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Finals week had been a complete ordeal for every student at uni. Classes had become increasingly difficult and few sadly had managed to fall the final stretch or others just reached slightly better. Castiel had been one of them.
As the class head-boy and the student with the highest GPA among the others, he had maintained that position for a couple of years; there was nothing he couldn’t do. Or well, not entirely.
See, one of his quote on quote problems is the fact that Castiel was completely unhandy when it came to flirting with other people in the campus or even outside of it. Various types of women come to him and try their best to start a conversation but he just—he vaguely responds to it like it doesn’t concern him a lot. Don’t get him wrong, he does like women but as a friend, a pal.
The issue is he finds himself fond of the sight of a man. He knew it since he was sixteen and had his very first kiss with one of his childhood friends at a slumber-party, still his enormous list of rejections could be much longer than his academic achievements. And it wasn’t that they didn’t find him attractive because that would be an absolute lie but the fact that most of them just can’t understand him and his sense of humor— sometimes people don't get sarcastic enough and that’s why they drove apart from him.
Considering that, he was quite amazed that his roommates had invited him to a concert that was going to take place in a well known bar in the city. It was a little bit endearing that his friends, despite his countless romantic failures, still cherish his presence there.
“Guys, please just listen to me.This is gonna be so fun to watch,” one of his male roommates spoke happily, taking out of his bag a crumbled and almost sloppy poster that he had surely peeled off some lamppost in the street, waving it. “Radio Company is coming to town, isn’t this amazing?!”
Cas barely knew the band. I mean surely they’re utterly famous among the teens and young adults, however the brunette didn’t get as much of the vibe. Despite that he might start doing some research just to please and understand better his friend’s outstanding excitement to see them performing live.
While his roomie was babbling about the band Cas casually picked up the poster they had torn down and carefully observed the band members. They looked maybe seven or eight years older than him, he'd say in their early fourties.
One of them caught his attention: the lead singer, who was in the center of the poster—a very masculine man with a beard that looked like it had been perfectly crafted by God himself and Apollo, a piercing gaze, and a strong presence.
That’s where it became more interesting. Later that night when everyone was asleep and snoring like a bear, Castiel set aside his notes down his desk and dipped himself in some kind of thesis near-at-hand with the group. The blue light of his laptop was the only thing piercing the dark gloom of his room, casting along the awful noises his roomies were doing.
What began as a casual research or hunt quickly changed the subject and he bumped himself in his lustful and sober thoughts about who was that man in the front cover of that poster.
From his perspective, the lead singer looked around thirty-five to even forty years old although he maintained a great body shape, the actual concept of a Dad I would Fuck sort of man. Not only that but his name sounded sweet and rough at the same time; Dean Winchester.
“So, Dean.. what an odd name,” he muttered slowly, biting his lower lip.
The more he searched, the more dumbfounded become. His singing, the slightly obscene hip movements he made to the rhythm of the guitars, how the women in the audience whistled at him, and how he seemed to enjoy the attention.
Cas looked at one specific photo of Dean on stage: head bowed, sweat-soaked, gripping the microphone like a lifeline.
The feeling that might describe him was actually something or someone raw. But not assuming some sort of sexual connotation (what a dirty mind you’ve, Cas) instead it felt desperate, hungry, wide and open for anyone to see.
And although Cas had never felt any interest in older men, perhaps this would be an exception, one he might mentally regret when he attended the concert. It was 3 AM and he was only thinking with his dick right now.
Friday night finally rolled on. He had actually managed to clean up pretty well, but his confidence felt shaky the second he stepped into the crowded bar. Every step he took into the place felt like he was wading through a fever dream. He kept his eyes strictly off the main stage—he knew that if he caught even a glimpse of him, he’d probably bolt for the exit and leave his friends stranded.
His friend group was already huddled around a table overflowing with shots of vodka and rum, with plenty of lime wedges scattered around. They were knocking them back like they were drinking water, the chaotic energy of the night already starting to take over.
The music was loud enough to numb their ears and also the pub was exhaustingly full so it worked for the brunette to start losing his crippling nerves to see the following band. Or so he thought to himself before seeing the other members going up to the stage, lights on and the shouting began to increase more. And there he was.
