A/N: a one-shot written for my very dear friend as a pick-me-up. AU. Enjoy. -ladyarrin

It was too much for him to deal with. Dean had been working in this crappy pub for years, having long given up on college. Tonight was a typical Friday night; the college had emptied out into parties and bars and by now everybody was so drunk they weren't even ordering drinks anymore. It was close enough to last call that he was simply wiping down the bar and running the machine under the bar to help clean up the glasses that people left. There was a casual movement out of the corner of his eye, a pretty boy who looked out of place here. Dean was comfortable enough in a black t-shirt that was, admittedly cut a little closer than he liked, and jeans. His shirt clung to his arms and showed off enough of his tattoos to make him 'interesting'. The boy, man (they looked similar enough in age) was clearly some sort of a student and shown an out-of-state driver's license as an ID; Kansas or something. Dean had moved around enough that it wasn't a big thing; he'd moved first to follow his brother but Sammy had long since forgotten who he was and was past the days when he wanted to hang out with his big brother. He stopped visiting and pretty soon just stopped calling all together. So he had moved again. And here he was, a nondescript city in a nondescript state tending bar because he had no other skills.

The man who had just left was one he'd been admiring all night; casually tousled black hair and a simple red t-shirt. There was a black, elaborately knotted celtic cross that took up the majority of his right forearm and a pair of snakebites to go along with it. Dean thought he'd spotted a hint of eyeliner but he'd been working too much to take a long enough glance to check. Apparently the young man had other things in mind and the glancing had been mutual. There was a napkin under his glass and a note casually scrawled in almost illegible handwriting.

"outside alley, five minutes. I don't bite...much."

Dean was stunned. He had no idea what this meant but Anna, his fellow bartender and a pretty redhead who received most of the tips, squealed over his shoulder. "YOU HAVE TO GO!" Her voice was drum-shattering in his ear and he knew she wouldn't shut up about it. Ever. "He's been eyefucking you all night. You have to go. I'll cover for you."

"Anna, I dunno about this." Dean could have sword he'd said the words, protested as she shoved him to the door with a bag of trash in his hand. But yet here he was, taking out the trash as a cover for his disappearance from the bar, out in that creepy fucking ally he had to park his Impala. A voice startled him; how he hadn't heard or seen the man before was a mystery. "Hello, Dean."

Dean whirled and dropped the trash. "How do you know my name?"

The man shrugged, teeth catching on the edge of one his piercings. "Anna gave it to me. Figured you wouldn't mind." That little minx had been in on this since the start. He couldn't give off the impression that he was startled, though, so Dean walked the five paces back and tossed the trash into the dumpster, taking moment to compose himself. This guy was seriously hot. Black skinny jeans that ended just a little too low; a hint of hip between that bright red shirt and that studded belt. A sliver of skin that suggested even more ink where a person couldn't see. Dean turned to look at him, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Who're you?" It was a fair enough question for him to ask and the man chuckled.

"It's embarrassing. Really. My folks are a bunch of bible thumpers. Named the lot of us after angels. I'm Castiel, my friends call me Cas. With a z." As he spoke he revealed another piercing (oh God, this one was on his tongue) and a grin that was rougeish enough to make him weak in the knees. "My brothers aren't so bad off. Michael and Gabriel. I got stuck with the weirdo one."

Dean's hands slid across denim as he pulled a tiny bottle of sanitizer as an excuse to avoid eye contact as he got the trash grime off his skin. "Guess you're lucky. My folks didn't really stick around long enough to give us decent names. So we're stuck with Dean and Sam." Blue eyes caught his from across the alley and held him, transfixed.

"I like it. It suits you."

Dean swallowed and dug in his pocket for a cigarette, using it as an excuse to tread closer to this...Castiel. It was, indeed, a unique name for such a unique man. "I'll take it your folks are the reason for all the metal and ink, right?" He was rewarded with yet another musical chuckle even as he finally shook out that cigarette and lit it. And then, out of nowhere, a delicate set of fingers plucked it out of his lips and stole it. Castiel flashed him a grin so high-watt that could have blown out the power.

"Thanks."

He didn't want to complain so he simply fished out a second one for himself with a slight grumble. "You coulda just asked."

