For Your Entertainment
Title: For your Entertainment
Author: phar_ahkmenrah (halfblood alchemist)
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Castiel, AU (a little bit cracky)
Spoilers: does smut count as a spoiler? (no spoilers, strictly AU)
Warnings: Rated NC-17 for a reason. PURE, UNADULTERATED PORN!!! YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!!!! Kripke owns the characters, Adam Lambert owns the song, I exploited the smut.
Word Count: 5430
Summary: Sam sends Dean to a night club to unwind after a long week at the office…. Unbeknownst to Dean it is a strip club, and the entertainment is… heavenly to say the least.
A long week at the office called for an emergency trip to the local strip club. Dean wasn’t complaining. Why the hell would he complain? He was Dean Fucking Winchester, ladies man extraordinaire, head honcho of Winchester Classics, and all around sexy bastard. However, Dean wasn’t about to admit that his libido had been on the rocks lately… work stress. Yeah, he blamed his lack of drive on the overstock of meetings, business proposals, paperwork, etc. Granted, his sidekick and younger brother, Sam, took care of most of the tedious crap; Dean was just there to look important and sign the cheques, but nonetheless that took a lot out on a man of his caliber.
Ok Dean totally wasn’t kidding himself. Hell, he just wanted an excuse to get his rocks off and not having a steady relationship for several months could do that to a person… ok scratch that, Dean just needed to get his rocks off. Period. The end. No pining for anything long term at this point. Case closed. However, he wouldn’t admit this to anyone; he had dignity and a sense of pride in the face of his late father’s business to keep up his appearances. He’d never admit his wanton desires to anyone… which left his younger brother to deal with his complaints, and who would very much like for Dean to get off his back and just go get laid now, thank you very much.
To be completely honest, going to the strip club had actually been Sam’s idea. Apparently, Dean’s constant bitching about needing some tail had begun to fray his nerves ever so slightly, and left the younger Winchester at wit’s ends as to what to do about fuck-me-silly-Dean. Finally, one night after a fine bout of brooding, soul-shattering sighs, and drinking half the personal bar dry, Dean finally… got on Sam’s nerves.
“HERE!” Sam screeched, throwing his credit card across the room at his older brother. “GO! BUY A HOOKER, GO TO THE STRIP CLUB, DO SOMETHING! Just STOP bitching about your blue balls and get laid already!” Dean wasn’t sure if he should be worried for his younger brother’s sanity at this point… but it still didn’t change the fact that his little outburst had been hi-fucking-larious. Sam clenched his fists, watching Dean burst into a fit of laughter before hauling his massive frame from the chair he had slumped into and standing over his cackling brother.
“Are you done yet?” He said dangerously, when it seemed that Dean was wrapping up. The older Winchester wiped his eyes jovially, standing up and snatching the credit card from the couch where it had landed.
“Yeah sure thing, Sammy. Got it all covered. Thanks for the offer; I’ll be draining your bank account post haste.” Dean hooted, literally jumping over the back of the couch to grab his jacket.
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing for the umpteenth time that evening. “I don’t care anymore, Dean. Go; waste away my life’s savings on your sexual fantasies. If it gets you out of the fucking apartment for a few hours and gives me some time to NOT strangle myself to death, by all means, have at it.”
Dean appeared to already have that in mind as he grabbed his leather jacket and winked to his little brother. “Thanks a mill, Samantha. Yer a doll.” He taunted, hanging half-way out of the apartment door.
Sam waved him off, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, whatever dude, just get the hell outta here before the sexual tension smothers me.” Dean snorted slightly, flipping him the bird. “Bitch.”
“Jerk.” Sam retaliated, as the apartment door slammed shut behind his brother’s retreating form. He immediately grabbed the nearest open bottle of liquor and drank heavily from it, flopping on the couch to sink into its delightful, fluffy depths and attempt to drown in the stuffing and booze. Fuck, it was impossible dealing with that man…
Dean pulled the Impala into the nearest valet slot and tossed the boys his keys before shooting them both a dark look. “If there’s as much as a scratch on this baby when I come out, your hides’ kibble…” he threatened, smiling wickedly at them. Both valets nodded until their heads could come off, running to drive the 1967 beauty ever so carefully to its designated spot. No one messed with the head of Winchester Classics … Why? Because he’s Dean Fucking Winchester. Any questions?