Dean stepped into the dim light of the bar with the air of a man who held the deed to the building. His black shirt was tight enough to be a second thought, clinging to his chest and shoulders in a way that left little to the imagination. He wore faded, ripped denim that hung low on his hips, tucked into heavy combat boots.
With deliberate, heavy thud of his soles against the floorboards, the room seemed to quiet just a fraction, every head turning to track the raw, effortless gravity he pulled behind him. And Castiel wasn’t oblivious about it, scanning that man like his life depends on it. His eyes were glued to him, like a moth to a flame.
Suddenly the alcohol in his body disappeared and his attention purely belonged to the unknown man on the stage.
“Hello everyone, we’re Radio Company” he spoke, drawing a little grin into his lips. Around applause was echoing in the bar, shouting and hollering everywhere. He was already on his element, feeling aroused by the shouting.
The first song they played was “Right Kind of Trouble”: Dean’s hands were holding the mic carefully, looking at the audience as he usually does, winking at the women near the closest table. Meanwhile Castiel was blindfolded almost drunk by seeing him just.. be like this.
Every sip of alcohol made the butterflies on his stomach grow even more, clearly he was a “hard-to-read” person because if his mind was open like some sort of book, there might have laid just one thing behind those crystal eyes: he was extremely horny for Dean. Down-fucking-bad for him.
The younger man didn’t know what to expect from him anymore, other than a sense of pure unaldultured lust, almost looking like a siren hypnotizing a pirate. His lips moved in such a way it was deadly for Cas, who was grabbing the sides of his chair to not jump across the table and lean himself on that man. “Before we wrap this set,” the man announced behind whining sounds from the public.
“We’re gonna try something a little bit different tonight,” Dean said as his voice lowered, a gravelly rumble that vibrated in Cas’ chest. “A song about.. well y’know, the kind of trouble that’s hard to walk away from.”
Men and women among the stage began to whisper, most of them were confused as to why he was changing the set list so suddenly. When he strummed a clean chord on his guitar, drenched in a hazy crunch-hall reverb. The tempo of it was slower than the original, dragged through a nonexistent mud and grit of a Tennessee swamp.
A stripped version.
In that exact moment is where Castiel’s heart began to pump faintly that he might have been paralyzed for a couple of hours. He knew the song, in fact, it was one of his most listened songs from time to time.
Can you read my mind? I've been watching you / Couldn't fight to save your life, but you look so cool. Cas felt a physical joint. If God was real, he surely is his favourite soldier.
Camo' jacket, robbing corner stores / Hard odds to beat when you're on all fours / Good men die too, oh, I'd rather be with you, you, you.
Dean watched the audience intently as he sang; the women kept looking at him, their eyes revealing desire, but he managed to completely ignore them until they reached him. The singer felt intimidated by the constant gaze of the stranger—as if he were trying to analyze him. The song and the atmosphere began to feel heavier; his eyes tried with all their might to look away, but it was impossible. It was his first time in this city and he had already been captivated by a boy who could easily be a friend of his younger brother.
As the song hit the bridge, the band surged. The applause hit like a heartbeat in a panic attack. Dean leaned back, eyes squeezed and his hair slightly sweaty after the show.
He gave one final look at the public, waving them as he stormed out the stage. “Well, see? I told you.. they’re awesome,” his friend said while leaning to grab another beer from the table but Cas was flabbergasted to say the least.
But it was more than good. More than that.
2 AM rolled in, the air in the bar had grown thick and stagnant. His friends had disappeared outside nearly twenty minutes ago, lured by the “promise” of fresh air but he knew they just went to smoke a blunt out of his sight. He didn’t mind actually because it gave him a moment to decompress from the sensory overload of the constant chattery of them.
The bar seemed quieter now, the juke box humming a low lonesome country tune that felt like an afterthought. Castiel was staring into the amber depths of a drink he hadn’t touched when a shadow fell across the table. Though it wasn’t the waiter or one of his pals, it was broader, heavier evenly. “You look like you’re fixin’ to either pray over that damn drink or perform an autopsy on it, kid.” a voice rumbled.
