and Dean drinks his. He’s on, what, his fourth? Fifth? He can’t remember now.
“Maybe that’s why you’re divorced,” Dean suggests. “You didn’t flirt with your wife enough, keep the fire stoked.” Maybe if I’d done the same, I’d still be in a relationship.
Cas taps his chin sarcastically. Dean’s not sure if that’s a thing, but it’s the best description. He says, “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 at the unexpected admission. Fuck. I’m such an ass. The guy is nice enough to pat Dean on the back as he catches his breath. “Sorry,” he says, which is the last thing Cas should be saying to him. He was the idiot.
“No, I’m sorry, man. It was kind of a shitty thing for me to say, anyway.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Castiel shrugs. He explains that his wife was fucking her minister, which is all kinds of crazy. Even crazier is that she was so insecure about his bisexuality that she thought he was going to cheat on her. Why did people think that sort of shit? Just because someone’s into both doesn’t mean they can’t be faithful. Hell, plenty of people who are only into one gender can’t keep it in their pants. Obviously. “So why are you here, anyway?” he says to change the subject. Dean can’t blame him. It’s tough to talk about the shitty things that have happened to you. Dean thinks it’s actually sort of funny that they’ve been through the same thing.
“Funny you ask,” Dean says. He downs several gulps of beer for some liquid courage 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.”
Dean refrains from rolling his eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m here getting drunk with you, so what does that tell you?”
“Tells me this isn’t going to be a nice story.”
“Exactly.”
Cas looks chagrined and he apologizes for trying to get Dean into a one-night stand since he has a boyfriend. Dean doesn’t understand if he wasn’t clear or if Cas is too drunk and didn’t hear him. He has to correct him, and it kind of hurts.
“Had, Cas. I had a boyfriend.”
“Oh. I should stop interrupting.”
“S’okay,” Dean says, then his own inebriated mind catches up. “You wanted to have a one-night stand with me?” He can hardly believe his ears. Given his level of inebriation, he’s not sure he should believe them.
Cas stares at his hands, which are clutching onto his beer bottle as if it’s a life preserver. He looks nervous and Dean finds it quite endearing. He’s not sure what the guy has to be nervous about; he’s hot as hell and Dean really isn’t a catch. “Well, yes. I thought that was obvious. Was my flirting that bad?”
Dean breaks into a laugh. This guy is so cute. Why the hell is such a nice guy interested in me? And why not six, seven months ago rather than now? But at his worried look he realizes Cas thinks he’s laughing at him. “Sorry, no, it’s not you, it’s… God, this whole thing is fucked up. Let me finish my story.”
Dean tells Cas about how at first he moved in with his ex to help him with bills because 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?”
Dean frowns to himself. It was a damn good question, one he thought he knew the answer to until recently. “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.” Dean actually likes the fact that Cas keeps interrupting. It shows he’s listening.
“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.” It hurts to think about, to see Benny spread out on their bed while some asshole ten years his junior is fucking him. Then Cas asks him the oddest question.
“Strange like weird, or like a stranger?”
“Like a stranger, dumbass,” he says, with a sarcastic look to match.
“He could’ve been a weirdo,” Cas says defensively.
Dean remembers a little detail he thought was weird and huffs a tiny smile. “Well, he did have this tattoo of the Frosted Flakes tiger on his thigh…”
To Dean’s surprise, Cas breaks into peals of laughter. He says, “Tony the Tiger? Oh my God. Did he have Snap, Crackle and Pop on his ass?” It strikes Dean as so hilarious that he doubles over, laughing breathlessly and slapping the bar with his hand. He remembers the other tattoo he couldn’t help but see as the dude drilled into his boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.
“Nah, he had that fuckin’ leprechaun on his ass,” Dean retorts in a terrible Irish accent. “Seriously! And he was, like, ‘Wha?’ with this stupid-ass look on his face at being caught,” Dean rasps, doing his best imitation of the dude’s slack-jawed look. It sends both of them into laughter again. God, it feels good.
Cas makes a joke about the dude telling his ex his dick was “magically delicious,” and Dean volleys with a joke about how it was his lucky charm (he thinks that’s the name of the cereal that leprechaun is from). They can’t stop laughing, and when Cas comments that those marshmallows are tiny and the guy must’ve been disappointed, Dean is laughing so hard he can’t breathe and his abs hurt. Finally settling down a bit, he wipes his eyes and takes another drink.
“Ah, shit. 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.”
He’s expecting some tut of sympathy, which he really doesn’t want, but all Cas says is, “Rude.” It’s perfect in its casual indignance.
Dean tells the stranger with the dark hair and bright eyes about the dude’s friendly “Hi!” and then tells him something he doesn’t mean to say. “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.”
Dean begins to panic as soon as the words leave his mouth. Why the hell would he tell this guy the thing he’s most ashamed of, about not being allowed to top and being pushed into some subservient, weak role? He feels vulnerable and stupid. As he tries to think of some way not to look like a complete jackass, Cas speaks up.
“Too pretty? What’s that even mean? What a fuckin’ asshole. Pounding should be equal opportunity! He shouldn’t always be the pounder!” He says it with such conviction, waving his fist in the air, that it warms Dean and makes him forget how vulnerable he was feeling just a moment ago. He remembers that Cas came here looking for a “pounding,” and Dean can’t help but smile. To Cas, bottoming isn’t a weak thing to do. It hadn’t been to Dean, either, until Benny. He smiles and nods with more enthusiasm than he’s felt in days… maybe months.
