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The Way to a Man’s Heart is Through Chlamydia

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Dean’s on his third beer of the night, and he’s just turned down his fifth guy. He shouldn’t be here. Every man here is dressed in some variation of “sexy business casual”, while Dean is in a pair of ratty old jeans, a green plaid shirt, and his father’s beat up old leather jacket. He sticks out like a sore thumb, and apparently also screams “challenge”, because men keep coming up to hit on him despite the fact that he’s mostly been glaring at his beer the whole night. They seem to think he’s playing hard to get, when really Dean is playing “what the fuck am I doing in a gay bar”.

Dean isn’t gay, but he supposes he can admit in his own head that he might maybe swing both ways. It’s been a month since Lisa dumped him and the thought of picking up a woman to satisfy some pent up sexual urges still feels wrong. So, Dean had reasoned, why not go with a dude instead? It made sense two hours ago when he was in his pajamas eating his third piece of store bought apple pie at eight o’clock on a Saturday night, but now that he’s here he mostly just feels awkward. Going home with a guy will still be going home with someone, after all. Besides, the men that have approached Dean have all been attractive, but in an objective sort of way, nothing that’s making his dick perk up in interest.

Then there’s the pick-up lines. Dear God. Guy Number Three had actually opened with “come here often?” and the last one went with “what’s a rough guy like you doing in a place like this?”

Dean watches as Guy Number Five trudges back to his table, handing what looks like cash to the other two men, that Dean recognizes as Guy Number One and Guy Number Two. Jesus Fucking Christ, are they betting on this? The three men catch Dean glaring and look down quickly at their drinks. Dean grins and takes another swig of his nine dollar bottle of beer. He goes back to frowning. He left some fairly tasty pie and a Cupcake Wars marathon on Food Network to sit here and drink overpriced beer. He should go, this was a waste of time.

“Excuse me,” a gravelly voice next to Dean says. He doesn’t even turn to look, it’s probably another asshole from the betting table.

“Look buddy,” Dean grumbles, “you and your friends can find a new guy to bet on, yeah? Piss off.”

“What? I… no, I think this is your wallet. The man in the driver’s license photo looks remarkably like you.”

Dean turns at that, and… huh. Five o’clock shadow, jeans, a t-shirt with a cartoon of two chickens hugging, and a well worn blue hoodie. This guy doesn’t quite fit in here either. He’s kind of hot, actually. The icy blue eyes and unruly brown hair are kind of doing something for Dean right now. He realizes the man is holding out his wallet and takes it.

“Thanks, uh…” Dean pauses, waiting for the man to fill in the blank.


“Right. Thanks, Cas. Didn’t even notice I’d dropped it. Good thing too, beer’s almost empty.”

Castiel stares at Dean for a long moment, then looks around the room. “You seem… out of place.”

“Yeah, well so do you, big guy.”

“I’m actually here to collect a friend of mine,” Castiel says, waving down the bartender.

“What can I get for you, cutie?” the bartender says with a huge grin. The guy is all lanky limbs and dorky smiles and looks like he should be hanging out at a comic book store, not slinging fancy drinks in an arguably upscale gay bar.

“I received a phone call that a friend of mine needed to be picked up,” Castiel says, “but I can’t seem to locate him.”

The bartender’s eyes widen. “Oh shit, are you Novak?”


“Dude, I’m really sorry, I meant to call you back. Your friend, the uh… amorous French guy, he left. He begged me to call you, and then five minutes later he left with some guy, and I totally forgot to call you to let you know, I am so sorry.”

Castiel sighs. “That sounds par for the course with Balthazar.”

The bartender frowns. “Sorry, man. I was going to call, then some dude puked on the pool table and it completely slipped my mind.”

Wow, Dean hadn’t even noticed any of that happening.

“How about a drink?” the bartender offers. “On the house.”

Castiel sighs again, taking the stool next to Dean’s. “I accept, thank you.” He pauses. “I have no idea what to order.”

“I’ll surprise you,” the bartender says, flitting off to make the drink.

Dean turns to Castiel. “Who the hell names their kid Balthazar? Or Castiel for that matter.”

“We both came from very religious families, once upon a time,” Castiel says, drumming his fingers against the bar top.

“Not anymore?”

“Our particular religion isn’t big on homosexuality,” Castiel says.

“Yeah, I hear that about religion.”