Dean had heard about this new joint from a very reliable source… Google. “Heaven on Earth” for some strange reason had caught Dean’s eye when he decided to quick search for any ritzy, local strip joints. The place had been opened recently, and seemed really to only cater to the richer of those who dropped by, if the base price was anything to go by. Dean smirked, thumbing the credit card in his pocket, delighted. Spare no expense… explained the fucking valet service.
From the outside, the joint looked like any other building around these parts, mostly grey walls on the exterior with minimal outer decorations in mostly silver, no windows, and one sign, lit dully but fortunately wasn’t made of that cheap neon tubing crap. That shit always gave Dean a migraine. The man in question snorted as he observed the outer walls. For such high brow prices, he’d half expected at least some sort of glamour outside; that couldn’t be good for business to look like any other half-baked, low class brothel around.
However, when Dean stepped inside, nodding to the bouncers-scary, ugly brutes they were- his insults died at record speed. NOW he understood why the place was called “Heaven on Earth”. The interior had a sort of “angelic” feel about it with just enough sex to make his mouth water. The carpet was a lush pile, so deep and velvety that the treads of his boots sank into the depths. The place looked much smaller from the outside, and Dean paused a moment to take in his surroundings: round tables in the main rotunda of the establishment, walls that were painted an odd color that Dean couldn’t discern in the strobe lights, interchanging colored lights, the whole place dim despite these random flashes, and of course, the stages themselves.
Dean took notice of the main stage. It looked like any other strip joint when it came to that aspect, but what could you do; there’s really not much one can digress from when it came to the standard strip pole. It was the ceilings that caught his attention. They were painted like the freakin’ Sistine Chapel… ‘cept with strippers instead of cherubs. You get the idea. He shook his head, heading inside and immediately snagging a cocktail from one of the scantily clad waitresses. Hell, even the dress code screamed “Bible” albeit a “little” more exposed skin was involved. Either the owner had a sick sense of Bible humor, or he was a fucking genius. Dean didn’t want to admit it, but he hadn’t wanted to go to service more in his life.
Dean took a seat and sipped at his drink, eyeing up the stage. Now that he was closer, he could take in the sights a little better. Ok, so maybe it wasn’t as standard as he had thought. The front of the main stage was inlaid with golden filigree, the lights on the fronts of the stage taking on an old opera house feel with the little hoods… hell Dean couldn’t remember what they were called. He took the moment to count how many lined the main stage, but lost the motivation after the twelfth hood. Who cares, he mumbled, drinking again. He must have gotten to the club when they were opening; there were no dancers, and the place was only beginning to fill up.
Old men, young men, men with women on either arm. They were all the same. Dean snorted. It seemed that even Heaven let in the same, average pervs… The eldest Winchester shrugged, waving a waitress over to refill his cocktail. It took a matter of seconds before a fiery red head trotted over, and Jesus Christ was she wearing a PRIEST’S COLLAR????
“How may I service you, sir?” she asked over the din of the gathering crowds and the heavy bass thrumming from the stereo speakers places strategically around the club.
Dean smirked, lounging in his chair as he offered the cocktail glass with lewd fingers. “Oh I can think of a few choice ways… but for right now you can just top me off, sweetheart.”
The red head smirked, taking the glass from him and trotting over to the bar. Dean’s eyes drifted southerly as she went; the sway of her hips doing nothing to hide her ass under the barely existent micro-mini skirt. When she returned, he took the cocktail from her and sipped it, cocking an eyebrow up at her. “Delish. What’s your name, baby?” He responded, raising his voice slightly.
