It was a typical Friday night, which meant Dean was out drinking at his favorite bar, The Road to Perdition. As far as Dean was concerned, it was a stupidly pretentious name for a bar. What was wrong with calling it Highway to Hell?
But he didn't dare tell that to the owner. Meg was a pint-sized spitfire who didn't put up with any nonsense. Her abrasive nature made her a little difficult to get along with, but it made her a fantastic bar owner. Perdition's doors were open to anyone of legal drinking age, welcoming humans and non-humans alike. And anyone who had problems with that got stopped by the anti-violence warding at the door. Since Dean's little brother was training to be a witch and he was friends with a vampire, a fairy, and a werewolf, having a space to meet up with everyone was very important.
Not that he saw much of his friends these days. Dean sighed as he downed another shot of whiskey. Another Friday night drinking alone. God, he was pathetic.
"Oh shit." The scrawny demon drinking at Dean's elbow suddenly ducked his head and backed away from the counter. "I didn't know they allowed his kind in here."
"Dude," Dean said. "Don't be such an asshole. They allow your kind in here. And if the rest of us can make nice with demons, you can-"
The rest of his lecture died on his lips as he stared at the angel slowly making his way through the crowd.
Dean didn't know much about angels. They weren't exactly known for socializing with mere mortals so most of what Dean had heard was gossip, rumors, and myths. Depending on the tale, angels were superhumanly beautiful beings who watched and protected humankind from a distance or they were complete snobs who thought of humans as no better than the dirt beneath their feet.
Well, the angel was definitely hot. The stories got that right, at least. Full lips, luminous blue eyes, an impressive set of dark wings, and a rocking body even the weirdly oversized coat couldn't hide. But none of the tales had ever mentioned the unearthly glow. And that was kind of hard to miss. Dude looked like he was walking under a spotlight.
The angel made his way over to Dean, seemingly oblivious to the demon scrambling to the other side of the bar.
"Greetings," the angel said, extending a hand. "I am Castiel, angel of the lord."
"Dean Winchester, human of….Kansas."
"Hello, Dean," the angel said. He grasped Dean's hand in a firm handshake.
Dean was normally suave and charming but he was just a little drunk and kind of out of his depth, so all thoughts of clever conversation went right out the window and he just blurted out the first thing in his head.
"Dude, you're glowing."
The angel raised an eyebrow. "So are you."
Dean held a hand in front of his face and inspected it carefully. Nope. No glow. Not even a little sparkle.
"Your soul," Castiel clarified. "It's the brightest thing in this establishment. Brighter than the neon signs."
"What does that mean?"
"It means we are highly compatible. My grace and your soul call to one another."
"Sexually compatible?" Dean asked hopefully.
The angel's eyes darkened and he slowly unfurled his wings, arching them high overhead.
Dean's jaw dropped. Castiel's wings were mostly black, but they shimmered with little specks of light, like a night sky filled with stars.
"Hey, Clarence," Meg called from behind the bar. "Take that shit outside. No mating displays in the bar.'
"Apologies," Castiel said. He folded his wings flat against his back and gave Dean a sidelong look. "Shall we take this outside, Dean?"
"Hell yes." Dean quickly downed his last shot of whiskey and closed out his tab.
Outside the bar, Castiel slid his hand into Dean's and spread his wings out once more. "Where would you like me to take you, Dean? My place or yours?"
"Mine," Dean's traitorous mouth decided.
What the hell was wrong with him? It was probably his only chance to see an angel's digs and he had just turned that down.
"I am very honored to be invited into your abode," Castiel said solemnly. "I promise I shall take great care of you, Dean."
Okay, so maybe Dean's stupid mouth hadn't completely screwed things up.
"Close your eyes and picture home," Castiel commanded.
Dean was helpless to obey.
"And open."
Dean opened his eyes and was startled to find himself in the middle of his own kitchen. "Whoa, that's a neat trick."
"Gather any supplies you need and I will meet you in the bedroom."
"Yeah, sure. It's, uh, third door on the right."
Castiel nodded and headed down the hallway.
Dean sucked in a deep breath. Oh lord. He was about to get fucked by an angel. That was both thrilling and terrifying. Did angels really understand how human sex worked? Did Castiel have super strength in addition to super hotness? What if Castiel was hung like a horse, like an actual horse? Was Dean going to actually survive having sex with him?
