I know, I know, like I don't already have enough WIPs, but I've had this planned for ages and finally just couldn't keep putting off anymore. Depending on just how raunchy the smut in this gets, you may have to go over to AO3 to read it in its entirety because I'm not having a 12 year old account deleted for one fic lol. But for now, I plan on only having one version across all mediums. But consider yourselves warned for content on the sexual side of things. There is also massive amounts of drug abuse in this fic, though just not in this chapter.
As always, huge thanks to my lovely beta, pharocomics.
Also, special mention for viscouslover for looking over the first bit of this chapter and being an awesome source of moral support.
The air in the club is muggy, hot, and heavy with sweat and sex. The thrum of music is bone rattling, loud enough so that people have to be in each other's personal space to hear each other, even if they don't particularly want to be that close. The strobe lights flashing blue, red, white, green, blue overhead are an epileptic's worst nightmare.
It's the most cliché thing Dean has seen since moving to the City, a scene right out of every awful sitcom and movie set in New York, and Dean loves it.
"Welcome to your first Hollywood party," Ruby calls into his ear, all but resting her chin on his shoulder, smiling like the cat that got the canary as she waits for his assessment.
Dean turns to her, and yep, they're way closer than he would ever be to Ruby otherwise. He squints down into her face that keeps disappearing every other second with the flash of the strobe lights. "But we're in New York."
Ruby's cat with the canary grin just grows wider, fittingly ruby red lips parting to expose whiter than white teeth. "But it might as well be. You've hit the VIPs, kid." As she says it, she runs a hand down his arm, and if Dean didn't actually know Ruby, he'd swear she's hitting on him. But he does know Ruby; she's been his best friend and pseudo-mentor since he moved here and they met that first day in the studio. He knows she isn't hitting on him, mainly because he knows she doesn't swing that way. It's just Ruby being Ruby.
His eyes travel up from her hand back to her eyes. "I get the distinct feeling you shouldn't say that, though. Aren't New Yorkers pretty renown for being protective of their... New Yorker-ness?" Dean is starting to feel out of his depth, at least more than he already was.
Ruby throws her head back in a laugh, smile split wide open now, and even though he can't quite hear her laughter over the steady bass, the movement alone is mesmerizing. Or maybe that's just an effect of the strobe lights.
Then her chin is back on his shoulder, her hands holding onto his bicep and forearm as he's acutely aware of the dig of her nails (also ruby red) into his skin, and she's purring into his ear, "Just how many people here do you think are actually from New York?"
It's a good question, but obviously a rhetorical one, as before Dean has even had time to mull it over, Ruby is giving him the answer. "News flash, it's not a lot. These are all people who came into the city to make it big, just like you. Only difference is that they've already made it."
Dean knows that's true, that he could never get into this place on his own merit. Not yet, anyway. He won't be riding on Ruby's coat tails forever, though, the fact that she took him under her wing a testament to that.
"Don't worry, though. Pretty soon it'll be you holding parties like this." As Ruby slides her right hand the rest of the way down his arm and into his hand, lacing their fingers together, Dean thinks he will probably never throw a party quite like this, but it's a nice thought.
"Now come on, there's people I want you to meet." And then she's pulling away and leading him by the hand through the crowds.
Dean tries to take in the surroundings, the people. He tries to see if there are any faces he recognizes through the haze and bouncing light, but it's impossible to tell for exactly those reasons. It sets his heart to racing to think about just who could be at a party like this. Never mind that he's well on his way to being one of them; that he's in the process of recording his debut album under the same label as Ruby Genz; that said label is already talking about planning his first tour. He isn't one of them yet, and just potentially being in the same space as anyone important or famous is enough to make his palms sweat. Thankfully, Ruby is kind enough to never mention it.
He wonders who Ruby wants him to meet. It could be anyone, anyone who does anything. Ruby has been in the business awhile and knows plenty of people. Part of the reason Ruby is Dean's best friend here is that she is in fact his only friend in New York. He hasn't met anyone else yet, other than the people that work in the studio and for the label, but none of them had given Dean the second glance that Ruby had. She's been good to him so far.
"Who are we meeting?" Dean shouts.
Ruby taps the index finger of her free hand against her ear and then waggles it back and forth in the air- she can't hear him.
Left to wonder, then.
Ruby leads him through the whole bottom floor of the club, twisting and turning through people until they reach a staircase with a velvet rope across the bottom and a bouncer next to it.
"He's with me," Ruby purrs, saccharine smile bringing a blush to the bouncer's cheeks as he lifts the rope to let them through. Dean is hardly through when the bouncer puts it back down, so close to it still that he can actually hear the click of metal on metal.