“Anna. And yours?” She asked, leaning against the arm of the chair as she smirked down at him. Dean puffed his chest out proudly. “Dean Winchester… I’m sure you’ve heard of my company.”
Anna grinned wolfishly, eyeing him up. “Nope, can’t say that I have.” What a slap to the ego. Dean immediately deflated, lounging again.
“Oh well then you’re missing out, darling.” He retaliated, grousing.
Anna laughed slightly, but paused as she heard the familiar music to signify the on-come of dancers. “Well rev up the engines, buddy. Here come the strippers.” She laughed, sitting on the back of the chair.
True to her word, several bikini wearing girls came out, strutting their shit in stiletto boots laced up past their knees as they took charge of their designated poles. Dean was instantly interested at all the pretty women, eyeing them up hungrily as he reached for his wallet. Might as well enjoy himself while he was there. “Who’s the blonde?” he asked, looking up at Anna. A few of the girls were wearing white “outfits” (if anyone could call them outfits), while others wore bright red. The blonde in question wore one of the red numbers, as she ran her fingers through her long blonde tresses.
“Oh that’s Ruby. You don’t want her. Overpriced, overrated and a bitch like you wouldn’t believe.” Anna replied, smirking down at Dean. Dean immediately clamped his mouth shut. A bitchy prostitute was never one to deal with, especially if he was giving his money to the club. Suddenly, his eyes widened as men wearing similarly skanky outfits (sans bras) joined the dancers, and much to Dean’s surprise, many male onlookers cheered heartily for the males, throwing their money up on the stage for them. Anna laughed, seeing the shocked look on Dean’s face. “What? You thought this place only offered female escorts?”
Dean was puzzled… if not a bit turned on at this point. He supposed it really was Heaven after all. The males’ dance moves were strong, not as graceful as the women’s but just as sexy and appealing to the eye. They could also pull off a few gravity defying moves that should NOT have been possible in this dimension, and Dean found he was eyeing up the men just as much as the women. It was absurd… he wouldn’t be admitting this to his brother any time soon, else there would be mocking to come for days.
Anna laughed, watching Dean closely. “Trust me you think THIS is good…. The club’s recently hired a new dancer and believe me, The Angel is nothing short of phenomenal.”
Dean looked up at her curiously, swishing the contents of his glass. “The Angel? Are we speaking of the male or female gender?”
However, before Anna could respond, the click of the new track playing over the speakers caught her attention, and she looked up expectantly. Dean followed her gaze, and sure enough, the other dancers were making themselves scarce as they exited the stage, followed by a few disappointed jeers. Anna smiled widely, as the lights dimmed. “You tell me, Mr. Winchester…” she responded, grinning darkly at him.
Dean stared at the stage as the new track picked up. He immediately recognized the song; it had been playing on the radio a lot lately. “Adam Lambert… Are you kidding me?” Dean inquired as the pop artist’s voice growled from the speakers, filling the club with its deep, rhythmic beat.
Anna shrugged. “Hey, ‘For Your Entertainment’ is The Angel’s trademark beat, buddy.” Dean opened his mouth to retort, but sudden fingers gripping his chin and jerking his head around did well to silence him. It also didn’t hurt that the dancer in question had just made his appearance.
Yes, The Angel was male. Dean would never admit it in a million years, but he was pretty sure he just fell instantly in love with the lithe dancer up on the stage. The bright spot light doused him in an ethereal glow, his skin paler than humanly normal (one could say he sparkled up on the stage, yet Dean never found himself eyeing up certain teen vamps in the same fashion. Strange…)
His tousled black hair somehow managed to hang just right, framing his face, and his eyes, GOD his eyes were perfect. Dean had chosen a seat near the stage, so this up close and personal experience allowed him a few luxuries the latecomers were missing out on. Those blue eyes were piercing, icy blue and shone brightly. They were almost doe-like, wide and curious under the glaring stage lights.