Castiel and Dean are both startled when the bartender sets down Castiel’s drink with a cheerful “Enjoy!” before he moves on to other customers. Castiel stares at the drink in horror, while Dean can barely keep himself from laughing. He’s seen smaller fishbowls, and this thing is filled to the brim with a vodka-smelling drink in a color Dean would have to describe as “Radioactive Pink”. There are chunks of fruit along the rim of the glass, and a bright blue crazy straw with a tiny umbrella sticking out. Dean snaps a photo of it with his phone, it’s the most amazing thing he’s seen in a long, long time.

“What in God’s name is this thing?” Castiel mutters.

“A free drink, that’s what it is,” Dean says, pulling the umbrella out of the straw. “Drink up, Cas!”

Castiel grunts then leans forward over the drink, sucking it in through the straw. When the drink actually reaches his mouth he pulls away, wrinkling his nose and glaring at the drink like it personally insulted him. It’s fucking adorable.

“Come on man, it can’t be that bad,” Dean says. Castiel pushes the drink with both hands over to Dean, who immediately takes a pull. It really is that strong. “ Damn. Maybe I should keep this. You look like a bit of a lightweight.”

“What makes me look like a lightweight?”

“Oh I dunno, you look kinda thin and wimpy to me.”

Castiel… wait, was it Casper? Shit, Dean’s kind of drunk… Cas-something glares, pulling the drink back to himself and taking several petulant gulps through his straw. Dean cheers, holding up his beer bottle to the bartender to signal he wants a new one.

“Way to go, Casper!” Dean says.

Casper narrows his eyes at Dean. “Castiel,” he says, speaking around the straw.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Instead of bringing Dean a new beer, the bartender plonks down what looks to be a smaller version of the drink he gave Castiel.

“The hell, man? I didn’t order this,” Dean says, poking at his purple crazy straw.

The bartender grins. “It’s on the house too!”

“What even is it?”

“I’m calling it a Garth Special.”

“You Garth?”

“Sure am!” Garth says proudly.

“This is your first week as a bartender, isn’t it Garth.”

“As a matter of fact, no. I’ve been here three years!” Garth says. He’s so cheerful.

“What? Really? You seem so… happy.”

“It’s not a crime to love your job! I like it here!”

“That cause you get paid to ogle cute guys?”

“Nah, I’m straight.” Dean stares at Garth, mystified. Garth grins. “Drink up!”




After about half an hour, Dean is fairly hammered and Casper is in the same condition. Whatever is in that Garth Special, it sure packs a wallop. Dean and Casper are engaged in a conversation about… horses? Dogs? No, no, pie, that’s what they’re talking about. Dean’s focus is a little on the hazy side. Mostly he’s just staring at Casper’s mouth while he talks. Casper has a particularly interesting mouth. Dean really wants to do some inappropriate things to that mouth.

“... and I definitely like cherry better than apple,” Casper says, and Dean snaps out of his stupor to glare at him indignantly.

“Did you just say cherry pie is better than apple?”

Casper narrows his eyes. “Well no, I said I prefer cherry to apple, that doesn’t necessarily mean one is better than the other.”

“Uh huh, well you’d better not be bagging on apple pie, ‘cuz I’d have to like… kick your ass.”

Casper smiles serenely at Dean. “I don’t particularly care for apples in general.”

“That’s fucked up, man. That’s… like un-American and shit.”

“People can’t help what does and doesn’t taste good to them, Dean.”

“God, I really want to fuck you,” Dean mutters.

Casper spits out a mouthful of the watery remainder of his drink in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“I said that out loud, didn’t I,” Dean says. Garth swoops by, toweling up the mess on the counter and handing Casper a napkin.

Casper wipes the mess off his chin, staring at Dean with wide eyes. “You want to have sex. With me.”


“Aren’t you a heterosexual?”

“Judging me by my clothes? That’s pretty narrow minded, Casper.”

“It’s Castiel, and it’s not your clothes. You seemed very unhappy being here when I arrived.”

“Well maybe that’s because no one grabbed my attention until you arrived,” Dean says with a leer.

Casper… no, Casteel… rolls his eyes, and Dean winces.

“Smooth, I know. Give me a break, man. I’m drunk.”

“I’m not particularly interested in being someone’s drunken homosexual mistake,” Casteel says.

“Come on, Casteel, I came here specifically to pick up a guy, I just… lost my nerve.”


“That’s what I said. Casteel.”

Casteel’s head thumps against the bar. “I’m not going to sleep with a man that can’t even pronounce my name.”

Dean grins. “What, so if I say your name right, we can go do some gay shit at the motel down the road?”