Ruby turns on the steps and crowds up into Dean's space, breath ghosting across his face as she pseudo-whispers, "Extra VIP." And then she turns around again and is leading him once more.
At the top of the stairs, there's a door, and when they walk through it it's like a whole new club- the music more sensual and the lighting more ambient, soft greens and blues that don't temporarily blind you on every skipped beat. When Dean unconsciously squeezes Ruby's hand, she just gives a reassuring squeeze back. Then she drops his hand entirely.
Ruby turns on the balls of her feet, her heels far too preoccupied by four-inch pumps. She crooks her finger at him in a come hither motion. When she says, "Follow me," though, it's in complete contradiction with her seductive demeanor. She sounds happy and light, and it brings a smile to Dean's face.
"Oh, I get the choice now?" he jokes with a casual shrug of his shoulders as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.
Ruby smiles her first actual smile of the night. "No, I just thought I'd let you feel like you did."
Dean laughs, head tilting back with the force of it.
"Now come on, Toto, before I leave you behind," Ruby says coyly, and so Dean follows her and her ruby red pumps down the metaphorical yellow brick road, curious to see who the wizard is at the end.
They walk to the corner of the room where a plush, leather couch lines the wall, curving into the corner and continuing on, a couple of people lounging upon it in various stages of amory. There are coffee tables placed in front of the couch that bear all sorts of beverages and food and personal items. People are loitering around them, as well.
Dean doesn't notice any of those people, though, not the ones on the couch nor the ones around the tables. His eyes are immediately drawn to a gorgeous couple that are just slightly off to the side of the couch. They're both sinfully tall, which sure, Dean is tall, but these two are all leg and elegant expanse of neck and arm. They both have dark hair- the woman's a beautiful, chocolatey brown that tumbles down her shoulders in waves, while the man's is almost black and styled into the most perfect sex hair Dean has ever seen. They're both standing poised and straight, the perfect picture of superiority.
He spots them while he and Ruby are still halfway across the room and about has a panic attack when he realizes that's where they're headed. He kind of wishes Ruby were still holding his hand so that he could make her stop, pause, hold on a minute while he gets his bearings. However, no such luck because before he can fully get his oh shit these two are hot, I hope they aren't together (or if they are, they at least let me join) feelings under control, he's standing in front of them.
"Dean, meet Meg and Castiel," Ruby says, gesturing first to the woman and then to the man. "Meg, Castiel, meet Dean." Ruby then gestures to him. As Meg and Castiel rake their eyes up and down him, studying, judging, Ruby supplies, "Dean is one of the newer artists on the label."
Meg's purple-stained lips spread into a predatory grin; if Ruby's smile is like the cat with the canary, Meg's is the lion with the gazelle. "New to town then," Meg purrs, her voice all lilting highs and lows and purely hypnotic. She walks around to his unoccupied side, surveying him as though he's a sculpture in a museum, something to be critiqued and picked apart. It's unnerving and sends chills up his spine, chills that are not altogether unpleasant. "Trying to make it big in the Big Apple?" The hypnotic quality of her voice is much stronger up close.
"I bet you came with your own guitar and everything," Meg says, and even Dean can tell she's laughing at him.
Irritation beats out infatuation, and Dean snaps back, "So what if I did?" He's glaring down at her, but she doesn't seem the least bit intimidated. Instead, her predatory grin just spreads wider, some sort of twisted amusement flashing in her eyes.
"It's cute, is all," Meg purrs, leaving Dean feeling completely infantilized. She slides her gaze past Dean and onto Ruby, yet Dean still somehow feels he's the one under the microscope. "Ruby came to town with a guitar of her own, too."
Dean whips his head around to Ruby, searching for verification. Ruby is staring back at Meg, her expression strained, but unreadable to Dean. "I didn't know you could play," he says. Ruby is a pop star; Dean has never seen or heard of her doing anything besides singing.
"Oh, Ruby can do more than just play guitar," Meg purrs beside him, but his eyes don't leave Ruby's face as the singer's expression continues morphing even further from something Dean can comprehend.
"Then why don't you?" Dean asks.
Ruby's attention finally turns away from Meg and onto Dean, and she simply shrugs, a dainty, all-too-practiced movement, as she smiles wanly up at him. "Didn't fit the label's image for me."
"That's such bullshit!" Dean barks.