Then he looked up. Dean Winchester stood there, his black shirt clinging to him with the remnants of wet sweat. Up close his eyes were more green-ish than what would look on stage.
“I was reflecting..” Castiel responded, his own voice sounded far too formal for a place like this.
“Dean Winchester,” he said, drawing a smirk on his face.
“Castiel, Castiel Novak,” the other responds, still maintaining his formal speaking tone.
Dean let out a short, dry laugh and pulled out the chair across from Cas, spinning it around to sit backwards, with his arms crossed over the top. “Well you've been doin’ a whole lot of that tonight. I saw you from the stage,” he joked and Castiel thought to himself to not fall, nor run away from it.
“You were lookin’ at me like I was some kind of haunt in a graveyard, scary though but you seemed interested.” Dean’s accent became thicker as he talked to the younger, he had a habit of adjusting his accent more when flirting with men and women; it was something like a natural charm he possessed. A slow, honey dripping drawl that made Castiel foaming inside.
His manners were soft but manly at the same time, every inch of him screamed the scent of a barely newbie rockstar. And oh my fucking god, he was more handsome than what it seem on-stage. Castiel was the first who asked a few things about him— biting the corner of his inner-cheek to control any form of dumb sentences while talking to the older man.
From there, they began a conversation that lasted much longer than the younger boy expected; he listened attentively to every anecdote about his concerts, the plans he had for future tours, and he also took the time to get to know the light-eyed brunette better.
It had been too long since the singer had felt so liberal when talking to someone; between the contracts and constant outings based on falsehoods to hide secrets, he had forgotten how good it felt to be himself. Only him, and his true self.
“So this is your first time seein’ us? That’s quite awesome,” Dean tilted his head, a lock of damp hair falling over his forehead. He squinted at Cas, his green eyes sharp and searching.
“Yeah, my friends tag me along. One of them is a big fan of yours and the boys,” he muttered softly, drinking from his glass to encourage himself. “The last song was great, honestly closing with such an artist as Hayden might be the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, y’know her? My little brother showed me one of her songs a few months ago and I founded myself on a rabbit hole searching for more of her.” Just like me with your handsome ass, Castiel thought.
Dean reached into one of his pockets, pulling out a crumpled pack of Marlboros before remembering he was indoors. Cas just nodded as a signal to continue, the lighter touched the tip of it, lighting it so the singer could take the first puff.
And fucking hell he looked good doing all that.
“No offense kiddo, but you don’t look like you belong here. You seem more like a bookworm, what’s a guy like you diggin’ here? should be tucked in bed with some dusty old teddy bear.”
Castiel didn’t recoil, it wasn’t the first time anyone directly said that to him. Instead he leaned forward, invading the singer’s personal space until one of his knees brushed him under the table. Sometimes alcohol does something good after all. “I’ve spent the last three years of my life buried into useless books, Dean.” Cas chuckled, his voice dropping to a low that made Dean feel a knife across his spine.
“And if that’s the case, what are you doing here.. getting chatty with someone like me? There are a few women here that might be more interesting than me.”
“Maybe ‘cause your eyes were eating me while I was on stage. What stalker behavior you’ve got there.”
“Is that what you call it?” The boy didn't know if they were his own words or the orders of his drunken brain, which as we know, can help him or in his worst moments—bury him. “Well if that’s what you think, you look like a full-on tease even at your age.”
Dean choked on the smoke, a dark hot flush blooming across his chest and creeping up his neck. He looked genuinely settled, his manly persona slowly disintegrating under Cas’ unflinching stare upon him.
“You’ve got such a playful mouth for someone who's quite angelic looking,” the older man stammered while trying to regain his posture. “You’re gettin’ real bold for a pup.”
“Is that some sort of problem? What? Don’t tell me that you are going to back down now that we’re here, I might look younger than you but I can take it.”
That sure catches the man’s attention.
