Chapter Text
Normally when Dean came to bars like this it was the usual, “Hey handsome, wanna be my Daddy?”
Just because he was a six foot one, broad shouldered bartender that didn’t categorize him as a top, and he was tired of it. His response was usually something rash, something that would make the smaller lithe men gasp and turn away to find a better suitor who didn’t take it up the ass.
“What is that, the third one in the past hour and a half?” His fellow bartender Anna Milton, nudges him in the side while pouring a shot of cinnamon whiskey, her fiery red hair hanging slightly in her eyes.
“You’d think they’d get the memo, but nope.” He continues making the Jack and Coke a man down by the end of the bar ordered as he speaks, one of the many skills it took to work in this business.
“I’m going to make you a shirt that says 'Sub' or something.”
This makes Dean laugh, because yes, he’s thought of that before. Working in a gay club had it’s ups and downs, and being asked to be someone’s Dom was definitely on the cons list. He knew what he was singing up for, hell he was ecstatic to land this job, working in a place where he didn’t have to hide his sexuality, it was heaven. Dean knew he was gay long before he started college in this small historic town of Lawrence, his story is like many others, bullied in high school, accepted in college, there’s no need to go on. But everything kick started when he began working at Puzzles, stupid name yes, but best damn gay bar in town. Upon working here Dean learned many things about himself, one being that he was as submissive as they came. Two, he absolutely loved it.
“Hey, mind hitting up the group on the far end? These idiots are complaining about something.” Anna moves swiftly behind the bar, dodging Dean as they go separate ways.
Dean puts on his best and flashiest smile as he addresses the couple leaning at the very tip of the bar. The woman speaks first, her partner -or whatever the hell they had going on- was obviously too engrossed in his phone to care.
“Can I get a Dr. Pepper and Mulibu?” Her voice is what Dean would call unique, a sort of sexy twinge to it as she places the cash on the polished wooden surface.
“You got it, anything for the mister?” He asks, hands already moving without even noticing, making the drink with ease. He exchanges the cup for the cash as he rings them up, starting a tab under the given last name, Masters.
“Oh sorry, I’ll have whatever’s on draft.” Dean makes out a deep voice behind him, probably belonging to the technology engrossed man.
After choosing the beer out of random he slides the glass over the bar, watching his movement so he didn’t slosh the liquid on himself.
“Put it on my tab.” The small dark haired woman says, round eyes glaring at the man beside her.
Dean nods and turns to add it to the computers, but he feels a tapping sensation on his left wrist, causing him to yank his hand free that was still holding the freezing glass.
His eyes catch the blue eyed man now holding his draft, eyes occasionally drifting to his wrist, “I like your cuff.”
Forgetting what the hell this man was talking about Deans gaze flicks down to his own arm before suddenly remembering he was wearing his Submissive cuff, a red equal sign etched into the black leather, with a single line accompanying it’s side. It didn’t technically say he was Submissive, just that he was into the Dom/Sub lifestyle. Not many people knew what it was and he liked it that way, his own dirty little secret out in the open.
“Uh, thanks man.” He says, trying to dismiss the conversation and continue tapping away on the computer before him.
“Which is it?” That same voice pulls him back to blue eyes and a curious stare, lips now wet with the warm liquid of the beer. Dean takes his time to really inspect the guy asking so much about him, it was fair right? His shoulders weren’t nearly as broad as Deans, the grey button up did show signs of a strong middle though, but the rest was a mystery thanks to the bar. His cheekbones were something out of a magazine that his teenage self used to sneak into his room at night, and those lips caused obscene thoughts to form in his mind.
But Deans luck sucked and if this night was continuing the way it was, he knew exactly what the man would ask for next. “If you’re looking for a top to your bottom you can keep moving, you’re barking up the wrong tree, buddy.” Dean snaps.
Without another word to the Model Man, he keeps moving, asking down the line, making drinks with speed only a bartender would learn. He works like he does any other night, but he notices a familiar face that never leaves, blue eyes watching him until it nears closing time.
When two o’ clock hits, Dean yells for last call and is surprised when Model Man is still standing in his exact spot, empty glass in hand.
“There a reason you’re glued to the bar?”
The man laughs, a gummy smile sprouting on his face in a way Dean finds rather attractive. “Well, someone walked away from our conversation earlier and I would very much like to finish it.”
He sees Anna take care of the last two customers so he leans on the bar with his left hand, looking down at the dark haired man. “Alright, what would you like to talk about?”
“You.”
The answer takes Dean by surprise and finds himself blushing, unsure how to take the mans blatant flirting.