Why did any of that matter? He was going to have sex with an angel, for fuck's sake. If he died, he died doing what most men only dreamed of.
Dean snagged a bottle of beer out of the fridge and sipped it as he rummaged in his drawers for lube and condoms. It had been awhile since he had brought anyone home with him. With most of his one night stands, he had gone to their place so he could make a quick escape the morning after.
By the time Dean uncovered his stash of supplies, the liquid courage was just starting to kick in. He felt powerful, invincible, irresistible. He tossed a towel over his shoulder and sauntered down the hall to the bedroom.
To his great disappointment, Castiel was laying on the bed almost fully clothed. He had removed his jacket, but that was about it. And Dean might have a bit of a uniform kink, but seeing a dude in slacks and a neatly pressed dress shirt didn't really do it for him the way a naked body did.
"Seriously, dude? I thought you were going to get naked while I got the supplies ready?"
Castiel cocked his head to one side. "I'm told most humans find clothing removal highly erotic. I wouldn't want to start without you."
Oh. That was…that was really thoughtful.
"Well, I'm here now. Start stripping, angelcakes."
The angel grimaced. "Angelcakes?"
"Yeah, cuz you're an angel and all." Dean waved a hand to encompass the angel's glowing form. "It's a fitting nickname."
"My name is Castiel," the angel said firmly. "I do not require a nickname."
"Right, okay. Cas-Castiel…Jesus, that's a mouthful." Dean sprawled out on the bed next to the angel and kicked off his shoes. "Alright, hot stuff, let's start getting to the sexy stuff."
The angel frowned. "You're not going to remember my name in the morning, are you?"
Dean chuckled. "Honestly, I don't even remember it now."
It was something weird and kind of melodic, like most angelic names. If he thought about it hard enough, it would probably come to him. But names weren't important for hook-ups.
The angel leaned into Dean's space and sniffed. "You've been drinking, haven't you?"
"Of course, babe. You picked me up at a bar, remember?"
"You weren't quite so intoxicated at the time." The angel shook his head sadly. "I cannot, in good conscience, fornicate with you under these circumstances. You're not in full possession of your faculties."
"What the hell you talking about, Cas? I'm fine."
"You cannot consent to sexual relations in your state. I'm afraid we'll have to wait until morning." The angel pressed two fingertips against Dean's forehead. "Goodnight, Dean. Have a restful slumber."
Everything went dark.
—
Dean woke up feeling better than he had in months. He stretched leisurely, listening to the familiar cracks and pops of his joints settling. Surprisingly, the usual ache was gone. "Damn, that must have been one hell of a good night," he mused.
"Hello, Dean."
Dean jerked upwards with a start and stared at the angel sitting at the foot of his bed. "Oh shit. So it wasn't a dream."
"That depends," the angel said. "How much do you remember from last night?"
Dean shrugged. "I met you in Perdition and took you home with me. Or, actually, you took me home through some kinda angel magic. Ah, fuck, my car's still at the bar." Maybe he had been a lot drunker than he thought last night. How else would he have abandoned poor Baby in Meg's shitty parking lot?
"Your vehicle is fine. It's parked in your driveway right now."
Dean hopped out of bed and pulled open the blinds to check. "Ah, thank god." He would never forgive himself if something happened to her.
"Do you remember my name, Dean?"
Dean frowned. "Caspian?"
"Close, but not quite."
"I know for sure it starts with a Cas."
"It does indeed," the angel said with an encouraging smile.
"Casp…Casp…" It was right on the tip of his tongue. So close.
"T."
"Cast…Castle? Castaic? No, wait, I got it. Castiel."
"Very good," Castiel said. "Perhaps you were not quite as drunk as I first suspected."
Dean huffed. "I told you I was fine."
"Oh no. You were still quite intoxicated and it just wouldn't be right to take advantage of you in your state. But perhaps in another hour or two you might have sobered up."
"You wouldn't have been taking advantage of me. Didn't you say something about my soul wanting you or some shit?"
"You soul called to my grace, yes," Castiel said with a nod. "But we are not destined to become lovers. You will always have a choice in the matter. Free will is one of the most beautiful concepts in all creation."
"Okay, whatever. But I'm completely sober now and I still want sex. What do you say to that?"
Castiel's eyes darkened. "I would tell you to remember my name, because you're going to be screaming it later."