"Takes all the fun out of it, though. Your face was priceless." Castiel knew he was making the bartender uncomfortable and he was loving every second of it. "I haven't seen you around campus much so I'm gonna just assume you don't go." The silence he received was enough to confirm his suspicions. The man hadn't been entirely unreceptive to his advances, either. It enough for him to go on. The man, Dean, was beautiful. He had been blessed with killer genetics that left him with a stunning face and multi-faceted green eyes (bowlegs aside, but that was rather endearing) and Castiel was happy enough to simply watch him smoke in silence, leaning against the wall. He finished his cigarette first and flicked it away and stole Dean's for the second time that night.

"What the hell, man? What kind of-" Dean never got to finish his sentence because he was slammed bodily against the wall and felt lips on his. His body was responding before he'd even had time to process, hands reaching for hips...but his hands were being dragged over his head and there lips were on his neck. Dean's eyes were closed and he wanted to say something, do something, anything at all, but found himself struggling to utter a word. There was a low purr in his ear as the grip on his wrists tightened and they were pinned against the rough brick of the building. He could feel it scratching into his arms and lower back as his shirt rode up, pain to mix with pleasure.

"Relax, Dean. I'm gonna blow your mind."

Relaxing, however, was impossible. There were fingers on his belt, undoing his jeans, reaching in to grab his cock. He jumped, pulled away. "No, just leave me alone..." But the person holding him was impossibly strong and he'd be damn liar if he said that being pinned like this, by a guy like this, wasn't a fucking turn-on. That purr was back in his ear and shame flooded his face.

"Somebody likes it. I think I got myself a winner." Once he was sure that Dean was hard (and it took less convincing than he had hoped for) he slid the bartender's jeans down just enough to free his dick. Just enough to allow him room to...maneuver.

It happened so fast; Dean wasn't sure what had happened. One second he was pinned to the wall, the next he was free, and the third...the third second had wrenched a loud moan out of his mouth as his back arched. The inked man was on his knees with that delicious mouth wrapped around his cock and he could feel that barbel on his tongue moving up and down and across with the metal of those lip rings framing him in the best possible way. Apparently the man knew Dean was hooked because he released his wrists and rested his hands on the bartender's hips instead, pinning him to the wall that way. He couldn't help himself; newly freed hands found themselves tangled in that gorgeous, tousled black hair and his eyes locked those of his...not assailant, not anymore. No, this was now a more than consensual encounter. Dean could have run at any time but he stayed and directed the man deeper onto his cock. The light was glinting off his Impala and he knew that if anybody were to come back here it would mean he lost his job and his crappy apartment, but Anna said she'd cover him...

It was hard not to lose himself in the best blow-job he'd ever received. Castiel took his cock like it was a pleasure and took his time to get him thoroughly worked up as he moved from head to base and back again. That damn tongue stud would circle the underside of his cock and move across the slit and then swirl across his entirely. Distantly Dean could hear himself moaning wordless encouragement as he was lost in the heat and wetness of the man's mouth. It felt like it was going to last forever; until it didn't. His orgasm swept across him without warning and left him pressing up into the Castiel's mouth and begging for more. He was held steady by hands as he spasmed again and again and again and if it hadn't for Castiel he would have lost his feet entirely.

Somehow he was clothed again, twitching as the fabric of his boxers and the pressure of his jeans slid against the sensitive skin of his post-orgasmic cock. He wasn't sure how long it took for him to come back into his body but he was sure that he was being held the entire time, his hair was being stroked as he clung to that red t-shirt for any sense of stability. And then his breathing evened out and he was being picked up and set on his feet. Dean's brain was having difficulty processing. "You're just...gonna leave? After that?"

Castiel threw him a wink and brushed hands down his chest before coming up to slap his face. It was enough to startle Dean upright but not enough that it hurt. "Gotta leave 'em wanting." He started off down the alley with hands in his pockets and a cocky grin on his face. "I'll be back. I'll show up when you least expect me." The sodium yellow of the lights and the rain that was starting to fall were doing wonders for this guy's image as he sauntered away, the shine on his belt the only thing that gave him away as he slipped into the dark, leaving Dean to simply run hands over his hair again and again as he tried to make sense of what just happened.