Dean was wiping down the bar for the thousandth time when he just knew it was Castiel who had walked through the door.

Dean felt suddenly feverish. His skin warm and tight.

Two weeks ago, Castiel had walked into his bar, and Dean had noticed him. Dean couldn't have helped himself. The first thing that caught his attention was the ugly taupe trench coat. The second thing was the way the stranger's ink-black hair fell into sharp blue eyes. Dean was lost for words.

Tonight, Castiel walked straight to the bar, eyes lowered slightly, not in fear or self-consciousness but as if he were a hunter scanning for tracks.

Dean never felt uncomfortable at work, even when some of the women had a little too much to drink and started getting grabby. Now this slightly scruffy piece had him hard and ready without speaking a word.

Before he knew it, Dean felt himself lean over when the stranger sat at the bar, resting on his forearms, a position, he knew, which set his biceps off to their best advantage. "What can I get you?"

Trench Coat managed to raise his eyes to Dean's without the hint of a pit stop at the guns on display.

Dean felt like someone had nailed his feet to the ground. The sounds of the half-empty pub faded into the background and his breath hitched in his throat. Sweet and salty Jesus, this man had some pair of eyes!

Dean was flung into a kaleidoscope of blue. Cool and sharp, striking in colour and interspersed with shards of ice, the arctic and the summer sky, all at once.

And those lips, almost a cupid's bow, perfectly formed, enticingly pink. Just looking at them made Dean's own lips itch to rub up against them.

He was so entranced he didn't notice that they were moving. The man's brow furrowed in confusion and he raised his voice slightly, breaking Dean's concentration.

"Have you lost the ability to hear?" the words were laced with genuine concern, rather than malice or sarcasm.

"Oh, right, I'm sorry. Sorry. What can I get for you then?" Dean's voice was tight as he realised he must have been staring at this man for a full thirty seconds.

"A beer, please," the gravel in his voice sent a pulse off between his legs.

"Sure," Dean turned away from him toward the fridge and pulled out a bottle. He set it down on the counter, taking a second to compose himself.

Now, as Castiel approached, Dean's heart was racing and his lower lip quivered, more than quivered, he felt it twitch nervously. Dean took a deep breath and bit into the plumpness of his lip in an attempt to quell the spasm.

Dean schooled his unruly mouth into a smile "Hey, Cas, beer?"

Castiel took a seat on a stool directly in front of Dean and looked up at him, from under his lashes, just a little. "Hello, Dean. Yes, please."

Castiel handed his money over wordlessly, his eyes meeting Dean's for a moment before he lifted the beer to his lips and turned in his seat to survey the rest of the pub.

This gave Dean a moment to organise his senses, and to survey the figure of Castiel. Dean's toes curled in his shoes, his fingers tensed and his cock firmed as he looked Cas over, from his shock of bed-mussed hair, down, lingering on his cheekbones, across to pink, slightly chapped lips, the long column of his neck. Dean had a sudden urge to arch up against him, like a cat, and rub his cheek against the stubble.

Castiel chose that moment to turn back. It took Dean a full second to tear his gaze away, and so he was caught out again.

Dean looked down at the bar, his heart thundering in his ears. What the hell was this man doing to him?

Dean set the beer down in front of the stranger. "There you go, man, that'll be six dollars."

The stranger placed notes in Dean's outstretched hand. Dean felt the brush of the stranger's fingers all the way down to his interested cock.

"Haven't seen you around here before," Dean started, both curious and kicking himself for his uncharacteristic lack of smoothness, "I'm Dean."

The stranger's unnerving blue eyes met Dean's, "I'm Castiel."

An impulse made Dean lift his head, snapping him out of reminiscence. Castiel was looking at him now, brow lightly furrowed, his eyes wide-open but giving the impression that he was squinting, studying Dean deeply. It was only when Dean felt that slightly acrid sting of a breath held too long that he managed to look away again.

"Hey, barkeep, get your ass over here and pour me a drink," the boorish voice of a polyester-suited man at the end of the bar shook him out of his haze.

