(A/N: Rated T for mild suggestive themes and mild coarse language.

Long ago prompt from Desirae: "Prof. Castiel sits at a booth at a bar quietly reading&waiting till his ride home is ready to leave. He is listening, amused at the 3 girls the next table over, who are wagering on which girl is gonna talk the hot Bartender into going home with one of them after closing time. But of course Dean is not just the bartender, he's the owner. Oh, and Castiel's fiancé."

Naturally, I was inspired heh. It's short and fluffy.

Warnings/tags: MalexMale slash. Mild language. Fluff.

Enjoy.)

Castiel sits in one of the booths at the back of The Roadhouse, reading as he waits for his ride home. The place is busy, most of the noise and action is near the bar at the other side of the room, but he's learned to read anywhere (something that confuses and amuses his fiancé). No matter how noisy it is around him, he's able to slip into whatever he's reading without distraction. His attention on his book wanes just a little as he looks up long enough to find his soda—cola with lime. He smiles to himself, pleased to see the lime already squeezed and pushed into the ice.

He pulls it closer and takes a long sip, gaze flitting around as he sips and listens to few of the conversations going on around him that he can make out over the din.

"I can't even," a woman's voice says, light and giggly with alcohol. A chorus of giggles meets the statement and Castiel can't help but be amused. He leans in towards his book again and scans the page, intending on finding his spot.

A loud, drunken giggle and sounds of agreement. "Oh em gee, those eyes." There's an audible swoon in the words and Castiel nods to himself; he whole-heartedly agrees with that. A man's eyes are usually one of the first things he notices. And his fiancé has lovely eyes; a lovely green that are so very expressive and open. He takes a moment to think about said eyes, gaze lingering on his page but focused internally.

"Oh god, he's so freakin' hot!" the same voice says, and Castiel can almost see her fanning herself as she ogles whichever guy she's gushing about. "Too hot."

A loud, giggly sung chorus of "hot damn!"s meets her words and he actually chuckles, forgoing any further reading and taking another sip of his soda. As interesting as his book is, the over-heard conversation is amusing enough to delay getting back into it a little while.

There's indistinct murmuring for awhile, which Castiel spends watching Dean instead of reading. Dean's mixing a drink, the defined muscles in his biceps and forearms flexing as he lifts bottles, pouring into a silver cocktail shaker, caps it expertly and then shakes everything together. The plain black T-shirt is snug, but not obscenely so, just enough to showcase Dean's broad shoulders, strong chest and defined arms. Still, Castiel spends a few long moments appreciating the fit if it on Dean's body. He gets comfortable, openly staring now as Dean smiles at whoever is standing at the bar, hands moving with deft precision and skill.

"Oh fuck, those arms," someone says. "God, I bet he could just pin you down. Or hold you up against the wall as he—" The rest is lost to loud cackles, cat-calls, suggestive sounds and noises of agreement.

Castiel snorts to himself, silently agreeing with that assessment. He definitely can admit to having an affinity for Dean's arms as well since he enjoys the times Dean forgoes his layers and just wears a T-shirt, tanned and toned arms out on display. The occasions he watches Dean fix drinks, work on his car (or Castiel himself), his gaze is usually on those muscles as they flex and bunch with each move Dean makes.

"I'm gonna go talk to him!" someone else says to more giggles and good-natured cat calls. There's a sound of shuffling of someone making their way out of the booth and then a surprised squeak as someone flops back into the booth, the whole thing shuddering and jarring. "Amanda!" Someone shouts in a scolding tone. "Don't be a bitch, you weren't gonna—"

"I was so!" Amanda (apparently) says back. "I was just... working up to it."

Someone snorts with amusement. "You so weren't. Like he'd go home with you."

"Bitch, he so would!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel can see one of the young women standing from the booth now, swaying ever-so slightly as she stands there. She's blonde and rather pretty, face flushed with whatever cocktails she's been imbibing. "He gave me, like, four cherries," she says, leaning over the table. "He's totally into me!" she declares, sounding smug as she points in the vague direction of the bar.

Another round of giggles, half of the women encouraging her, the other half loudly doubting her. "No way," another one calls out. "He smiled at me, so—" There's more shuffling and movement on the other side of the booth as she works herself from the booth as well, playfully hip-checking the woman standing as soon as she gets to her feet. They both wobble drunkenly and giggle again, each helping the other stay upright. "I'm totes bagging that hottie," she says firmly, only a slight slur to her words, fluffing her hair and adjusting her top.