"Ah, Deano," Meg's lilting voice echoes in his ear, as she slides a hand down his arm. He isn't sure if it's meant to be placating or not, but it stops him in his tracks, electric tingles running up and down his spine from the feel of her flesh on his. He turns to look at her, and perhaps he appears as startled as he feels because the predatory gleam in her eyes only intensifies- a hunter on the prowl. "Welcome to the big leagues, kid. When the label tells you jump, you don't ask 'why?' You ask, 'how high?"
"Leave him alone, Meg." Dean has almost forgotten about Castiel until the other man speaks, voice rough and thrilling, every bit as enthralling as Meg's.
Meg smirks haughtily at the male model, hand on her cocked-out hip. "Afraid I'll scare him off?" she asks, clearly finding humor in Castiel.
Castiel gives a lazy smile back, and Dean can't remember the last time butterflies railed so hard against his gut.
"Maybe I am, Meg."
She laughs. "Well, well, well, I see how it is, Clarence. Pretty boy here shows up, and I'm old hat, is that it?"
Castiel smiles at her, eyes crinkling at the corners. "You know you could never be old hat to me, Meg."
Meg's expression softens, the whole gesture changing her countenance. "No, I suppose not." She looks around Dean to Ruby. "I wanted to talk to you about something, anyway," she tells the singer. "What do you say we let Clarence here take care of Deano for the rest of the night?"
Ruby glances up at Dean. "Only if you're okay with it," she says, but Dean can tell she really wants him to say yes. Surprisingly, he really wants to say yes, too.
"Yeah, that's fine, go ahead." He offers Ruby a reassuring smile, one which she returns, gratitude brilliantly shining through. "Cas and I'll be fine."
Castiel raises an eyebrow in amusement. "Cas?"
Dean is definitely not blushing (and even if he is, the lighting of the club will surely hide it). "Got a problem with that?"
Castiel looks him up and down, assessing him. The lazy smile never falls off his face. "None at all."
"Good." Dean can't explain the sudden rapid beating of his heart.
"Good," Castiel echoes.
Silence falls between them, only the steady thrum of music remaining between them as the rest of the world falls away.
Ruby clears her throat, a soft cough-cough kind of noise, and it's enough to snap Dean out of whatever trance Castiel held him under. He quickly looks to Ruby. "You sure you'll be fine?"
She smiles up at him, pure confidence. "Dean, this city is my playground. I'll be perfectly fine."
Meg leaves his side to stand in front of Castiel, and as she cups one of the man's cheeks and places a kiss to the other, Dean tries to squash down the irrational jealousy he feels.
"See you at the shoot tomorrow. Don't stay out too late, now," Meg purrs fondly.
"Same to you," Castiel says, staring adoringly into Meg's eyes.
And then the moment is over, Castiel placing a hand on Dean's arm to turn him around and head back out to the club proper, saying, "Come on."
Dean looks over his shoulder, seeing Meg and Ruby shift closer to one another, body language completely open and honest. Dean's never seen Ruby look so real.
Dean and Castiel head down the stairs, and Dean once again finds himself assaulted by the blare of the beating bass, so loud it drowns out everything else. Castiel grips his arm once more, and Dean's skin sears from the contact as the model leads him out of the club. Dean doesn't even try to take it all in this time. This time, he's only focused on the heat of Castiel's skin through his own shirt.
And then they're out on the street, the music from the club falling away, and the chill, evening air causing a shiver to run through Dean.
"So want to head back to my place?"
Dean jerks in surprise at the question, staring at Cas with wide eyes. "What?"
"I asked if you wanted to come back to my place, Dean." The way Dean's name rolls off Castiel's tongue sends a spark of wanting through Dean, and he can't deny that he isn't attracted to the other man. Castiel is damn near perfect; of course he is, he's a model. But there's something about the combination of perfectly mussed hair, lean muscle, and lazy grin that just sets Dean on fire. There's something magnetic about Castiel, something Dean can't explain.
Castiel crowds up in Dean's space, mere inches between them, so close to touching, yet not. The proximity should make Dean feel uncomfortable, should perhaps remind him of the predatory mannerisms of Meg, only that is doesn't. Instead, it feels close and intimate. Dean can feel Castiel's body heat through their clothes, and once again it's just the two of them, the rest of the world falling away.
This close, Dean is for the first time finally able to see Castiel's eyes. He thinks they could be gorgeous, if the small rim of bright fucking blue is anything to go by. He thinks they could be gorgeous if only his pupils weren't blown unnaturally wide.
"You're on something," Dean whispers, voice low and hoarse from wanting and nerves.
Castiel's hand slips around the back of Dean's neck, a slow, sensual movement that sets Dean's skin ablaze. "Everyone is on something at these kinds of parties," he whispers, breath ghosting across Dean's lips and causing his heart to skip a beat.