Dean is treated to the longest eye roll he’s ever received in his life. “You are very fortunate that you’re the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in my life, ” Casteel says.

Dean’s grin gets bigger. “I’m taking that as a compliment. So come on, help me get your name right, Casteel.”

Casteel glares.

“That’s kind of fuckin’ hot,” Dean says.

“Repeat after me. Cas.”





“El. Cas-tee-el.”


“C-A-S-T-I-E-L. Castiel!”

“Very good,” Castiel says.

Dean jumps to his feet, stumbling slightly. He slaps a ten dollar tip for Garth down on the counter and grabs Castiel’s hand, pulling him toward the exit. The three men that were placing bets on Dean are still at their table, and they glare at them as they pass.

Once they’re out in the parking lot, Castiel tugs on Dean’s sleeve. Dean pauses, looking at him.

“You okay, Cas...tiel?”

“Did you see those men glaring at me?”

“They’re just jealous, man. I caught them betting on who could pick me up or some shit. Rude.”

“Really? They were attractive men, Dean. Surely one of them would have been suitable for a one night stand.”

Dean turns to look at Castiel fully. “This… so isn’t your kind of thing, is it.”


“Shit. Well, I mean you don’t gotta do this man, I don’t want to make you do something you don’t wanna.”

Castiel quirks an eyebrow. “I believe I am coming with you of my own free will, Dean.”

“But… if you’re not into the whole… casual sex thing...why come along?”

Castiel leans in close, whispering into Dean’s ear in a way that goes straight to his dick. “As I told you before, you’re very attractive.”

If Dean were sober, he’d be very uncomfortable with Castiel praising his looks in such a matter-of-fact way. He’d crack a self-deprecating joke, or grin and give a cocky reply, or maybe change the subject. He’s not sober though, and instead he pulls Castiel into a kiss, moaning at the wet tangle of their tongues and fisting a hand in Castiel’s hair.

“You’re very attractive too,” Dean mumbles.

They stagger down the road to the Matador Motel, trading laughter and kisses along the way. Dean is dismayed when he opens his wallet to pay the sixty-five dollar room fee and discovers he only has thirty dollars in his wallet.

“No, no, what the hell? I had a fifty I hadn’t even broken yet!” Dean says, checking his pockets.

“Oh,” Castiel says softly.

Dean looks over. “Oh?”

“You left a fifty dollar tip for Garth. I thought you were just an over-tipper, but…”

“I thought that was a ten ! I was feeling generous, but not that generous!”

Castiel laughs, as does the receptionist who’d been feigning disinterest.

“This is the most embarrassing one night stand ever, ” Dean whines.

Castiel gives Dean a cheeky smile, slapping the required amount of money onto the counter. “Done a lot of these, then?”

The woman at the counter hands Castiel a key and gives them both a thumbs up and a big grin. They make their way to the room, Dean staring at his feet while they walk.

“I have in the past,” Dean says, “I mean done the one night stand thing. But not recently. I haven’t been with anyone since my girlfriend dumped me a month ago, and before that we were together for two years.”

Castiel pauses in opening the door, looking at Dean with concern.

“Aw, come on, don’t give me the sympathy face,” Dean says, “I’m fine.”

Castiel opens the door, pulling Dean inside. They flick on the light, and… woah.

“Wow,” Castiel says softly.

The room is… hideous. The carpet, bedspread, and chairs are all an ugly shade of red, but not the same shade of red, the wallpaper is almost orange, and there are paintings of bulls and matadors on the walls at irregular intervals.

“What in the name of God was their decorator smoking?” Dean says, bewildered. He looks over at Castiel as he speaks, but Castiel is staring at one of the paintings with his mouth hanging open. The painting is of a matador, apparently trampled and gored to death by the bull that is standing on its hind legs over the corpse.

“I…” Castiel says.

Dean takes his phone out, snapping a photo of the painting. He wants proof that it isn’t a figment of his imagination. He takes a photo of Castiel’s dumbstruck expression as well, and Castiel looks over with a scowl. Dean grins.

“Mementos,” he says.

“This is a stunningly bad choice in decor,” Castiel says. “Do they not want to people to stay here?”

“I don’t even know, man, but it’s amazing.”

Castiel looks at Dean. “I’m not sure what to do now.”

“Been awhile since you got down and dirty?”

“Something like that. Do you still want to? I realize talking about ex-girlfriends and… this room are not conducive to a drunken fling.”

Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Dude, have you seen you? I’d fuck you in the waiting room of a funeral parlor.”

“That’s very romantic. I’d love to get that on a greeting card, or embroidered on a pillow.”

Dean smirks, locking the door to their room. “Take off your fucking clothes, Castiel.”




Half an hour later and Castiel is naked, face down on the fucking criminally ugly bedspread, which Dean had discovered actually has a god damn paisley motif in hideous grey stitching. Castiel is moaning, ass in the air while Dean fingers him open, aided by the packets of lube Dean had in his wallet.

Dean has only ever done this to someone else a few times before, when Lisa read an article in Cosmo about it and wanted to give it a go. She’d enjoyed it, but not the way Castiel does. Then again, Lisa didn’t have a prostate gland.

As much as Dean wants to get his dick inside this space he’s making for himself, he’s fucking addicted to the moans and gasps coming out of Castiel. It’s hard to convince himself to withdraw his fingers.

Castiel’s cock is hanging between his legs, wet at the head and so hard they could use it to break drywall.  Dean really wants a taste, he hasn’t had a dick in his mouth since high school. But, he gets the feeling that Castiel will go off like a rocket at the first lick, the guy is primed for it. Dean hasn’t had this much fun in ages. He leans forward, biting at Castiel’s left ass cheek, just because he can.

“Dean, Dean come on, I’m ready. I’ve been ready,” Castiel whines. Dean just bites him again. He’s still in his clothes, minus his jacket and shoes, and Castiel groans in displeasure when he turns his head and catches sight of him.

“Something wrong, baby?”

“You’re still in your clothes,” Castiel says, “do you intend to get me worked into a frenzy and then dash off into the night?”

Dean smirks, unzipping his pants and shoving them and his boxers far enough down to pull his cock out. He rubs the fat head against Castiel’s rim, delighting in the hysterical moan he gets in reply.

“No, Cas. No, I’m definitely getting my dick in there,” Dean teases. He grabs his wallet off the floor, pulling out the condom he brought and tearing it open with his teeth. Castiel rolls his eyes at Dean’s cheesy gesture, and Dean swats him on the ass. He rolls the condom on, freezing at the small tear he sees at the base. He decides to poke at the tear for some reason, which only makes it bigger. “Well, shit.”

“What is it?”

“Condom tore.”

“Well that’s what you get for using your teeth to open it,” Castiel says.

“Hey, maybe it tore because it’s been in my wallet for months, did you ever think about that? Okay nevermind, either way it would be my fault, huh.”

“Do you have another?”

“No. Fuck, I suck. Do you have one?”

Castiel snorts inelegantly. “No, I definitely do not have any condoms.”

“Well, shit,” Dean says, feeling defeated. He really wants to fuck Castiel. “Well, got any STDs?”

Castiel snorts again. “I’d say no.”

“Well, I haven’t been with anyone since my ex, and she and I were together like two years, so I’m good,” Dean reasons.

Castiel frowns a little, looking down at the bedspread. “But...I’m not on the pill.”

Dean laughs, slapping Castiel’s ass again. It’s a very slappable ass.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Castiel asks, almost whining. “Are you waiting for a formal invitation?”

Dean grabs Castiel’s hips, pulling him closer so he can rut against his ass. “As a matter of fact, I am waiting for a formal invitation.”

“Dearest Dean,” Castiel growls, “I would be very honored if you would stick your fucking dick in my- ahhh!” Castiel cries out as Dean’s dick pushes in, slowly but with no hesitation. Castiel slaps his hand down against the bedspread several times as Dean’s hips bump against his ass.

Dean pauses. “Is that some kind of signal to stop?”

“What?” Castiel is almost yelling. “No! No, that was in no way a signal to stop.”

“So you’re okay?”

“Yes, yes I’m fine, keep going, please.

Dean chuckles, pulling out and pushing back in, over and over, building a steady pace. The noises Castiel makes are quite a boost to Dean’s ego, and he hopes he can remember the sounds of Castiel’s frantic moaning and gasping the next time he’s jerking off.

Dean feels around Castiel’s hipbones, stroking the sharply sculpted planes. As soon as he’d seen them he’d wanted to lick them, worship them, but he thought that might be a bit too intimate for the situation. So of course he flipped Castiel over and started fingering his ass instead. It made sense at the time. Dean’s still not exactly sober.