Castiel perks up again, book closing over his thumb as he peers over at the group of women. They all turn, as one, to look at the bar.

At the bartender.

At Dean.

His fiancé.

Who's currently pulling a draft and aiming a charming smile at some curvy, petite brunette standing at the bar. Dean pushes the beer across the bar, winking as he takes the bill from her hand and makes it disappear. There's a collective sigh from the other table and Castiel nearly laughs outright as they all go through the whole 'he's so hot' thing again, singing about calling police and firemen.

It's more amusing than anything else, something he's quite used to given Dean's good looks and charming-when-he-wants-to-be personality, so he sits back again and listens—attention on the chatter and not even pretending he's going to continue reading any time soon, knowing full well his book is now a lost cause.

When he and Dean had first started seeing each other, he admittedly was rather put out (OK, jealous) to see the sort of attention Dean drew (and rarely shrunk away from), but it didn't take long for him to realize it was just how Dean was. He is a faithful partner, though, never tempted to stray even when they weren't that serious. After just two dates, Dean would raise his hands, smile broadly and proclaim himself unavailable.

And Dean never hesitated to point out he wasn't free, 'seeing someone seriously as a matter of fact', when the flirting got too interested. It embarrassed him as much as it elated him to have Dean wrap and arm around him and plant a noisy kiss on his cheek in demonstration whenever it occurred in his presence. It hadn't been that long ago that Dean shied away from overt demonstrations when out together. Not that Castiel was prone to gross public displays, but the occasional urge to hold hands or stand close together were small but meaningful gestures.

Castiel is shaken from his thoughts when there's a sharp slapping sound of a palm hitting the table next to him. "Ten bucks says I get him."

Castiel nearly laughs. The sound of more hands slapping down on the table has his eyebrows raising. By the end of the flurry of sound and money being placed, there's about $100 laid out amongst the women once he's mentally tallied everything. He's not sure if he should be offended on Dean's behalf or not... But he has an idea that Dean wouldn't be that opposed to a group of pretty women betting money on who'd get the pleasure of his company. He'd most likely just pout it wasn't more than $100. (Which, he can agree since Dean is priceless.)

Castiel looks over the edge of the booth when the noise suddenly dies down, the giggles hushed and muffled behind hands now. "Oh my god," one of them breathes out, voice full of whispered awe. "He's coming over here!"

Castiel turns out of reflex to watch as Dean saunters over, smiling politely to people as he passes them. He ignores the sounds of the women in the next booth, some of them making sounds ridiculously close to a squeal and some just chanting 'oh my god' over and over in a whisper like a mantra, and just focuses on Dean. The easy, slightly bow-legged gait, the faded black tee that's now under a wash-worn flannel that Dean has unbuttoned and rolled to the elbows, the dark-washed jeans just tight enough to accentuate his legs and slim waist.

He watches openly, warm tingles going through him when Dean winks and smiles. The fervor at the next booth picks up as the women start to argue in hushed voices over whom Dean is looking at, a few pained grunts as someone is probably elbowed or shoved in retaliation. Castiel nearly sags in the booth when Dean's charm-the-pants-off smile turns into a warm, love filled one, his green eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that makes Castiel's fingers twitch and very glad he's already sitting.

It gets very quiet in the next booth when it becomes clear Dean isn't headed to their table before a charged buzzed chatter picks up again, faces peeking over the padded booth. Hissed whispers about the skank in the next booth, mumbles turning into gasps when a few sets of eyes finally spy him. A few whispered 'holy shit, it's a guy' drift over the booth. But Castiel barely hears it, caught up in watching Dean. Dean finally reaches his table, leaning over so his hands are resting on the scarred wooden table top. The flirty smile is back and Castiel can't stop himself from smiling in return, tucking his book away against his chest as he looks up at Dean.

"Sup, Professor?" Dean teases, adding another wink in for good measure because it usually makes Cas smile in that goofy way that makes his gums show and his nose crinkle adorably.

Castiel grins and holds up his book in demonstration. He'd already finished his marking and rather enjoyed the moment to read something for leisure instead of bad grammar and lofty attempts at Hemingway-esque diatribes about the human condition. Dean's eyes crinkle as he laughs warmly, fondly, and shifts so he's resting on his elbows instead, bobbing closer. Castiel watches him silently, curious to see what brought Dean over towards him.

