Chapter Text
“I hope I’m never stuck on a deserted island with you,” Castiel said, cutting his eyes over to his very drunk brother.
“’But why is the rum gone!’” Gabriel quoted and then snickered.
“Probably because you drank it all.” Castiel crossed his arms and nearly pouted.
“Cassie, Cassie, Cassie. Loosen your tie, pop a few buttons on that starched shirt, and relax! It’s my bachelor party! Do some debauchery-ing, broski.” Gabriel was well intoxicated and currently standing up to put some ones in a dancer’s g-string.
Castiel was tired and cranky. He’d just come off a twelve-hour shift, and his feet and back were killing him. Had Gabriel not been his only brother, Castiel would not have come out to ‘celebrate’ his last night as a bachelor.
He looked around the room at all the cheering Alphas and Betas—no Omegas here unless they were one of the staff or a dancer—and thought them slightly ridiculous for their choice in entertainment. How many of these people had spouses at home waiting on them? Or jobs that required them to not have a hangover the next morning?
It wasn’t that Castiel thought himself better than all the others in the establishment, but he was certainly the most sober. He’d passed on several lap dances from very beautiful Omegas, much to the chagrin of his brother. The one time he was drug to one of the back rooms, he and the stripper (dancer?) ended up talking for the entire fifteen minutes. She had a three-year-old and a seven-year-old and was working her way through nursing school. Castiel found it a lovely conversation and tipped the woman generously for her time.
Gabriel knew that Castiel was gay, so why he kept throwing women at him was a mystery. There had been a few male dancers, but even they didn’t hold any appeal.
“I’m going to the bar,” Castiel stated, though he wasn’t sure anyone in their group heard him. He rolled his eyes and walked away.
“Hey there, handsome,” a very buxom woman said as he headed for the bar.
Castiel held up a hand before she could continue. “No, thank you.” He left her with a shocked look on her face.
The bar was crowded, but not so much that Castiel couldn’t make his way up to place an order. A man was bent over, getting a beer from a cooler, the bartender most likely. Castiel waited patiently for the man to turn around so he could place an order for a scotch on the rocks. When the man stood up, Castiel realized two things: first, that the man had an excellent figure from behind (fantastic ass, broad shoulders clad in a tight black t-shirt, trim waist, bowlegs), and second, he was an Omega if he was working behind the bar.
Castiel’s Alpha sat up and took notice. Those bowlegs would perfectly wrap around Castiel’s waist as he thru—
“What can I get ya, man?” the bartender asked.
Castiel’s eyes traveled up the man’s body to his eyes. He desperately wanted to know what color they were aside from the dancing, colored strobe lights. He had a wide and charming smile (all the better to get tips with) and freckles that dotted across his nose.
“Hey, look, I know I’m pretty, but do you want to order or not?” The man’s smile dimmed a little more than Castiel liked.
The words registered on some level with Castiel, but he couldn’t actually get his own out in order to respond. Someone bumped into him, forcing Castiel to lean against the bar and into the bartender’s space. Their gaze never wavered as Castiel eased off the top of the bar.
“Scotch on the rocks, please,” he finally said. Castiel watched as the man’s eyebrow ticked up. Why, Castiel couldn’t fathom.
The bartender knocked a knuckle on the bar before saying, “Comin’ right up.” He turned around and Castiel got another look at the man’s perfectly shaped ass. Castiel wanted to know what it would feel like in his hands.
Castiel physically shook himself. What was he thinking? He never reacted this way to an Omega (or Beta or Alpha) before. He was embarrassed for objectifying the man and Castiel could feel the blush work its way up his neck and into his cheeks. He dropped his eyes to the sticky floor beneath him.
“One scotch on the rocks for the gentleman in the suit,” the bartender said. The cheers grew louder, and the man leaned part way over the bar to talk. “What bachelor party you with?” he yelled.
“I’m sorry?” Castiel yelled back.
“It’s all bachelor parties tonight for some reason. Which one are you?”
“Novak!” he yelled.