“What about me?”
“If you’re not looking for a bottom to your top, then what are you looking for?” He asks, long slender finger tracing the rim of the empty foam coated glass.
“What did you expect me to be your Dom in shinning armor?”
Another amused, gum filled grin. “Quite the opposite actually.”
Hold the fuck up.
This guy was a Dom? Out of all the people in this bar, this man was the last person he’d depict as a Dom. But then again Dean didn’t look like any ol'Sub. He just looked so…normal, so vanilla. No way was this guy into anything besides missionary, even his shirt was ironed straight.
“You’re into that kinda stuff?” Dean asks with suspicion.
“I could ask you the same question.” The Doms eyebrows shoot up, gazing up at him with that cool, unwavering expression he seemed to master.
“So you’re telling me you’re a Dom? A top who happens to be half my size?”
The man chuckles, glancing down at his empty glass before looking back at Dean, clearly amused with this whole conversation. “Once again, I could ask you the same thing. You’re a sub, twice my size.”
“Yeah I get that a lot.” He sighs and takes the empty glass, washing it so it could be replaced in the cooler.
“So, are you going to tell me your name?”
Dean looks up at the man he suspected would have been long gone by now, “Why are you still here? Don’t all Doms hate a sub with an attitude or something like that.” He waves his hand in the air, mentally referring to his past Doms.
“Well i’m not like most Doms, i’m Castiel by the way.”
What a strange name for such a strange guy, “Look, Cas, I’m tired as all hell and my beds calling to me. It was nice talking to you.”
He gives him his bartenders signature smile and goes on about his night, cleaning the bar and what not. When the clock strikes three he glances up in Castiels direction to see the Dom had actually taken his advice and left. But as he’s swiping down the shinning surface of the bar, he see’s the napkin left in Cas’ spot with elegant handwriting scribbled across it.
Where the hell did this guy get a pen?
Hope you sleep well, save me a spot for next week.
-C
****************************************************
The next morning is like any other, waking up with four hours of sleep and a full day ahead of him. When his alarm starts singing at eight a.m he trudges to his bathroom to start the day, nearly running into the door frame in the process.
When Dean arrives at his day job, he waves at his fellow co-workers passing by, hoping he at least looked decent since he didn’t bother even glancing in a mirror today.
“Mornin’, Dean.” Benny’s drawl is coming from behind a stack of papers, his feet propped up on his beaten down wooden desk.
“Morning, man.” He clocks in at the old fashion paper stamp and slides his coat into the child like cubby they all had. Working with a guy you went to high school with had it’s perks, and Benny was one heck of a business man. He could run the whole mechanic shop and still get under the hood of a car without a hitch, he had that kinda personality that everyone seemed to trust.
“What’do we got today, Ash?” Dean asks, pulling on his long sleeved work shirt over the thermal he slipped on this morning.
Ash walks up to him, cut off shirt and all, in freezing weather. The garage doors were open all hours yet his scrawny arms seemed to burn like ‘an oven’, as he said. “One sports car needs an inspection, and a couple lemons need tune ups.”
“It’s not gonna do much, but i’ll see what I can do to keep em’ running.” Dean sighs, looking at the old beat down cars in the back of the shop.
“Let me know if you need me compadre, i’m on a smoke break.” Ash points at him and gives him a wink as he exits the building.
“Didn’t he just get here?” Dean asks Benny with his eyebrows raised.
“Hell if I know, I think he slept here last night.” The cajun grumbles and turns the pages of his newspaper.
With a shake of his head, Dean starts his shift with the hardest task, the goddamn lemons.
*******************************************************
“Dean!”
His head snaps up from under the hood of a beat down Civic, muttering cuss words as he maneuvers out of it.
“Jesus, what is it, Benny?” He’s in the process of rubbing the knot forming on his head when he looks up at his boss, chart in hand.
“I need that Porsche inspected and ready to go, it’s gettin’ picked up soon.” His voice is calm but Dean can tell this is important.
“On it.” He nods and cusses again when his head throbs.
After checking out the sleek sports car he rolls into the front and marks it as done, giving it a clean bill of health.
“Porsche is done.” Dean sets the chart on Bennys desk and collects the keys from the wall, “Is someone here to pick it up yet?”
Benny looks up and smiles, his blue eyes already looking tired, and it wasn’t even four hours into his shift. “Thanks, brother. There’s a guy in the waiting room here for it, won’t miss him.”