“Exactly!” he continues, and is pleased that Cas is leaning in, listening with intense though hazy eyes. He continues animatedly, “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.” With the way his body and mind feels this week, it definitely seems like he’s been to war. He motions for Ellen, then clinks his bottle to Cas' when she brings the next round. They drink quietly for a while. It nice to spend a little bit of time not thinking and not alone.
Eventually, Cas mutters something that sounds like he’s ordering a burger. He’s wondering if the guy’s trying to order food to offset the alcohol.
“What?”
Castiel snickers slowly, with hazy eyes. “I was just thinking about how A.B. had to always be the pounder…”
Who the hell is that? “A.B.?”
“Asshole Boyfriend.” Ah. Fitting. “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. The guy has a strange sense of humor, but Dean likes it. The more he repeats it to himself, the funnier it is, and he laughs despite how dumb it is. It reminds him of one of his favorite movies, one he can recite practically line for line. “You know what they call a Quarter-Pounder with cheese in Paris? They call it a Royale with cheese,” he slurs.
“A Royale with cheese. What do they call a Big Mac?” Dean is delighted that Cas caught the reference and even knows the response.
“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. Dean sees Ellen coming and knows they’re in trouble, but he doesn’t care. He feels like something resembling himself.
“Okay, you two, you’re scaring the customers,” Ellen says. She tries to be gruff, but Dean knows better. She’s using her “you’re being dumb but I love you” voice. She takes Dean’s right arm and Cas’ left and leads them to a table in the back. She brings them two more beers, plus nachos to soak up the alcohol and water to hydrate them and hopefully help make their hangovers a little less painful later. She scolds them gently about behaving themselves and cuts off their alcohol.
“Thanks, Auntie El!” Dean shouts. He wants as many people to hear him as possible, just to annoy her. It works. Cas laughs and asks if she’s really his aunt. He doesn’t want to explain the whole thing, so he just tells him that she basically is. It seems enough for Cas.
As they eat, Dean thinks about the way this evening has gone. It’s not how he imagined it would go a week ago. Hell, it’s not how he imagined it a few hours ago. But here he is, having a good time despite this being a shitty time in his life right now, thanks to the hot guy across from him who’s apparently in the same boat. The incredibly hot guy who says he came here to have a one-night stand. Who wants it with him. Maybe. And why not? Dean’s done the whole hookup thing before, and the chance to top, for once… and Cas, well. He’d be crazy to turn him down. Dean smirks and leans toward the dark-haired man across the table. “So, did you really come here for a one-night stand?”
“Mmmhmm,” Cas answers 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.” It’s a relief to hear those words. He’s not sure he could jump into another relationship. He probably shouldn’t, anyway, not until he learns to have a proper one.
“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 Cas. Damn. He’s usually so confident with his hookups, but Cas makes him nervous in a tingly, floaty kind of way. Or maybe that’s the beer. Either way, time to regain control. Now that Cas has heard his fucked-up story, though, he probably won’t be interested in him anymore. Such is his luck. “So… you said you were trying to flirt with me? Want me in your bed for the night, Cas?” Dean asks with all the bravado he can muster.
Cas’ eyes rove blatantly over Dean, though Dean doesn’t miss the fact that those blue eyes (so blue, holy shit) studied his own green eyes first. “Ohhhh yesss,” he purrs. “You’re no Quarter-Pounder, I can tell.” Dean throws his body back in a hearty laugh. The dude is some mix of serious, weird, and sexy. Definitely not his typical lay. When Dean stops laughing, he notices Cas watching him with a lazy smile. He leans forward on his elbow and tucks his chin into his hand, watching Cas in return with a grin that’s soft and genuine.
“Do you want to, Dean? With me?” Cas says after a few moments of staring. Dean can’t believe his luck. The guy still wants to hook up. Dean nods, throwing Cas a heated look, 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?” Dean asks, a bit confused. Did he not have enough money to cover the bill or something?
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? We were both cheated on, condoms break, et cetera, et cetera.”
Dean feels the disappointment deep in his bones. “Oh yeah. Well fuck, that sucks,” he says, the wind out of his sails as he plops back into the booth. “I was lookin' forward to it.” He doesn’t know why he feels so out of sorts. It’s just a hookup. They fall through all the time for one reason or another. Just his luck that he’d be totally into the guy, though.
“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, and Dean isn’t sure he’s hearing this properly. A toy? Until he can get the real thing?
“You, uh, still want to?” he asks uncertainly. “Like, do the one-night stand thing? With me? After we’re tested?”
“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.”
This guy is unreal. “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.
He can’t believe it. He really can’t believe it. This hot guy not only wants to have a one-night stand with him, but he’s willing to wait to have it. That just doesn’t happen to Dean. Maybe Lady Luck is offering him an apology. He looks at Cas, who’s watching him with warm, glassy eyes, and takes him by the hand. “Alright, my future one-night stand… to the sex store!”
“To the sex store!” Cas repeats loudly.
Walking out with six feet of tall, dark and handsome, Dean sends a message to Lady Luck: I accept your apology.