"Fair enough," Dean mutters, so quietly, so focused on Castiel's pink tongue darting out to wet dry lips, that he doesn't even know if he actually says it or just thinks it. But he knows he's utterly lost, falling forward to capture the other man's lips in a desperate kiss.
Castiel pulls away, hand still around the back of Dean's neck and still impossibly close, looking thoroughly pleased. "I'll hail us a cab."
Castiel, of course, lives in a fancy high rise, not that Dean has much opportunity to take it all in. The two are unable to keep their hands off each other once they're sequestered away in the cab, fruitlessly pawing at each other while sharing sloppy kisses. When they reach Castiel's apartment building, Dean is pretty sure he hears Castiel tell the driver to "keep the extra change, for decency's sake." Hush money.
They walk past the doorman civilized enough, but once the doors to the elevator shut, they're on each other again, and this time with a bit more rutting involved. Dean doesn't see which floor Castiel pushes, but he imagines it must be pretty up there considering their elevator makeout session lasts a good, long while.
They stumble out when the elevator dings their arrival to their destination, limbs all tangled and lips barely parting. How they actually make it to Castiel's door without falling, Dean isn't sure. Getting into the apartment is a whole other story.
"Need to unlock the door," Castiel mutters against Dean's mouth, teeth nipping at Dean's lips.
"No one's stopping you." Dean is tightly gripping the other man's slim hips and firmly rubs their cocks together, eliciting moans from the both of them.
"I beg to differ," Castiel gasps out, and through the pleasure, Dean can make out clear amusement. "There seems to be a rather attractive musician standing between me and the door." He slides his hands under Dean's shirt, nails raking up his sides.
Dean growls into the other man's mouth, lifting Castiel effortlessly, the slimmer man's legs instinctively going around his waist, and slams Castiel against the door, lips latching onto the pulse point on the model's neck.
"Problem solved," Dean growls around the skin under his teeth.
Castiel gasps sharply before squeezing Dean's shoulders in warning. "No marks. Have a shoot tomorrow." And if the reminder disappoints Dean any, he at least takes solace in how breathless the man is when he says it.
It's enough of a dousing of cold water for Dean to put Castiel down, though, allowing the other man to turn around and unlock the door. This also allows enough time for Dean to admire Castiel's ass, and shit if it doesn't look like a work of art. He could probably write whole albums about Castiel's ass. Or maybe that's just his dick talking right now.
Castiel finally gets the door open, and Dean is no sooner inside than Castiel is slamming him against the door, crashing their lips together and making quick work of Dean's belt and fly. A deep groan is dragged out of him as Castiel's hand slides under his boxers to wrap around his dick and give a firm tug, thumb sliding over the slit and smearing precum across the head to use as lube as he starts jacking Dean off.
"Bedroom?" Castiel asks, and Dean can feel the teasing smile against his own mouth.
"Fuck yes," he groans in reply, head leaned back against the door.
Castiel pulls away with the command, "Follow me." For a moment, Dean thinks the guy may actually lead him through the apartment by his dick, and he almost thinks he wouldn't completely mind it.
Instead, he gives Dean's dick one more stroke before backing off completely and walking away, pulling clothes off as he goes. Dean is almost jealous that he doesn't get to do the unwrapping himself, but getting to watch the play of muscles under the man's skin is enough of a prize to abate the feeling.
Dean follows suit, removing his clothes as they walk, so that when they finally make it to the bedroom, they're both already completely naked.
Castiel turns on the spot, wrapping one arm around Dean's waist and placing his other hand on Dean's cheek to angle him down for a kiss.
Dean groans at feel of his own slick cock rubbing against Castiel's, and he seeks out more friction, hands going to grip at Castiel's waist as he grinds against him.
Castiel moans wantonly against Dean's mouth, tongue slipping into the musician's mouth to tangle with his own, fingers gripping tightly in Dean's hair as Castiel lets him rut against him.
Castiel pulls sharply on Dean's hair, taking the man by surprise and wrenching his neck back. Castiel's lips go right to the juncture of Dean's neck and jaw, and it's all teeth as Castiel nips bruising kisses into Dean's flesh.
He turns Dean around, pushing the taller man back towards the bed until his knees hit the mattress, legs then buckling underneath as he falls down onto the bed.
Castiel, towering above Dean with his hand still tangled in Dean's hair, commands, "Lean back against the pillows," then releases his hold.
Dean is quick to acquiesce, scooting up the bed so that he is half sitting up, half laying down against the pillows at the head of the bed.