Dean nods and dismisses himself to find the no doubt heavy set rich guy waiting in his lobby. He exits the cold, dirty, oil smelling garage and enters the warm and cleaned up waiting room, getting a once over from the new receptionist. Lisa was a great worker but she had a habit of staring from time to time, not that he minded, but he hadn’t had a chance to make it clear he swung the other way.
“I’m guessing you’re looking for me?” A gruff voice comes from his left, followed by the sound of a chair groaning under lifted weight.
You have got to be shitting me.
Castiel stands with the same surprise written in his features, the only difference is the amused smile he was wearing. Castiel points to the keys in Deans hand and he momentarily forgets that’s exactly what he came out here for, the Porsche symbol dangling from it’s keychain.
“Yeah, it’s pulled ‘round front.” Dean regains his sensibility and hands over the keys, trying not to notice the way Castiel deliberately brushes their fingers together.
“Thank you..” Castiels blue eyes scan the black material of his work shirt until he finds whats he’s looking for. “Mr. Winchester.” There’s obvious accomplishment in his voice, giving Dean the urge to roll his eyes.
“No problem, Lisa will take care of your expenses.” He points to the brunette behind the counter and spins on his heels, hoping to escape this awkward situation as fast as possible.
“Wait.”
With a sigh, Dean turns to face the obviously high class man. “What?”
“Bartender by night, mechanic by day? You just keep surprising me, Mr. Winchester.” The cool demeanor is back, washing over Castiel's features with a relaxed and sly smirk.
“It’s not rare for people to have two jobs.” Dean states, his voice kept monotone and bored.
“I suppose,” The raven haired man sticks his hands in the pockets of his black slacks, blue polo bunching at his wrists. “But how do you make time for other things? Extracurricular activities?”
Dean shrugs, trying not to notice the way Cas’s eyes watches his every movement. “You know it was great seeing a familiar face, but I have to get back to work.”
As he’s turning his back to finally end this un-wanted conversation, Castiels hand is caught in Deans. He rips it free to see a piece of paper drift to the tile floor between them.
Castiel holds his hand up in surrender, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d want me to slip it into your back pocket.” His eyebrows are raised, stating something he knew was right.
Dean picks up the paper, crushing it into his back pocket with a glare, “Alright, alright. I have your little love letter, now find someone else to stalk.”
He can’t stop the words as they lash out, but he didn’t know anything about the guy, and Dean didn’t take kindly to strangers touching him.
Glancing back up at Cas he feels a twinge of regret, he’s obviously taken back from Deans outburst. “Right, well..I’ll get out of your hair then.” Without a second glance Castiel is brushing past him, the click of the door echoing in the small waiting room.
**************************************************************
Castiels number sat on his night stand table for the next four days, when Tuesday rolled around it was still collecting dust. Every time he glanced in it’s direction he was immersed with the image of those stern blue eyes, he could only image how they’d look giving him commands while he-
“Dean! Open up man, you’re late!”
Shit. Sammy’s voice rings clear through his apartment, sounding like he’d already let himself in. Today was Deans day off so they planned to take a drive out to the lake to share a couple cold ones before hitting up a party hosted by one of their good friends. First things first, he had to get out of bed.
“I’m coming, i’m coming!” He yells, untangling the sheets from his legs.
When he enters the living room, dressed and freshly showered he sees his brother leaning on he counter, flipping through some health magazine.
“Put that shit away, today’s a burger and bacon kinda day.” He taps the magazine and collects his keys, phone, ect. All while giving Sam his trade mark of a smirk.
“How you’re still alive baffles me.” Sam mutters, standing to his full gigantic height to follow Dean out the door. That guy was taller than him at sixteen and it didn’t stop there, not fair really.
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this show on the road.”
An hour later Deans reclined in his favorite-and only-beach chair, watching the cool autumn wind blow across the murky water. Some would say it wasn’t anything too spectacular but this was special, it was where he felt most at home, safe, content with his little brother by his side.
“So.” Sam speaks up after a few minutes of silence.
“So?”
“Can I ask you something?”
Dean nods, “Yeah, shoot.” He turns to him, curious now as to what he was going to ask.
“This whole…BDSM thing, how does it-“
He stops him right there, holding his empty hand up. “Woah, Sammy. Now way in hell am I teaching you how to get into this shit. Google it or something.” He takes a sip of his beer, fingers thrumming on the glass bottle when he rests it back on his lap.
“No, no! That’s not-that’s not what I was going to ask.” He shakes his head, trying to cover up his clear embarrassment. “I was going to ask how does it work when you’re not…ya know?”
Dean sighs, turning towards the lake so he didn’t have to look his little brother in the eyes and talk about this. “I’m a sub, you know that. So if I was in a relationship with a Dom, and we weren’t in a scene, I would still have sub qualities. But the best part about the whole thing is no one knows but us.”