"Sorry pal, what can I get you?" Dean promised himself he wouldn't stare at Castiel again, unless, of course, he asked for another drink.

Castiel. Dean could put a name to the blue-eyed man, who'd walked in and destroyed all but an inch of Dean's composure.

That first night, after Castiel had bid him a husky "Good night, Dean," Dean went home and indulged himself.

Dean sat on his couch, an open bottle of beer forgotten on the coffee table in front of him, and thrust up into his hand, imagining Castiel bent over the pool table at the bar.

Dean teased the head of his cock, thinking of how Cas would call out his name in that gravel-rough voice. Dean imagined running his hands through that dark hair, pressing his lips against Castiel's pouting mouth. Dean's hips rolled harder as he considered fucking Castiel so hard the pool table shook, hearing Cas moan for him, seeing a glimpse of those hot blue eyes as Cas threw him a sultry, half-lidded look over his shoulder as Dean's cock slid in and out of his arse.

Dean shuddered as he came, his semen spurting out to cover his hand and stomach. For the next two weeks, Dean smiled and chatted politely whenever Cas came in, and then went home and jacked himself off to thoughts of his new favourite customer.

Castiel had not asked for another drink, instead he nursed his beer until closing time, when he was the only patron left, besides the polyester-suited man who had been drinking far too heavily and was now resisting Dean's attempts to eject him.

"Buddy, this is your last chance. Leave now."

Instead of complying, the drunken man threw a shaky punch at Dean's jaw.

"You've used up all your chances, man."

Dean, used to dealing with aggressive drunks of all shapes and sizes, locked the drunk's arms behind him and marched him to the door of the pub. Dean kicked it open and forced the drunk out, catching it as it closed and sliding the bolt home.

Dean turned to head back to the bar but stopped short when he realised that Castiel, whose steady gaze pinioned his and made his cock stir, was still sitting at it.

Dean swallowed visibly, his mouth dry. "Uh, sorry, Cas. Didn't see you there, bar's closed."

Castiel shifted his head down a little, still looking at Dean, but with eyes refocussing as if he were drunk. "Of course," he intoned, his voice just as gruff and whisky-rough as it was in Dean's dreams.

Castiel slid off the stool and loped towards the door, pausing as he reached Dean. Cas swayed a little and Dean instinctively placed his hands on the man's shoulders to steady him.

Castiel lifted his eyes to Dean's, "I'm sorry, I thought I'd sobered up."

"That's ok," Dean murmured. He kept his hands on Cas' shoulders, his fingers tightening on the fabric of the trench coat.

"I should go," as Castiel spoke, his eyes travelled down, and stopped at Dean's full lips.

"Mmhmm," Dean felt deliciously trapped, he probably should feel bad about wanting to take advantage of a drunk man, but all he could think of was pressing Cas up against a wall and sucking the other man's tongue into his mouth.

"I'm a little drunk…" Castiel's voice trailed off.

Dean's mouth quirked up, "You had one beer, dude, seriously?"

Dean was just about to sit the guy down and call him a cab, when Castiel spoke up again.

"I've had one beer and seven shots of vodka."

Dean looked quizzically at Cas, who was still standing against him.

"Unless you turned invisible and snuck around the bar, I'm pretty sure it was just the one beer."

Castiel pulled back a little to look Dean in the eye. Dean's stomach clenched at Cas' look of intense concentration.

"I had the seven shots at home, to work up the nerve."

Dean's lips parted in surprise and confusion.

"Can I kiss you?" Castiel's gaze moved down to Dean's mouth again.

Dean felt a blast of heat hit the back of his neck and he felt his cheeks reddening.

"Well, aren't you the fast mover, Cas?" Dean joked, speaking lightly, so as not to embarrass the man in front of him or betray the fact that he was thinking exactly the same thing not a minute ago.

Castiel didn't smile. Just flicked his gaze from Dean's lips, back up to his eyes. Dean's heart stuttered. Castiel's look seemed to invade his body, seeking out the hint of consent, deeply aroused and yet, Dean thought he detected the slightest hint of playfulness, right before Castiel spoke again.
"I've been working up the nerve to ask you out from the night I walked into this place. You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen."