His face was the next item to be observed, which Dean did eagerly. His face was set, blank expression, yet Dean couldn’t find the will to tear his eyes away. His jaw was strong yet not too chiseled; the lines of his face were nearly perfect, his complexion perfect, supple, hell he was BEAUTIFUL. Dean licked his lips slightly.
Finally Dean observed his outfit. It soon became clear that this man was the main attraction… go figure… for his outfit was slightly different than the other males. While the other men wore simply “booty” shorts, plain material, and calf length leather boots that boasted no more design than the shorts; this man was wearing something a little more… Ornate.
The pole dancer wore a white outfit, the shorts might as well have been classified as panties they were so tight and a white leather belt kept them in place around his waist. He had forearm cuffs of the same material as his shorts, and they were criss-crossed with a golden pattern, similar to that of gauntlets. There were a few loose belts than hung from his waist in loops, which made it a wonder how they didn’t get tangled up in the pole. He wore a simple white collar, with an angel-wing gem dangling from the front that glistened in the stage lights. Finally, Dean took notice of the boots. They were full knee-high leather numbers, belted in gold and laced up the fronts.
Dean had never seen an angelic dominatrix in his life, but he was pretty sure now that if he ever had the luxury of meeting one, said individual wouldn’t be nearly as drool-worthy as this man, gyrating his body in impossible moves around the dance pole. Anna had been right. He was beyond phenomenal. His actions were just on the right side of feminine, but he was pretty well convinced that no man or woman could ever perform a show such as this. And judging by the move he had just pulled off, sending the audience in fits of cheering, he was pretty fucking strong too.
Dean eyed the dancer hungrily, completely forgetting about the waitress sitting next to him. The lines in The Angel’s body were thin, yet powerful, the muscles a lean, hard form under the perfect, pale skin. Dean watched with fascination as the muscles in his abdomen visibly crunched as he curled himself around the pole a good five feet off the ground, winding his impossibly long legs around the pole, before using his own strength and momentum to spin himself around the pole, somehow gripping the slick metal with one leg. Dean’s eyes widened as he spun around shortly, his body an acute angle to the pole, the opposing leg pointed above him and his arms outstretched in a swan position before he reached backwards, gripped the slick metal and spun his whole body around the length, sliding down until he was kneeling enticingly around the pole.
It was then that their eyes locked. The dancer faltered slightly, staring into the shocked green orbs of the man sitting in front of him, but he regained his composure and resumed his dance… but not without paying special attention to that side of the stage. Dean felt lightheaded. The dancer… he was dancing for him now, putting nearly everything he had into it to try and make him jealous of the pole, and goddammit it was working. Dean shook himself slightly, trying in vain to convince himself that he was a lady’s man; but the longer The Angel flaunted his shit to Dean, the less his resolve was working in his favor.
Finally, the dancer leapt off the pole and landed in a perfect split before pulling off an odd roll over towards the edge of the stage. He stopped in front of Dean, sitting in a crouch position on his heels, his knees purposefully splayed out. He stared at Dean, his head tilted curiously. He rested his gauntlets on his knees, his hands slack where they sat as he stared at Dean for a moment.
It was probably a cue. Dean reached out with shaky fingers, slipping a fifty into the top of the white leather belt, his eyes never leaving the haunting blue orbs that stared back. The Angel nodded his head once, before shooting him a leering grin. Taking his sweet time to stand back up, he sauntered back over to the pole to resume his dance until the song finally came to an end. Dean’s eyes, damn him, never left the swaying hips as he walked back into the middle of the stage, giving the pole one last ride before the song ended.
Dance complete, the entirety of the club erupted into wild applause, practically leaping from their seats to cheer for the dancer as he sauntered off, winking back at Dean.
The head of Winchester Classics was speechless… utterly speechless. Slack-jawed, dumbfound, shocked… supply your own adjective. It took several moments of prodding on Anna’s part before he was even able to tear his eyes from the Angel’s exit point.
“So?” she asked, smirking at the horny man sitting next to her. “Still fancy a ride with one of the ladies?”