“So that makes you the girl in the relationship?” Sams chuckles at his own joke, flinching when Dean reaches over to smack his arm.
“Shut up.” He grumbles.
Although his brother was the first person to know about his secret lifestyle, that didn’t mean he enjoyed sharing any details. But Dean knew it was all out of curiosity and completely judge free, which is what made his little brother so great, he could go to him with anything.
“All jokes aside, I hope you find someone who will make you happy.” Sam nods, a sincere tone to his voice.
“Me to, Sammy..me too.” Dean swallows hard, unable to just tell his brother that no, no one would ever make him as happy as he once had been. But that was a place he didn’t dare dip into, instead he reclines back in his chair and enjoys the now comfortable silence.
*******************************************************
Hope you sleep well, save me a spot for next week.
-C
Reading over the clean handwriting again Dean realizes something, if the guy was true to his word tonight would be the night he’d show, today makes exactly a week. Dean flicks the paper back on the nightstand right along side with Castiel’s number. He couldn’t bring himself to throw them away, it’s stupid of him, but the small pieces of chicken scratch were a small reminder that he’s actually wanted, that someone in the world is interested in him. And that does small, yet major things to his chest.
Even if the guy was a stalker.
Shucking off his pajamas Dean decides to spruce it up tonight and take extra time grooming his hair and making damn sure he wore the right pair of jeans that hug his frame just right. He’d never been one to care how he looked too much, but why the hell not?
His shift starts at eight and he gets there at exactly that time, a small spring in his step when he walks up to Anna. “Hey.”
“Hey, Tiny. Whats up?”
Dean rolls his eyes at the old nick name Anna used to call him when he first started this night job, back when he was just fresh meat.
“Nothing, ready to work.”
She steps back from making what appeared to be a whiskey-coke, and eyes him, one hand on her small waist. “Since when do you enjoy work?”
“Since today.” He shrugs and walks down to end of the bar, beginning the night like he always did, and counting down the drawer.
Several hours into the night when Deans elbow deep in washing glasses and taking orders at the same time, he starts to think Castiel wont show. There had been no sign of the Model Man or his female companion, this fact relieves Dean yet at the same time he found himself scanning the bar from time to time in search of a certain pair of blue eyes. After another two hours, when the clock strikes one o’clock, the bar hits a lull, people scattering everywhere and leaving the bar empty.
“Good evening, Mr. Winchester.”
Just as Deans cleansing his hands of the sticky, sugary alcohol, he hears that deep voice behind him. When Dean tips his head to the side his gaze is immediately met with a pair of silvery blue eyes that could only belong to Model Man.
“Hey.” Dean answers, wiping his hands on the bar rag rung through his belt loop.
“I see you’ve been busy, are Thursdays normally a good night for this bar?”
“It’s mostly college kids on Thursdays, so yeah, you could say we rake in more money than usual.”
Continuing this small talk was definitely weird, their past two meetings hadn’t gone this smoothly nor had it gone this…well, normal.
“Can I get you anything?” Dean asks after a moments awkward silence.
“PBR on draft, please.” Castiel asks politely as though he was just another bartender, Dean wasn’t sure how to feel towards this…at all.
Once the glass is rested in front of him, Dean leans both hands on the bar and eyes the man. “Alright, i’ll give. What’s your deal with me, man? Last week you come on strong, you stalk me at my work, and you all but force your number in my hand. Now you treat me like a bartender you’ve never met?”
Castiel looks slightly up at him with that damned look again, completely unable to be read. “I could ask the same thing, you seem interested one moment then appalled the other. I’d say we both need to clear the air.”
Dean nods, “Alright, fine-“
“Perhaps over dinner?” Castiel cuts in before the Sub can finish his sentence, a small attractive smile growing on his lips.
Dean rolls his eyes, “This is exactly what i’m talking about, but you know what? Fine.”
“Fine, as in you’ll allow me to take you to dinner?” Castiel asks, a mischievous look in his eyes that brings that same small ache in his chest back, the same one he got every time Dean so much as glanced at those stupid pieces of paper.
“Yeah, but my offer only stands tonight, after I get off work in,” He glances at the LED clock hanging over his shoulder. “An hour, be here to pick me up by three.”
“You have a deal, Mr. Winchester. I’ll see you then.” Castiel drops a five dollar bill on the bar and leaves with a small wave to Dean.
The bartender couldn’t help but watch him go, half because he’s relived that little conversation was over and half because damn did he look good walking away.