With that soft, achingly honest declaration, Castiel leaned in and pressed his lips against Dean's. The pressure was warm and Dean felt slight suction as Castiel pursed his mouth against Dean's lower lip. Castiel drew away, looking up at Dean through long, dark lashes.

"Can I just say, the last two weeks have been hell for me too, Cas."

Dean didn't hesitate, leaning in and covering Castiel's mouth with his own.

At first, the two men just kissed, almost sweetly. Two pairs of soft, velvety lips, slow-dancing against each other, just the barest heat and moisture. When Castiel slid a hand around the back of Dean's neck, and angled his head just so, the kiss deepened. Dean slid his tongue into Cas' mouth, revelling in the taste of him. Cas slid his tongue back along Dean's and a gentle moan rose from his throat.

"God, Cas, you taste so good," Dean's voice was a little strained.

Castiel opened his eyes for a moment and a small smile lit up his face. He didn't reply, he just nuzzled Dean's lips with his own, eliciting a groan and a shiver from the other man.

Dean felt his heart thrum. Cas' response to him was so unexpected. When he'd first walked into the bar, Dean had fantasised about getting him out of that trench coat, stripping off his dress shirt and maybe keeping the tie. Dean had pictured himself pressing Cas up against the bar, ordering him to keep his hands on it while Dean sucked him off. In the minutes between taking orders, Dean had casually considered what it would be like to bend Cas over the pool table, to fuck him into the green baize and play with his cock 'til Cas was moaning his name over and over again, in that gravelly voice. Hey, a guy needed to do something to pass the time.

But Dean never expected this. Never expected to feel so deeply protective of a near complete stranger. As soon as Cas had started kissing him, Dean knew that subtly dominating this man with a quick, dirty fuck wasn't on the cards. Over the course of the last two weeks, he had somehow switched from viewing Castiel as tantalising and mysterious to tantalising, mysterious, naïve, sexy, coy, pure and a few other contradictory things. And though he knew it was dangerous to feel so tender towards someone he'd just met, Dean couldn't help it.

Dean's hands moved down to rest on Cas' hips. He nipped gently at the other man's lower lip and slid his thumbs inside the waistband of Cas' trousers. Dean stroked Cas' slender hips, running his thumbs along the crease above his thighs. Cas' breath hitched and he arched into Dean's touch.

"Want to put my mouth right there, Cas. God, want to suck your cock so bad right now."

Cas could only whimper and run his fingers through Dean's hair. Cas intensified their kiss, drawing on Dean's breath, and sucking his tongue more deeply into his mouth.

Dean broke their kiss and ran his hand down the side of Cas' face, brushing his thumb across the other man's lower lip.

"You're fucking gorgeous, man," Dean breathed, "I want to look into those big eyes while I suck you off, Cas."

Cas' drew his eyebrows together and placed a hand on either side of Dean's face, "I, uh, don't usually do this. With people I've just met. You don't have to…" Cas' voice trailed off, he lowered his head, his eyes hooded now.

Dean, usually so attuned to rejection, felt a surge of heat and passion. He rested his forehead against Castiel's. "Do you want me, Cas? I've been watching you since you came into the bar, every move you've made, every look. Christ, I've been half-hard for you all night. But the last thing I want to do right now is scare you off."

Cas lifted his eyes to Dean's, the sweet blue glimmered with wonder and not a little lust. "I want you very much, Dean."

Dean exhaled in a huff of laughter, "Ok then, can we finally get to the cock-sucking?"

Cas laughed out loud then, surprising Dean. "Yes, I think so."

"Great," Dean smiled and took Cas' bottom lip between his, nipping lightly. He gently pushed Cas into the nearest chair and kneeled between the seated man's legs. Dean drew Cas' head down for another kiss, this one lingering, with plenty of dirty, hard tonguing. Dean shifted on his knees, his cock so swollen and pressed against the hard seam of his jeans.