Dean wasn’t the type to overthink a good shag, most nights after a quite troublesome show he never gave out a quick make-out session against a brick wall on the backstage or a messy, breathless and vicious sex session with anyone on the backseat of his car. Having sex was just another part that played in his life since the beginning of his raise to stardom as a singer.
Well fuck, even his bandmates had a running joke on how many zip codes he could leave a trail of broken hearts on any type of groupie they came upon. As a rule they were only a few steps: a blunt, a sloppy and dirty blowjob behind any venue and a cloud of exhaust smoke lingering the Impala’s windows.
But now? he surely might have started to question himself. This blue-eyed boy was throwing a wrench in the whole damn machine in his mind, Castiel looked different from the others and Dean absolutely despised that with a burning passion because it meant that he actually was able to feel something.
“No, I mean—look, don’t get me wrong. It's just.” Dean trailed off, his grip tightening around his blunt. Green eyes scan the dive bar, looking for an exit sign but they keep snapping back to Cas like a compass to the North.
Fuck he was way out of line. Castiel looked like he belonged in a goddamn choir, barely scratching his twenties and carrying that “pie-in-the-sky” endeavor that made Dean want to screw him in every way possible and ruin those perfect features. He craved the image of him getting off that innocent look and kissing him until either of them could remember anything else but the taste of those Marlboro Reds and the sweetness of his mouth.
But Cas’ friends were just a few tables over, and Dean knew he looked like trouble with a capital T.
“I’m too damn old for you, Cas,” Dean finally rasped, his Texas drawl thick and heavy. “I’m pushin’ forty, I’ve been through the ringer more times than I can count, and I’m pretty sure that I’m more wrecked than a motherfucker.”
He paused, slowly licking his lower lip; the spring of the blunt still ghosting on his tongue. He gave a crooked smirk as he leaned in so his shirt brushed against Cas’ shoulder. “And I’m just able to do a one-night stand with anybody, y’know.. the people will always talk about everybody's business.”
But the younger man didn’t flinch. If anything, he bent into the heat. Those blue eyes were steady, fixed on Dean with a look that wasn't just curiosity—it was hunger. He tilted his head to the side, looking like a stray puppy begging to be taken home, except for the way his gaze dropped to Dean’s mouth.
“You are scared of what I’d do to you,” Cas said.
The noise in the background suddenly disappeared, the scent of cheap whiskey was heavier than before. Dean looked dazed, his demeanor slowly became invisible and just leaving a shameful sight of a man who needed this kind of foreplay.
His age was always a dilemma when it comes to his sexual preference as a bottom. From what he looked, he didn’t seem like the submissive kind but shit he adored to be manhandled by a man and get fucked until his senses didn’t work and just ended looking like a whining mess.
Cas didn't say a word. He just reached out and grabbed the older man’s shirt neck with his right hand. “Trust me, I know I don’t look like the usual gay teenage boy you might have been hooked on before but, I can treat you better than anyone did before,” he whispered into his ear, slowly and softly as if it was a confession just for him to hear.
Dean’s breath hitched. One part of him knows this is bad, his friends might be on their way back but the man in him was losing the fight and just needed to go back and get pounded by him.
“Let me prove you wrong, Dean.”
They barely made it out of the bar before they were all on each other. It was messy and desperate, a frantic blur of motion until they hit the Impala.
Once the two men were inside, the air in the cabin felt too thin for its pleasure. Too fucking hot. Cas didn’t even give the older man a second to breath before lunging across the driver seat, his hands fisting into Dean’s collar with a violence that was a pure and filthy source of need. He crashed their mouths together like he was really trying to eat him whole, starved and feral while his tongue demanded dominance between those sloppy sounds they made.
Half grounds and muffled moans got lost in the space between their swollen lips. Dean’s hands shook as they let go of Castiel’s hair, sliding down to his waist and gripping it so tight it was going to surely leave a few bruises early in the morning.
Dean slowly sat himself in Castiel’s lap, moving his hips with a slight pinch of shyness because of the scenario he got himself into. There was something in the way Castiel was treating him and that made Dean just shattered and turn into liquid.
“Cas,” he moaned, his voice becoming a wrecked shadow. “Please just—please.”