“You feel fuckin’ perfect, fuck,” Dean groans. Castiel spreads his knees further apart and pushes his face into the bedspread. Dean can feel his dick actually throb at the sight. He shifts until he’s pretty much mounting Castiel, left hand on Castiel’s hip, right hand full of soft, dark hair while he holds Castiel’s head down.

Judging by the way Castiel twitches with each thrust now, the way he moans louder than before, Dean assumes he’s nailing Castiel’s prostate at least part of the time.

All too soon, Dean feels that telltale spark in his stomach that warns of an impending orgasm. He wants to last longer, but he can’t bring himself to slow down.

“Fuck,” Dean hisses, “tell me you’re close, because I’m not going to last I’m embarrassed to say. You feel too fucking good.”

Castiel tries to speak, but his words are muffled by the bedspread. He turns his head to the side, panting. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m certain I… ohhh… once read that the ave- fuck- average sexual encounter lasts less… less… fuck, than ten minutes.”

“Did you just teach me something while I have my dick in your ass?” Dean asks incredulously.


“Touch yourself, Cas.”

Castiel complies immediately, working a hand under himself, and judging by the movement of his arm, jerking himself pretty rapidly.

“You almost there, Cas?” Dean asks between moans. “You gonna come while I’m-- fuck-- pounding you in the ass?”

Dean feels Castiel tighten around him as he comes, cursing and clawing at the bed with his free hand. Fuck yes. Dean lets himself come, thrusts going slower in the slick mess he makes in Castiel’s body.

He holds still for several breaths, letting himself calm down a bit before he pulls out and rolls onto his side, grinning at the man with his face smashed into the bed. “I think you can put your ass down, man.”

Castiel lifts his head enough so he can turn it to face Dean. “Smugness doesn’t become you.”

Dean’s smile grows. “Gonna have to disagree with you there. It becomes me because I earned it.”

Castiel huffs, shifting until he’s flat on the bed. “Earned it, huh?”

“Hell yeah knocked it out of the park on my first try! Well. Mostly my first try. I mean I’ve never gone all the way with a guy and uh… anyway. Out. Of. The. Park.”

“Fine, it was a valiant attempt, my world is suitably rocked.”

Dean frowns a little. “It wasn’t bad, was it? It seemed good to me, but I did drink all that booze. Fuck.”

“Dean, relax. I can assure you, that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

The smile slowly creeps back onto Dean’s face. “Yeah?”

“Yes. Now that I’ve reassured you about your prowess, I’m hoping you won’t laugh in my face at my question.”

“It’s a silly drunken thing I did a few years ago. It’s supposed to be a protection symbol, my brother has one too.”

“What?” Castiel looks completely baffled.

“Were you not going to ask about my tattoo?”


“Oh. Ha. Well then that was a freebie, what’s your question?”

“What is the… correct etiquette here?” Castiel asks, looking uncomfortable. “This is my first one night stand. I’m not sure what I should be doing next.”

“I’m not going to laugh, but you have to know that was fucking adorable.”


“I don’t know, I guess we’re supposed to get dressed, make our way back to our cars at the bar, exchange awkward handshakes. Maybe I’ll have a Big Gay Panic later. Or…”


“Or we could burrow under this ugly blanket, go to sleep, and worry about the awkward goodbye later on?”

Castiel smiles. “That sounds like a great idea.”

They climb off the bed long enough to flip off the light and crawl under the bedspread, still covered in sweat and come.

“This is not remotely how I thought my night would turn out,” Castiel says.

Dean yawns, wrapping his arms around Castiel and pulling him over until Dean’s nicely spooned up against his back. “No?”

“Before I was called to the bar, I was drinking a mug of tea in my bathrobe and watching a documentary about bees,” Castiel says, yawning.

“Sounds like a party,” Dean says with a chuckle.

“I’m… perhaps not the most social person.”

“If it helps, two hours before you showed up at the bar I was sitting on my little brother’s couch, eating pie and watching Cupcake Wars while he and his wife went out for Date Night.”

“Actually,” and Dean can hear Castiel smiling as he speaks, “that does help.”




“Did I do okay? During the sex part.”

“You were a fuckin’ firecracker, Cas.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.”

Castiel hums sleepily, and Dean kisses the back of his head. This is nice. He hasn’t cuddled anyone since Lisa, and Castiel is… cozy. In the back of his sleepy, still-not-sober mind, Dean thinks maybe this doesn’t have to be a one night thing. Maybe he and Castiel can be friends, maybe more.

He tries not to be disappointed when he wakes up alone in the room, the dent in the pillow next to him the only sign that Castiel was ever there.