Dean unfastened the clasp of Cas' pants, and then stopped to press his shaking hands into the other man's thighs, steadying himself. Cas dipped his head and brushed his jaw along Dean's neck. Dean shivered at the sensation of Cas' rough stubble against the sensitive skin there. Cas pressed fervent, open-mouthed kisses over that same patch and Dean moaned, "God, Cas, I'm going to come in my pants before I ever get you off."

Cas chuckled softly, "What is it about you, Dean? I feel like I've known you forever." Cas' hands tightened in Dean's hair.

Dean shook his head, "I don't know," his reddened lips quivered, "I just…I don't know."

Cas shifted his grip so that Dean was looking up at him. Dean felt like he could die in those eyes, so warm, so blue. And then Cas opened his mouth.

"I've wanted you all night, too. Had to keep my coat on just to hide how hard you make me."

Dean flared up at this, "Holy shit, Cas, that's just the kind of talk to get you laid. You're not nearly as innocent as you look."

Both men laughed at this, gentle laughter that faded as soon as Dean moved his hands to unzip Cas' fly. Dean parted the fabric to reveal Cas' cock, straining against the dark blue cotton of his boxer briefs.

Dean rubbed a cheek against Cas' erection, feeling it pulse, hot and muscular. Cas arched up, a small keening escaping his throat. Dean took the opportunity to draw down Cas' briefs and pants, pushing them down to his ankles. Cas' cock bobbed free, arcing back towards his flat, firm stomach, the slit already weeping. Dean curled a hand around the base of it, bringing the head up to his mouth. He licked away some pre-cum, dipping the tip of his tongue into the little eye. Cas' whole body shuddered and his thighs clenched around Dean.

"I've got you, babe," Dean whispered, "hold on."

Cas moaned and worried a hand through Dean's hair. Dean's mouth felt so good on his cock.

Dean's slippery, wet tongue never stayed in one place too long, it circled the tip of Cas' prick and deliberately rubbed the sensitive head on the rough flat of it.

Dean could feel the sweetness of Cas leaking down to the back of his throat. The taste made his head spin and he took Cas' deeper, testing the limits of his gag reflex.

Cas made a short, sharp, anxious sound as he realised what Dean was doing. Dean ran a gentle hand over the cheeks of Cas' arse, soothing the other man, silently reassuring Cas that Dean wanted this.

Dean took Cas' cock further into his mouth, slackened his jaw and bobbed his head up and down, letting Cas fuck the slick interior. Castiel moaned Dean's name.

The lights of the bar seemed to lower as Dean lost himself in the act of bringing Cas to climax. Castiel shifted, his hips thrusting gently as he moved to perch on the edge of the chair. The hard wood edge dug into the muscle of his arse but the pain only added to the bank of pleasure that was building up inside him. Cas leant back, resting his shoulders on the back of the chair so his hips tilted up.

The action forced Dean's head back a little, now he could raise his eyes. They travelled over the smooth expanse of Castiel's stomach, past the white dress shirt, which had shucked up around Cas' waist, and straight to the eyes of the man who had brought him to his knees. The blue that had so drawn Dean was almost invisible; Cas' pupils were dilated, blown out by lust and pleasure.

Cas was breathing heavily now, his climax seconds away.

Dean held his gaze. Castiel hooked into those hazel-green depths as though they could anchor him. As though he couldn't come without Dean's eyes on his.

Cas' breath hitched, and Dean's eyes didn't break away as he used his finger to delicately stroke Cas' balls and the patch of skin behind.

Cas exploded. Dean drank his cum, swallowing it down. He drew his forearms around Cas' arse, hugging the other man to him and mouthing the softening cock. Cas curled over, rubbing his hands in soothing circles on Dean's back.

"Thank you," Cas murmured into the side of Dean's neck.

Dean lifted his head, capturing Cas' mouth in a kiss. Cas could taste his cum on Dean's tongue.

Dean sucked on Cas' tongue, still desperate to have some part of this man inside him.

"Come home with me."

Cas stilled at the words. Then he looked into Dean's eyes and, behind the unsatisfied lust, he saw wariness, as though Dean were preparing himself for rejection.

"Yes."