Dean huffs softly, gaze flicking to Cas' half-read book. He knows it's not really a big deal, Cas can read anywhere, able to tune out the real world and get lost in his books. So, he knows hanging at the bar isn't terrible, the drinks are always kept full and free, but he hates making Cas wait. With Ash calling out at the last possible minute, he's stuck there an hour later than usual.

"Sorry, babe, shouldn't be more than another hour," he murmurs as he leans in close, head tilted and aiming for a kiss. Cas doesn't disappoint and he hums softly into the kiss, happy when Cas is quick to respond, one of Cas' hands fluttering over his jaw for a moment. Good, he's not angry then.

A loud chorus of cooing (and a few disgruntled 'shit's) has Dean looking over at the next booth, eyebrows raised. There are at least three women looking over the booth, shamelessly watching and making goo-goo eyes at him and Cas. He nearly rolls his eyes; he should be used to this by now, but he's not. It makes him feel like a bunny frolicking with a puppy video when women coo at him and Cas together. (It's tempting to tell them how hot the sex is and that they shouldn't be cooing like him and Cas were a pair of adorable, fluffy Labradors, but whistling and charged five bucks a minute. He doesn't, though, because he's classy like that.)

He glances at Cas, curious. "What's that all about?" he asks in a low tone, leaning in close so the ogling women won't hear. He ignores the fresh round of 'aww's with minimal effort. At least they aren't being assholes about him and Cas. He'll take the cutesy 'aww's and fangirl eyes over the assholes that glare and make disgusted faces any day.

"They were hoping one of them would have the honor of your company tonight," Castiel says.

Dean nearly chokes on air. OK, he knows he still turns heads (it helps sell booze and he's not above using it sometimes), but he's taken by surprise at how cool Cas sounds about it. Almost amused. "Oh yeah?" he asks, leaning up and looking over towards the table of women. Jesus, most of them can't be past their 21st birthday. He might've been tempted once upon a time, but those days are long past. Even before he hooked up with Cas.

"Yes," Castiel says thoughtfully. He can see the warring expressions on Dean's face, the 'pleased and flattered' fighting with the 'freaking out'. "Quite a bit of money was placed down," he adds, keeping the smile off his face and the laugh down with an impressive effort (if he says so himself).

Dean tries on a cocky grin and a wink. But he's looking at Cas closely, looking for signs of jealousy or upset. Cas only looks amused, though. Maybe a little turned on, if he's reading the smirk growing on Cas' lips right. He slides into the booth, pressing in close to Cas' side. He kind of wants to ask how much, but he doesn't. Just kisses Cas again, sliding a hand around the back of Cas' neck and turning up the heat a little with a nip to Cas' bottom lip.

The hint of lime and coke is strangely addicting when it's got Cas added to it, and he deepens the kiss—

Only to be rudely interrupted with wolf-whistles and cat calls from over the edge of the booth. He pulls away from Cas' mouth with a frown, glaring at the three women blatantly ogling him and Cas. OK, so they're totally making out in public but it's not like that's an invitation for a bunch of drunk girls to watch like a bunch of pervs. "Take a picture, it'll last longer," he says, unable to help himself. He leans back in, satisfied they'll fuck off, and picks up where he left off.

Until, to his utter horror, all three women whip cellphones out of their cleavage like freaking ninjas and a series of flashes go off, blinding him for a moment and making spots scatter across his vision. He blinks a few times, sheepishly glancing back at Cas. But Cas is just grinning, blue eyes a little dazed and a fist still clenched in the fabric of his T-shirt. "Sorry," he murmurs.

"You did invite them to," Castiel reminds Dean, not all that bothered. He laughs when Dean groans dramatically and hides his face in Castiel's neck. He pets at the back of Dean's head, gently urging him back a little. As much as he's enjoying the attention, the sooner Dean can get back and finished, the sooner they can go home.

Dean gets the hint and pouts, much to Cas' amusement (the ass), but he scoots out of the booth. He mocks a bow to the next booth. There really is a pile of bills on the table and he can't help grinning. "Ladies," he says, sending them all a wink before he heads back to the bar. He shakes his head a little when the booth erupts with noise and he almost feels bad for Cas.

He peeks over his shoulder, affection and amusement warming him thoroughly, so see Cas already has his nose back in his book, brow lightly furrowed as he reads. Damn, he can't wait to get his dorky little fiancé home...