Dean blinked once… twice. What ladies? “… get me a room with him. Now.” he said, staring at her. He was a man on a mission now, and come hell or high water, he was shagging the dancer that night.
Anna giggled slightly, standing up. “As you wish, Mr. Winchester.”
Dean paced the room, palming at himself impatiently as he waited for said dancer to arrive. Jesus, what was taking him so long? He was already half naked, it wasn’t like he needed to slip into “something more comfortable” or shit like that.
Growling slightly, Dean flopped onto the huge chaise bed, staring up at the ceiling. Same Sistine chapel style paintings… God, they thought of everything in this place…
In his musings, Dean’s hand found its way to his painfully swollen crotch again, rubbing the thick flesh through the denim confines of his jeans. It wasn’t quite enough to satiate his growing need, but at least the pressure made his wait a little more bearable. Dammit, WHERE WAS HE?
Dean’s eyes slipped shut as he palmed himself repeatedly, using all his willpower not to plunge a hand underneath those jeans and just wank away, waiting for the dancer. Dean groaned, images of those piercing blue eyes sending chills down his spine as he rubbed himself down, cock twitching every now and again against the rough cloth. Not one of his better ideas, going commando.
“Most people wait until the entertainment actually ARRIVES, before jerking off.” A voice caught Dean off guard, startling him from his pleasure induced daydreams.
Dean jumped to his feet, a deep blush staining his cheeks as he stared at the dancer. Up close, he was shorter than Dean had expected, but fuck the height issue, he was twice as hot as he had previously deemed him!
Dean gave him his most debonair smile, making his way across the room to the dancer. “Well most people don’t get off to such a performance. Most people don’t get a show like that before the main course.”
The Angel smirked, eyeing up his client with a keen eye. Yes, he’d definitely have fun with this handsome brute, that was for sure. “Let me guess… this would be your first with a male escort?” he inquired, voice dropping in pitch to a lazy growl. Said growl sent a shock of pleasure to Dean’s ever hardening erection, causing the man to swallow audibly.
“… of your caliber, yes.” Dean compensated, satisfied with his answer.
The Angel merely smirked, striding up to him on impossibly long legs. Giving him a once-over, he shrugged the jacket from Dean’s shoulders, dropping the leather material to the floor with a thump.
Dean stared at the smaller man, eyes boring into his as the dancer slid his hands up and down his broad chest, fingertips searching as he felt the tension of overly bulked muscles pulling underneath slightly sweaty skin.
“You seem a bit uncomfortable, Mr…” The Angel trailed off, licking his lower lip slightly. Fuck, if that simple gesture alone didn’t have Dean coming in his pants like an overly excited teen…
“J-Just call me Dean…” he replied, not caring if the Angel heard the break in his voice.
The Angel smiled, pressing ever closer to him. Now both of them were fully touching, erections clearly pressing together, hot and heavy against the other. “Well, if we’re on first name bases, I’ll return the favor…” he whispered, deep voice hoarse against Dean’s ear. “Name’s Castiel.”
Dean snickered slightly, shivering as warm breath ghosted over the shell of his ear, coursing pleasure to his groin. “… I’ll never remember that. Can I just call ya Cas? It’s sexier in bed…”
Castiel smirked, tonguing Dean’s ear affectionately. “Whatever you wish, Dean…”
Dean smirked, hands trailing down Cas’ smooth back to the rounds of his ass. He cupped them firmly, pulling the dancer’s crotch up flush against his own, grinding slow and lazy. He captured the dancer’s mouth with his, tongue plundering the warm recesses, tasting, feeling his way around new territory.
Cas tasted vaguely like spice, a light musky scent about his person as hormones spiked. The dancer moaned into the back of his throat, his own hands trailing up underneath Dean’s shirt to grasp at taught flesh, fingertips digging in to gain purchase.
Dean bucked slightly, feeling searching fingertips tweek a nipple, rolling the knob of flesh before a palm rubbed over the abused skin in rough strokes. He was fairly panting, pushing the dancer back enough to rip his shirt off. Now topless, Dean smirked at Cas, watching the dancer gauge his appearance with an appreciative eye.
