Ten minutes had passed. At one point, a figure had walked into the bathroom, into the adjacent stall, and gotten himself ready before Dean told him to scram. Needless to say, the stranger with the white tennis shoes and shorts - Dean assumed because he could see the dark hair on his calves - had left, confused. Dean shifted in the stall, snapping up his phone and checking the time, again.

Fifteen minutes had passed.

Dean silently chided himself for the childish excitement and anticipation. He drummed his fingers on his knees impatiently, blowing out a breath when the door opened. He didn't even realize he hadn't breathed in until dark jeans and work boots appeared beneath the divider, turning to face him and stopping.

"Uh.. hello."

It was the same voice from before. The same one that made him think of stormy seas and something other-worldly. Where had he heard it before? He swore he'd heard it somewhere. He shook his head, swallowed hard, and nodded, although the other man couldn't see it.

"Hey," Dean rasped, staring through the hole and straight at the seam of the man's pants. "You wanna go ahead and get ready?" He motioned with one hand to the hole, though he knew the other wouldn't be able to see.

"Oh, right. Yes." Dean listened to the zipper and the shuffling of stroking before the familiar member poked through the hole.

A slow grin spread across Dean's face and he slid to his knees in front of the partition. He didn't start with his hand this time, he just went all in, wrapping his lips around the tip and sinking to the base. The man let out a soft, surprised moan that reverberated down to Dean's very core and made his bones vibrate. He couldn't help it, he mimicked the moan as he pulled back, running his tongue in a hard line along the underside. His right hand moved over his own curious arousal in his pants and he slowly ran his palm down the bulge in his dark jeans.

"Ah.. Fuck." The man whispered and damn if that wasn't one of the sexiest sounds Dean had ever heard. Quickly, he popped the button of his jeans and pulled down the zipper, releasing himself into the air. He pulled his head back and ran his tongue over the head in quick, excited circles as he started stroking himself.

It was sloppy that time, fast and heavy with saliva. He took the hard member into the back of his throat and bobbed his head there, imagining hands in his hair, fucking into his mouth. His eyes watered and he moved his hand faster. The man bucked forward and he was done, moaning loudly and spilling white into his palm before he'd even gotten the guy off. Pathetic. He didn't care that he made soft whimper sounds as he continued brushing the pad of his thumb over the oversensitive head, shooting electricity through him. He moved his head, licking up the slit at the thick, salty precome that had settled there and the man groaned through heavy breaths. Dean took him all, over and over, his jaw muscle starting to burn as goosebumps erupted over his skin from the sounds the man was making. Just as he thought he might not be able to get this guy off, he came, spurting yoke-y warm liquid into Dean's mouth and he swallowed.

God, like a dirty fucking whore he swallowed it all, and he liked it.

The man's hips bucked and Dean slowly drew his head back before moving back in, working him through his orgasm. He popped off and stood, cleaning himself up with a long winded sigh, his tongue running over the roof of his mouth to lap up any remnants of honey before he swallowed it down with alcohol.

"So, I can't pay you, and we've already exchanged numbers..." The man said and Dean raised a brow, turning at the sound of the toilet lid closing and the shuffle of clothing. "But I'd like to do something, so I'm here if you want to talk."

Dean scoffed, throwing the spent wad of toilet paper into the toilet and closing the lid before stuffing himself back into his jeans and fastening them. He sat as well, shaking his head. "Listen, I appreciate it and all, but I'm good." He took another drink of whiskey, baring his teeth at the burn. It was almost a clinical silence that fell over the bathroom in the aftermath of his words. He could vaguely hear thrumming of the bass in the club, but the buzzing of fluorescent lights was louder. "Besides, aren't you dating someone? Why are you even here?" He asked, if only for noise to fill the silence.

"He sees others besides me. I figure I can do the same."

"Oh man, I'm sorry." Dean sighed and leaned his elbows on his knees. "That sucks."

"It's not your fault. He's older and quite rich, he likes his playthings. That's a trademark of millionaires, isn't it?"

Dean chuckled and shook head, resting his chin over his chest. "Not really."

A sigh from the other stall. "So, do you have any hobbies?"

Dean snorted a laugh, shaking his head again; from relationships to hobbies was an odd jump. "Yeah. Yeah I do. I work on my car." Dean shrugged and took another drink. "Sometimes I shoot pool. You?"

"I watch Netflix, but I suppose that's not a hobby." The man chuckled, the sound as smooth as fine chocolate. "I also love to paint. I've been able to sell a few, but the phrase 'starving artist' is true. I couldn't support myself, so I got my job where I am now. I still paint, just not all the time anymore."

Dean nodded slowly. "What do you paint?"

"Landscapes, people, flowers and bees."

Dean chuckled. "That's right, the bee man."

"Yes, the bee man." Dean could've sworn he heard the lilt of a smile in the man's voice. "I prefer realism. Abstract and surrealism are fine, but it takes more time and effort to make a painting look like you're looking at a picture. It takes more heart."

Dean smiled warmly at the bright white tiles. Yeah, he could see that. He blinked several times, letting the silence wash over him in waves, the buzzing from the lights and the soft breathing from the other stall. "Man, I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing." He admitted to the floor, breaking the silence between them once again.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean here, talking to you instead of telling you to screw off." Dean rested his head in his hands, palms grinding into his eyes and fingers splayed in the soft tufts of dark blond hair atop his head. "Why?"

