Summary: A post-den-of-iniquity ficlet, written for tesserae.
It wasn't the most ignominious way Dean had ever left a brothel, but only because he a) had his pants on, and b) the look of utter confusion on Castiel's face made the whole shitshow totally worth it. Unable to hold back the laughter, Dean hustled him along the street and away from the bouncer who had finally appeared to glare at them from the brothel's back door.
"You are pleased," Castiel said, weighing him up with that hundred-yard stare of his, "even though I am still chaste. Was not my sexual gratification the whole purpose of this endeavour?"
"Yeah," said Dean, steering him around a corner and into a dimly lit alley. "And it's awesome that you finally got on board with the plan and everything, but I thought I told you not to order off the menu."
"I don't understand. Why would requesting the services of the person I desire most be considered 'off the menu'?"
Dean snorted. "Just a wild guess, Cas, but probably because I'm not actually a hooker."
"You have sold--"
"Don't even say it!" Dean stopped mid-stride and jabbed a finger into Castiel's chest. "Look, I'm trying to take this as a compliment, and right at this moment I don't even care that you know every freaky thing about me, because the look on that chick's face was comedy gold. But I'm not a hooker any more, so just shut up. Got it?"
Castiel nodded. "Yes, Dean."
"Good," Dean said, and started walking again, heading in the general direction of the car. "Besides, a retired rentboy isn't in the same league as those girls anyway."
"I see," said Castiel, although he still looked puzzled. "You are saying they would be better than you at sexual relations?"
"So you would be a better--"
"Not the point, Cas. The point," Dean snickered, because, God, it was never not going to be funny, "is that it was my money you were trying to buy my services with. How did you think that would even work?"
"It was Ricardo Noah's money," Castiel corrected, with the pissy frown he always reserved for acts of pool hustling and petty theft. Dean saw it a lot.
"Hey, I hustled that money fair and square," Dean said. "And speaking of... Give it." He held out his hand and snapped his fingers impatiently.
Castiel dug into his trenchcoat pocket and pulled out the wad of cash, and slapped it into Dean's hand. "I still don't understand why--"
"Jesus Christ." Dean huffed out a sigh. "Professional courtesy, okay. You don't steal a Madam's customers unless you want to end up looking like the Elephant Man's uglier brother." He stuffed the cash into his own pocket, then took stock of the empty alley and the deep shadows concealing them. "I guess this'll do. Don't freak out."
"Why would I..."
"And try to be quiet." Dean shoved Castiel backwards, and after a moment's hesitation he allowed himself to be backed up against the wall. As soon as he was safely propped there, Dean dropped to his knees, the tarmac cold and nubbly through his jeans.
"Dean. What are you doing?"
Dean snagged hold of Castiel's belt, and with a yank it slithered free of his pants; the button and zipper likewise quickly came loose under his deft fingers. Without any further prompting the dress pants gaped open, revealing a flash of striped boxers and the first tented hint of an erection.
"Still got it," Dean said smugly, and looked up. "I'd forgotten how fucking hard concrete was on the knees."
Castiel's eyes were wide as he looked down at him. He swallowed hard, but didn't say anything.
"Come on. Yes or no, Cas?"
"Dean," Castiel breathed out, one hand fluttering away from his side and coming to rest on Dean's shoulder.
Dean smiled and licked his lips. "That's not actually a yes, Cas." Hands holding Castiel's hips firmly in place, he leaned forward and breathed in the electric scent of Castiel's trembling skin. "Just as well I'm not an Angel."
This entry was originally posted at http://cupidsbow.dreamwidth.org/369188.html.