Castiel leaned, his mouth wet and messy against the shell of Dean’s neck. He placed a few kisses on his skin before sliding his tongue on it, leaving trademarks of wet kisses just to overstimulate a little bit more of his patience.
But he didn’t stop there. His hands carefully slide themselves to Dean’s ass, grabbing it and pulling him closer to now actually start to hump their dicks against each other even fully clothed; he didn’t want to give him the benefit of just riding him and go away— Castiel was going to make Dean earn it.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “So good for me.”
Dean just let out a high fractured whine, sobbing against the younger’s touch wanting more. “You son of a bitch, shut up.”
The windows were fogging over, blurring the rest of the world into a smear of streetlights and people’s shadows walking across the car. Their voices dissolved into moans and stifled sighs that further tinted the windows of the old car. Castiel quickly removed his upper garment, slowly unbuttoning it without interrupting the movements the older man made on his lap, rubbing against him.
His eyes rested on the man's bare torso, marks were visible along his abdomen, a magnificent and well-toned physique despite his age. His mouth took one of the Dean's nipples, moving his tongue around it and gently tugging with his teeth. The older man's moans only heightened the excitement, repeating phrases like please, fuck yes!, right there that was driving the younger man wild.
“You’ve been holding onto this for too long, haven’t you?,” Castiel rasped slowly. “All that tension after the show, you were just looking for someone to dick you down, isn’t that right?”
“Cas— mgh, fuck. Stop talkin’ nonsenses,” Dean choked out, his hands now clawing at Castiel’s shoulders, knuckles completely white.
“Make me.”
It was a challenge. But it was impossible for Dean to follow the brunette's orders, especially when his hands were firmly guiding him towards him. His cock ached much more from the amount of overstimulation he was suffering. His mouth was torn apart by curses that Castiel then silenced with wet kisses that only made the complaints, which were really prayers, more frequent.
Then the shift came, one minute they were tangled of the limbs and next Castiel was shoving himself back into the driver’s seat, his breath heavy and lumped. He didn’t say a word either, just grabbed Dean by the back of his neck and pushed.
“Down,” he commanded. It wasn’t a request and the older one understood it immediately when the younger unbuttoned his pants, button by button without taking his eyes off him.
Dean didn’t even hesitate, his knees hit the car’s floorboards with a thud, wedged between Cas’ in the cramped space. The smell of oil, old fast food and his lover's heat was everywhere. He looked up, his green eyes wide and glassy staring at Castiel with that terrifying and needy intensity.
“You look so pretty down there,” he added while his fingers tangled themselves into Dean’s caramel hair tugging just hard enough to make him squeak a moan. “Use that mouth of yours for something better than being a brat.”
When Dean tried to complain Castiel guided him in, a low and guttural moan vibrating in his chest as he watched the older man take him whole. The warmth of the older man's mouth was better than he had ever imagined, his lips encircling his penis as if it were made just for him.
He started slowly—his tongue touching and grazing the base, his mouth trying to take even more of him, moving with such agility that it made the brunette jealous of how many others had experienced this before him.
Dean knew how to use his mouth; he was adept at oral sex and had a huge fixation on any size penis on a man. He simply wanted the inside of his mouth used like a sex toy until it was completely filled.
“That’s it,” Cas moaned out loud, his right knuckles were white as hell from gripping the steering wheel for support while his other hand forcing Dean’s head deeper. “Take it, all of it. You’re doing such a good job being this quiet, or is it just because you’re full of a stranger’s cock?”
The car windows were steaming. Choking sounds echoed throughout the car. Dean was inwardly grateful he'd closed the windows because otherwise anyone passing by the bar's parking lot would have heard them moaning so desperately.
Strands of saliva trickled down his chin as he sucked harder, pulling away from the younger man's grip to look him in the eyes again. He was completely devastated: eyes full of tears, red cheeks, and a huge pain in his crotch because he couldn't touch himself not because of the space in the car, but because he felt he would disappoint Castiel if he did.
And he didn't want that; he wanted to be good to this stranger who was giving him the best sex session of his life.
