Chapter Text
Dean saunters into the place like he owns it because...well, he does. Part of it, at least.
"Hey, Ellen," Dean says, finding a seat at the bar and waving to the matriarch of The Roadhouse. He glances around, but doesn't see a red-haired gremlin, a Sasquatch or a supermodel, so Dean guesses that Charlie, Sam, and Jess aren't here yet.
"Where is everyone?"
"Sam got off work late."
Dean scoffs, "Typical."
"But they'll be around shortly," Ellen says, wiping down the bar before plopping a shot of whiskey in front of him. God bless her.
"And why do you know that, but I don't?" Dean asks, tapping his fingertips on the bar out of habit.
"Sam sent me a text because you weren't answering your phone...again," she replies, pursing her lips together in mock displeasure.
"Also typical," Dean grins. He shrugs it off. He's not a slave to his cell phone, so what?
Dean spins around on the stool and sips his whiskey, using the few minutes he has alone to scope out the place. It's actually pretty busy. Karaoke doesn't start until 7, but if there's this many people here already, it might be a packed house tonight. Maybe Charlie's idea of advertising Karaoke night on the Facebook wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Kevin, their awkward and nerdy-but-somehow-still-entertaining DJ, waves to him from the stage. Dean raises his shot glass in the air in acknowledgement and scans the room again.
This time, his eyes land on a new face: one he's never seen before but, Jesus Christ, would he like to look at it for the rest of his life. The man is gorgeous. Stunning blue eyes, plump pink lips, and tousled sex hair. He's the total package, minus the trenchcoat. Why the fuck is the guy wearing a trenchcoat anyway? Dean assesses him from head to toe, belatedly realizing that he's not being stealth about it at all. The man's head whips in his direction and when their eyes lock, it's like all of the air is instantly sucked out of the room. Dean can't tell if the guy is eye fucking him or glaring and Gods, that is so fucking hot. He throws back what's left of his whiskey and licks his lips, a pool of heat settling low in his belly when he realizes the guy tracked the movement with interest.
Hallelujah.
Before he has a chance to do anything else though, a flash of red hair passes in front of his eyes a split second before he has arms full of Charlie.
"Dean!" she practically shouts in his ear, squeezing him like an overgrown teddy bear.
"Heya, Charles," he laughs, squeezing her back before waving at his brother and Jess when they roll up just behind her.
"Looks like you got a head start," Sam smirks, nodding at the empty whiskey glass.
"Then catch up, bitch," Dean laughs.
"Jerk."
Dean claps his brother on the back and they all mosey over to a high-top before placing their usual orders for food and drinks. Conversation flows easily and before they know it, someone's already up on the stage for the first song. Throughout the rest of the evening, Dean casts glances over toward the blue-eyed, sex-haired angel in a trenchcoat, but the guy doesn't look back at it. Not even once.
Charlie, never one to miss...well, anything, notices and eventually calls him out on it.
"Dean, just go talk to him. What's the worst that can happen?"
Dean figures she's right, so when the guy heads up to the karaoke song book alone, Dean slips off the chair and heads straight for him before he has a chance to get nervous or second guess himself. He plants himself right next to the guy and glances over once. Shit, he's even more beautiful up close.
The man side-eyes him once, but doesn't say anything, so Dean takes that as his cue.
"Dean."
"What?"
"My name's Dean."
"Oh...good for you."
Dean, not one to be deterred, simply smirks at the guy. But Dean's thrown for a loop when the man grabs his glass and turns to leave without another word. Dean panics and throws out a zingy one-liner because why the hell not?
“Just figured you should know my name since you’re gonna be screaming it later.”
The man freezes in his tracks and slowly turns back to assess him with a heated glare that Dean can't really make heads or tails of. Is he hot and bothered or just bothered? Dean's not really sure, but he's already put one foot in his mouth, so why not the other? In for a penny and all that...
“Not for nothing, man, but the last time somebody looked at me like that…I got laid.”
The man takes a deep breath in through his nose, his shoulders draw back and — yep, Dean’s really done it this time — stalks forward like a fucking predator, one eyebrow inching higher with every step. Dean suddenly has the urge to back up but can't.
“Tell me, Dean,” the man says, his voice deep, gravelly and holy-sex-on-a-stick Dean is way out of his comfort zone here. “Does it hurt?”
Dean’s brain skids to a halt.
“Uhh, does what hurt?”
And because he really can't help himself, he tacks on, "You mean, when I fell from Heaven?"
The man levels Dean with a single look and he's somehow turned on and scared at the same time.
“Being so terribly wrong,” the man drawls, “You did put so much effort into that, after all.”
The sarcasm drips from his words like honey but it doesn’t taste sweet at all. Dean swallows thickly. Well, that’s one way to get rejected he supposes. Dean doesn’t have much to say to that, so the man spins on his heel and heads toward his table, but not before sending Dean one last glance and another sassy remark.
“My name is Castiel, by the way. I trust you won’t have a hard time remembering it.”
The man smirks and Dean's heart flip flops in his chest. Cocky bastard.
Dean’s eyes track him all the way to the bar where he’s seemingly paying his tab. He can’t help it if his eyes linger a little too long on the guy’s ass before he blows out a sigh. Well, that was a bust. He's gonna let the sting of rejection settle before heading back to his own table, so Dean starts leafing through the pages of the karoake song book, wondering if belting out some AC/DC or Led Zeppelin will make him feel better right now.
A few minutes goes by before Dean feels a presence at his back.
“What do you think you’re doing, Dean?”
Oh great, Castiel is back to humiliate Dean for a second time tonight. Or maybe he's changed his mind? Dean scoffs inwardly at the thought, clearly the guy isn't interested.
“Picking out a song to sing,” Dean replies lazily, because it is obvious.
“No, you’re not,” Castiel says tauntingly, inching closer until Dean can feel the press of him at his back. The man is warm and sturdy and Dean wants nothing more than to lean against him...naked. Dean's breathing picks up and he chances a glance over his shoulder, captivated by those bright blue eyes once more.
“I’m not?”
The man smirks and shakes his head. Dean can’t help but stare at the little quirk of the guy's mouth, it's so...attractive. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd say he's being hit on and -- oh. Ohh.
My, how the tables have turned.
“You should really save your voice…” Castiel says, his tone somehow even deeper and raspier than before. Dean might start sweating soon. “You’ll need it since you’ll be screaming my name later.”
Dean doesn’t have much to say to that seeing as how all of the blood in his body just went straight to his dick. All he can manage is a strangled, “Pl-please.”
The man’s smirk widens.
“Good boy.”