"Oscar Wilde once said 'Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask and he will tell you the truth.' Maybe you need someone to hear your truth, someone who doesn't know you." The man reasoned.

Dean let out a strange choked sound, somewhere between a bitter chuckle and a groan. But he was right. The stranger with the honey come who liked bees and painting and had a twin brother was right. Dean needed someone to hear his truth. "She fucking left me, man." His voice was gruff, tired and overwhelmed. "Fifteen years and all she had to say was 'I'm sorry'." He ground his palms harder into his eyes, scoffing when they came away wet. The white tiles swam with stars from how hard he'd pressed, but soon came into focus and he looked at his hands, at the gold band glinting in the lights. "I mean, we were unhappy, and it's not like it was gonna work out. Damn it, I just…" He sighed and slipped the ring from his finger, watching as it blurred from the tears accumulating in his eyes. "I didn't think she'd actually leave, ya know? She had her boyfriends, I had my fuckbuddies… In some kind of twisted, screwy way, it worked for us. Then it didn't."

The silence that followed the disgusting word vomit was palpable. Dean could hear his heart pumping under his ribs, blood rushing in his ears as soft tears slipped down his cheeks and splattered on the blank white tiles. There it was, he'd torn apart his chest and lain his heart on the bathroom floor for anybody to examine, look at him for what he really was.

Some lonely, heartbroken bastard in a glory hole on a Thursday.

"Do you still love her?" The deep voice split the silence and Dean felt his throat squeeze as he cleared it, quickly wiping away the trails of sadness his tear ducts had stained his cheeks with.

"I love who she used to be, and I don't think I'll ever stop. I don't think I can." He sighed softly and straightened to take a drink of whiskey. "Don' matter though. I don't want her back or anything." His gold wedding band, sandwiched between his palm and the glass, sat heavy like a brick. He took another sip and set down the whiskey, turning the ring to read the engraving. 'Forever and always, I do'. He sighed and shook his head, looking up at the far wall.

"It's cliché, but it was probably for the best. I may not know you all that well, and I don't know her, but if you were both unhappy it was only time until one of you left."

"Yeah, I know."

"That, of course, doesn't make the pain of separation any easier. Give yourself time, friend, and you'll be okay."

Dean smiled softly and huffed a breath through his nose before sniffling. "Yeah, thanks bathroom therapist." He snarked and shook his head. "You want me to tell you about my childhood too? I can tell you right now that wasn't all sunshine and roses, but it was fine, and my relationship was my dad was good too." He sighed, realizing he was being an ass to the only person he'd opened up to in, damn, three years? Yeah, must've been, because that was when Jess and Sam had Mary and Charlie got with Dorothy. He hadn't wanted to bother them with his problems because his were the same old problems and they had new things to deal with.

"Only if you want to." The stranger responded slowly, uncertainly.

"Yeah, no thanks. It was a joke, buddy." Dean sighed and shook his head. And then his phone rang, Lisa's name glaring at him on the caller ID. "Sorry, I gotta take this."

"That's okay, I should probably go. I believe Netflix misses me."

Dean chuckled softly, thumb hovering over the green call button. "It was good talking to you." He said honestly.

"Of course, and I hope we can text more."

"Yeah, course." Dean brought the phone to his ear, answering it. "Hey Lisa." He watched as work boots walked from the adjacent stall and back into the club.

"Hi. So, I talked to Brady and Ben, and we all think it's fine if you take him every other weekend."

Dean sighed in relief. "Thank god. Thank you Lisa, really. Can I start this weekend? I wanted to take him to a Yankees game on Saturday." It was the truth, it was what he'd gone to ask Ben that Monday. But, as he thought about it, maybe having him the whole weekend wouldn't be the best idea. He'd already made a home out of his room, and didn't really want to switch to a double when Ben would only be with him every other weekend. "And how about, instead of all weekend every other weekend, I could just have him all day every Saturday?"

There was a pause and some muted words. "Yeah, that sounds fine. Or some Sundays if you want to switch it up."

Dean grinned, heart flipping. "Thanks Lis. You really didn't have to do this." Another thought came to mind. "Did you tell him?" that I'm not actually his father. The unspoken words hung in the line between them, but Lisa understood what he meant.

"No, I haven't." Another pause. "And he really misses his dad. He misses you, Dean."

Dean could've started crying again, right there, but he didn't. He held it together for a brief moment, long enough to respond. "Tell him I miss him too, but I'll see him on Saturday."

"I'll send you Brady's address tomorrow."

"Alright, thanks."

"You're welcome Dean. I meant it, you know, when I told you you were a good dad." With that, the line went dead and Dean shuddered a sigh, closing his eyes and folding his hands over the phone as he rested it against his forehead. Something went right, finally. He pulled the phone away as he received a message.

SMS Message from Honey
10:32 5/5/16
"Glad I left. Apparently I'm needed elsewhere. I suppose The Wire will have to wait."

SMS Message to Honey
10:33 5/5/16

"Boyfriend? Don't tell him about me. I don't really feel like beating anyone up. And thanks again. I think I needed that."

SMS Message from Honey
10:34 5/5/16
"Of course. I'm always here for you."

Dean smiled warmly at his phone and responded before heading through the club and back to the motel, the weight on his shoulders feeling lighter than it had in months. Once back in his room after his shower, under the scratchy blankets and over the lumpy mattress, he squinted in the bright light of his phone and responded before going to bed.

SMS Message to Honey
11:49 5/5/16
"Yeah, you too."