“Not bad, Dean…” Cas chuckled, leaning back in to ravage the already reddened mouth of his client. But this time, instead of tending to the bare planes of chest, his hands drifted down to the tops of Dean’s pants, undoing the button deftly before tugging at the cloth until they slipped down his hips, past his ass and down to the floor with a quiet swish.
Dean’s cock bobbed free from the confines of his clothing, pressing against Castiel’s bare stomach. He was painfully swollen, red and leaking, smearing precum on the dancer’s stomach. Dean felt slightly embarrassed that he would be so hard so quick, but he immediately relaxed, hearing Cas hum satisfactorily. Suddenly a hand gripped him tightly, rubbing his dick in smooth, practiced strokes as Castiel mouthed his way down his jaw, neck and chest, pressing his tongue flat against each nipple. “You taste absolutely divine…”
Dean’s knees nearly gave out at the onslaught of senses, gripping Castiel’s shoulders tightly as he struggled to stay upright. “Cas… you think we could uh… move this to the bed now?”
To his surprise, the dancer manhandled him to the bed, pushing him down roughly before clambering on himself, straddling his waist. “Thought you’d never ask…” he growled predatorily, leaning over him.
Dean swallowed, staring up into intense blue orbs before his world went white. He gasped, feeling the dancer grind hard against his painfully hard cock, glorious friction growing between them.
It was only then Dean noticed exactly how flustered the cool, collected stripper was getting; face flushed in pleasure, sex-blown pupils wide as he stared down into his client’s. Castiel panted loudly, a line of sweat beginning to bead along his brow as he rocked hard against Dean’s crotch.
Fuck, if they didn’t get this show on the road soon, they’d both be falling hard before they even started! Dean bucked up against the dance one last time, before slipping his hands underneath the bottoms, slipping the thin fabric from his body and tossing it to join his own clothing in a strange parody of their own hurried tangle of limbs.
Cas grinned, the both of them equally nude as he dug his nails into soft flesh beneath him. “Well what are you waiting for, Dean? Fuck me, already.” He murmured, eyes dancing with lusty mischief.
Dean paused, looking down at their sweat slicked bodies, pressed firmly against the other as he took in the situation. He was actually going to do this, and damn if he wasn’t as squirrely as a teenage girl. “But… don’t you need to uh… you know…”
Cas grinned, reaching behind himself. His face twisted up in obscene pleasure, piquing Dean’s curiosity. Suddenly Castiel’s hand came back, and in between his fingers, he held a cone shaped plug, still slick from his preparations.
Dean’s eyes widened obnoxiously at the sight, before he glanced up at the dancer straddling his waist. “Fuck, you thought of everything didn’t you?”
Cas laughed, leaning down to nibble teasingly at Dean’s lower lip. “It comes with the territory, babe. Now are you gonna fuck me, or are we gonna waste valuable time chit-chatting?”
Dean liked dirty talk. Too much for his own good. His manhood immediately jumped to attention once again, having gone soft from the lack of attention, and he nodded hungrily, sucking Cas’ tongue into his mouth to ravage him silly.
Cas moaned again, gripping Dean’s shoulder hard enough to bruise. He shifted his hips slightly, slowly inching up dean’s torso until he was positioned directly over his waiting cock. Strong legs holding him at bay, Cas waggled an eyebrow at him, opening just barely grazing the leaking head. “You really want this Dean? You really wanna pound that thick fuck into me until I come, screaming your name?”
“God, yes!” Dean gasped, his need growing beyond tolerable. He gasped loudly, whimpering to feel that teasing grip against his cock, yet the warmth from that touch didn’t equate penetration yet. The fucker was jerking him off, and he was SO CLOSE!
“Well why didn’t you just say so?” Cas teased, removing his hand to press it against the remaining shoulder. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself, the head of Dean’s dick prodding once… twice… breach.