Castiel climbs onto the bed, falling gracefully to his hands and knees, crawling up towards Dean, until he is straddling his lap. Castiel places a firm, probing kiss to Dean's lips, Dean tilting his head back to allow Castiel all the power in the exchange. When Castiel pulls back, he gives the musician a sultry smirk before leaning sideways to pull open a drawer in the bedside table. When he sits back straight, he produces a bottle of lube and a condom.
Castiel shimmies back down Dean's lap, leaning down and forward so that his face is hovering just over Dean's cock and his ass is up in the air.
Castiel stares up into Dean's eyes, light from the city outside reflecting sharply in the blue and black. Dean can't help but stare back. His cock twitches in anticipation when he hears the bottle of lube snap open with a sharp shnick! He watches as Castiel reaches a hand behind himself, watches as he sinks a finger into his tight hole, watches the expression of discomfort change to one of bliss as he gets used to the intrusion and starts pumping the finger in and out slowly.
When Castiel's hot mouth sinks down onto his dick, Dean about bucks up off the bed, only held back by Castiel's surprisingly strong hand on his hip. Dean throws his head back with a groan as Castiel bobs up and down, tongue doing little figure eights along his dick.
Dean whines when Castiel pulls off.
"Look at me, Dean," he commands, and Dean is helpless but to follow the directive. Castiel is staring up at him, intensity etched into his face, and it's enough to take Dean's breath away. "Don't ever look away from me," Castiel says.
Dean is drunk on the feeling that this beautiful, successful man is going going down on him, opening himself up for him, wants to be with him. It's more than Dean knows what to do with.
He nods and says, "Always."
A pleased, little smile spreads across Castiel's face, something so painfully real in the expression. Then he's flicking his tongue against Dean's slit, probing at the soft flesh there. Dean lets out a guttural sound, but fights the urge to close his eyes, to throw his head back in bliss. He keeps his eyes firmly glued on Castiel.
He watches as Castiel licks sloppily up and down his shaft as though it's a lollipop. He watches as Castiel adds the second finger to his hole, moaning in pleasure at the oh-so-good burn. He watches as Castiel scissors himself open as he swallows Dean down, down, down his throat, all the way to the hilt. He tangles a hand into Castiel's hair when he moans around his dick as he slips in the third finger. Never once does he take his eyes off the beautiful man before him, and just when he thinks it's too much, just as he thinks he's about to cum down the model's throat, Castiel pulls off with an obscene pop, meeting no resistance from Dean's hand still tangled in his hair.
Dean groans at the sight of Castiel's swollen, red lips still connected to his dick by a thin strand of saliva. Castiel gives him a lazy, toothy smile, pressing a kiss to the tip before sliding his fingers out of his own ass and sitting back on his haunches.
Dean continues watching as Castiel tears open the condom wrapper and slides the latex onto Dean's weeping cock. He watches Castiel's face, eyes staring back at him as well, as Castiel lubes up Dean's member. Their eyes never leave each other as Castiel crawls into Dean's lap, even as he leans down to press his swollen lips to Dean's. Even as Dean groans at the taste of himself on Castiel's tongue, his hands going to rest on slim hips to steady Castiel as he slides down so fucking slowly onto Dean's dick, Dean never looks away from blown out, blue eyes.
"Shit, Cas," Dean gasps out once he's fully seated in Castiel.
"Call me that again. Call me that always," Castiel whispers, demands, as he slowly rocks back and forth on Dean's cock.
"Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas." The name spills out in a litany as Castiel picks up the pace, hands sliding up Dean's chest to grip at his shoulders and ride him in earnest. All Dean can do is hold onto sharp hip bones, help guide the snap of his own hips, as he stares into Castiel's eyes, repeating the nickname like a prayer.
When Cas's back arches, muscles tight as a bowstring as he breaks eye contact with Dean, a pleasure cry erupting from his lips, Dean knows he's hit that spot inside Cas that makes fireworks go off.
He tightens his grip on the sharp, angular hip, hips that make for the perfect handles, and snaps his dick up into the tight body atop him, hitting Cas's prostate every time, wrenching pleasured screams from the man until finally, nails raking down Dean's chest hard enough to mark, Castiel comes with a cry of Dean's name, white painting his stomach.
Dean keeps thrusting, fucking Cas through his orgasm, coming not long after with his own shouted litany of "Cas Cas Cas."
As he comes down from the high, Castiel collapsed bonelessly against him, Dean can't help thinking he just had what was very likely the best sex of his entire life with a male model he met in the VIP lounge of an already VIP club.
New York lifestyle, indeed.