The bartender winked. “Got it,” he said before walking away toward the register.
Castiel downed his drink quickly, enjoying the burn down his throat and into his stomach. He reached for his wallet and pulled out a twenty, placing it under his glass. The bartender looked his way again and winked again. Castiel stumbled back into the crowd and lost sight of the beautiful man.
~~~~~
Dean was hot and sweaty, and he needed to reapply his blockers.
“Hey, sweetheart, get me beer, wouldja?”
Dean cringed on the inside but winked on the outside. He knew how to work his body for tips, and winks were usually the safest bet. Other times he shook his pert ass a little more or flexed his muscles. Tonight was a winking night. He bent over to get the beer, not needing to bend that far, and slid it over the bar to the waiting man who was more than a little drunk and could possibly be drooling.
He leaned back and watched the crowd before a new customer caught his eye. He was wearing a full suit and tie (that was backward which wasn’t cute at all); a little warm in the club for it in Dean’s opinion. He looked to have dark hair and at least one layer of stubble on his strong jaw if not two. Dean finished sauntering up to his side of the bar and asked, “What can I get ya, man?”
The man’s dark eyes traveled up the Dean’s body to his eyes. He’d been ogled and leered at many a time, but this was the first time he felt a real interest in the person attached to the eyes. Unfortunately, he was too busy to strike up a conversation.
“Hey, look, I know I’m pretty, but do you want to order or not?”
“Scotch on the rocks, please,” he finally said. Dean was surprised at how deep and gravelly the voice was.
Dean knocked a knuckle on the bar before saying, “Comin’ right up.” Dean turned around and headed for the top-shelf stuff. The guy looked like he could afford it. Going back to the customer, he noticed that the man’s head was down. “One scotch on the rocks for the gentleman in the suit,” Dean said. The cheers grew louder, and Dean leaned part way over the bar to talk. Had he been a woman, his cleavage would have been only inches from the guy’s face. “What bachelor party you with?” he yelled.
“I’m sorry?” Castiel yelled back.
“It’s all bachelor parties tonight for some reason. Which one are you?”
“Novak!” he yelled.
Dean winked. “Got it,” he said before walking away toward the register. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean watched as he downed his scotch and Dean winked again. The man then pulled a bill out of his wallet, put a bill under the glass, and walked away. Dean waited until he was gone before going over and getting his tip.
Promptly at eleven, Jo showed up for her half-shift and relieved Dean long enough to go take a break. He weaved his way through the crowd, rolling his eyes at the smacks on his ass. The one guy who stuffed a bill in his pocket, now that was nice.
Dean had never danced, but damn, he’d been tempted a time or two when Sammy was younger. His brother was in the middle of college and tuition didn’t pay itself, even with all the kid’s scholarships. And that’s not to mention Dean’s own student loans. So, no, no dancing for him but tending bar was just as lucrative in his mind.
Dean grabbed a bottle of water, slammed out the back door of the club, and took a breath of fresh air that didn’t reek of pheromones, sweat, and alcohol. He didn’t pay any attention to the couple going at it in the alley down from him, he just wanted the sweet, sweet silence. Dean checked his watch and saw that he’d be off shift in just one short hour. He walked around the front of the club and headed for his Baby.
Once in the pristine 1967 Chevy Impala, Dean popped the glove compartment for his emergency blockers and put them on. His ‘official’ spare was in his locker back inside, but fuck, he just wanted quiet for five minutes. All the staff and dancers at Crowley’s Demon Den were required to wear blockers. Crowley didn’t want customers to inhale ambivalence and boredom, or worse, synthetic slick, while they were trying to have a good time.
Dean only cared that it kept the Alphas and Betas from groping him all night long. Crowley only hired Omegas to dance and staff the club, so everyone already knew his designation. Didn’t give anyone the right to try and manhandle him into a lap dance though. Dean checked his watch again and saw that his ten minutes were up. He sniffed at himself and deemed that he was rank from the sweat and alcohol, but his too-sweet peaches and cream scent was covered. Back to the grind.