Castiel’s hips were jerking forward with a sudden and feral lack of control.
“God Dean, you're so tight .. so-goddamn-good," Cas groaned, his head falling back against the headrest, his eyes squeezed shut as his composure finally fractured. "Take it, mgh! yes take every bit of it, you look so beautiful like this.”
The sounds Dean was making were wrecked, wet and muffled, his throat working frantically to keep up. The friction, the heat of Cas’s thighs against his ears, and the sheer shame-filled thrill of being ordered around finally pushed Dean over the cliff.
Without a single hand on himself, Dean’s body buckled.
A sharp, strangled cry was lost against Cas’ skin as he came hard, his own heat soaking into his jeans, his vision going white as he creamed his pants from the sheer sensory overload of Cas’ praise.
The feeling of Dean’s internal collapse triggered Cas so he let out a low, guttural roar as his body locked up as he came: heavy and hot, filling Dean’s mouth while he held Dean’s head in place, making sure he took every drop.
“I’m not done with you, pretty boy.” Dean pleaded, pulling himself back together with his whole face blushing at the sight of the man totally screwed.
He crawled over Castiel, his knees digging into the seat cushions, and shoved his legs wider.
He unbuttoned his own pants, lowering them until they came out with his soaked underwear as he positioned himself down right there in the driver’s seat, his back hitting the steering wheel with a sharp honk of the horn that they both ignored. Dean let out a long, shaky sob of relief as he slid home, his hands fisting into Cas’ shirt.
"Look at you," Cas choked out, his hands immediately finding Dean’s hips to guide the rhythm, his fingers bruising the skin. "Couldn't even wait, could you? Just wanted to have me. Such a greedy, impatient slut."
His hips moved frenetically, gripping the younger man's shoulders for leverage despite the cramped space. The chestnut-haired man's cock slid in and out of him with such ease that he felt too drunk to think anything reasonable.
The acceleration of the moment only made everything more exciting that they didn't care about being closer to another orgasm, just concentrating on each other: their features fit together so perfectly that all that mattered was finding themselves in pleasure again rather than the sight of others.
Dean cared about nothing more than feeling this man ravaging him. And Castiel was only interested in continuing to hear Dean's pleas to feel him deeper.
“Cas, oh fuck!”
This time he only kisses him to reassure him, his lips softly moving and biting the lower one with such ease. There wasn’t a sense of dominance, it was more like an urge to just keep him by himself only and no one else.
“It’s okay, pretty boy. C’me here keep your eyes up,” he murmurs, smiling a bit when Dean’s eyes meet him. “You want me, don’t you?. Tell me Dean, show me how much you need me.”
He clenched, making Castiel leave out a snarky moan behind and grab him tightly. “Cumming, I’m— for fuck sake, Cas. Please come inside. Fuck.”
His cock was throbbing inside the older man as he was trying to milk him dry. The singer is grasping for air, grabbing the other’s shoulder like his life depends on it. He’s buried deep on him as he comes, moaning into each other’s mouths.
Dean stained Cas’ abdomen as he had his own orgasm, strips of semen clutching onto his t-shirt. They stayed like that for a few minutes. Just looking at each other while trying to maintain their shaky breaths.
“That was,” Dean spit, still having Cas’ dick inside him but feeling too dumb to even fulfill a proper sentence, making the youngest laugh.
“Does this make me one of your groupies?” he joked, gaining a chuckle from the older man.
“I mean, you’re too pretty for just being one.” he added with a genuine smile on his face.
A few hours passed and then they both took separate ways. Dean with his bandmates and Cas with his own friends across the bar. But even if they were just not too many meters apart from each other, their eyes were still looking and searching like when the singer was on stage.
One of Castiel’s friends came up to him after, offering another beer among his group and started talking about other things. Joking about how much they’ve drunk tonight, and suddenly his phone tingled inside one of his pockets.
An unknown number pops out of the screen.
Hope you don’t mind that I stole your phone to put my number on it. See you soon, pretty boy.
D.W
A smile escaped from his lips, putting his phone away again but couldn’t wipe the excitement off of his face.
See you soon, Dean.
Cas.