Unbelievable heat enveloped Dean, shockwaves of pleasure coursing white hot through his body as the dancer buried him to the hilt in pure bliss. “Fuck, Cas!”
Cas shifted, taking a moment to adjust to the new intrusion, before his eyelids fluttered shut in pleasure. “God, Dean you feel so good…” he moaned, one quick squeeze before lifting himself up slightly, nearly pulling Dean completely from inside.
Just when Dean thought he would be completely out, the dancer froze, staring manically into his eyes before slamming back down hard, rough, quite possibly splitting him in two. But from the scream that choked off in the back of his throat, his whole body jerking from the force, he enjoyed every fucking inch of it.
His own head was swimming, as he felt the friction growing deep inside his partner’s body, flesh against flesh as he rode his client hard and fast.
Dean could do no more than grip those perfect white thighs for dear life, his own body nearly numb from the experience. And then… snap!
With a feral growl, Dean flipped them both over, pinning the dancer to the bed; shockingly, he never broke contact with him. Ask him later how he managed it, and he couldn’t tell you. But somehow he managed it, dick plunged deep as he pounded relentlessly into him.
Cas mewled, squirming underneath him as he took Dean deeply, again and again. “Dean…” he practically whined, rolling his hips to take the man deeper.
Dean adjusted his hips slightly, angle changing slightly. Never in a million years did he think that such a little change could affect the dancer like such. The dancer practically melted into his thrusts, choked screams building in his chest.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Dean!” Cas gasped, heat building in the base of his spine as Dean repeatedly assaulted his prostate. Now he was DEFINITELY leaving a bruise on Dean’s shoulder with the force of his grip, before he yanked the man down, tongue-fucking him in time to his thrusts.
Dean felt the dancer growing tight around him and knew from his screams that he had found his sweet-spot. Kicking the pace, he thrust with wild abandon, working to get the both of them off. He’d be damned if they didn’t come at the same time. For some reason, it was absolutely imperative that they do.
It was the kiss that finally did them in. Tongue-fucking, sucking, nipping; it all added up. There was a suddenly clamping, tightening, and choked gasps. Cas’ head threw back against the pillows, muted scream in his throat as he shot his load across their stomachs. That was it. Dean was done.
He too came hard, stars dancing behind his eyes as he hit his high, the dancer practically a vice around him as he buried deep one last time and filled him with his seed. Dean’s arms gave out one moment later, and they both collapsed into the other, panting heavily.
Dean’s face buried in Castiel’s chest; sweat sticky and musky against him as he took in the waning sensations. It was like pins and needles filled his limbs, as blood began its slow, painful redistribution after such a hard ride. He was so caught up in enjoying his after-sex high he didn’t notice the fingertips carding through his hair at first.
After a moment, however, he realized that the dancer was fiddling with his hair, practically petting him as he lay in his arms. That was strange. It was supposed to be a get up, get off and go type deal. This was almost… affectionate.
“What are you doing?” Dean asked, looking up at him, curiously.
Castiel only grinned, pulling him up for one final kiss before pushing him back and sitting up. He dressed quickly and stood, still the ever cool, beautiful dancer he was (albeit, a bit stickier). He pulled out a card and quickly wrote something down on it before tossing it into Dean’s lap. “I don’t normally do this, but… I think you’re pretty fucking awesome.”
Before Dean had a chance to reply, he leaned forward and pulled him into a slower, gentler kiss, savoring the tastes and smells one more time. “Like I said… you’re fucking awesome.” He said pulling back and heading for the door.
Dean stared down at the card in his hand, a brilliant grin plastered cheekily across his face. He immediately pocketed it in the loose jeans, looking up to the door again.
Castiel leaned in the door frame, smirking at him. “I expect a call, Dean, and I’ll show you what else I’m good at…” he added, winking at him before leaving the room with a flaunt of sultry hips.
Fuck yeah, Dean was gonna call him. Why? Because he was Dean Fucking Winchester, sexy bastard and Castiel-man extraordinaire.
Brother’s bank account: well spent.