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A New Brand of Beautiful

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The club was dark, hot, and humid. A steady bass beat pouded through the air and the crush of bodies packed into the tiny bar made for a dizzying experience. The air was permeated with cigarette smoke and the smell of beer. Dean dragged Cas through the crowd by the sleeve of his stupid trench coat, heading towards what he hoped was the bar. The laser show was making navigation difficult. Dean and Cas eventually managed to sidle up to the bar, where Dean banged his fist on the sticky counter top to get the bartender's attention. She was working faster than any bartender he'd ever seen in his long bar-hopping history. In a spare moment, she turned, gave him a stink-eye, gave Cas a once-over and passed them 2 beers. Dean slid a $50 over the counter, figuring he'd send Cas back for more later.

As soon as they'd found a seat (a lucky break in this place), the band started tuning up, sending a few ear-wrenching screeches over the PA before a girl in a shredded black tank and jeans climbed up to the mic. Her hair was a brilliant purple with electric blue braids threaded through. She didn't say a word for a good three minutes. Suddenly, as if by some unknown signal, the band burst into the beginning of a song. The girl's voice was rough, but it somehow fit her. "I WILL GO, I'LL FIGHT YOU!" she screamed into the mic, and Cas felt goosebumps raise along his arms and spine. An unspoken command wiggled into his brain: dance. He found himself moving into the crowd, arms snaking above his head, body moving ceaselessly to the infallible beat. One song slid into another, but he hardly noticed. As the beat changed, his body automatically adjusted to the new rhythm. 

Dean watched, amused, as Cas disappeared into the crowd. He had apparently never been dancing before now, but Dean had to admit, the guy was pretty good at it. Dean just barely saw a girl approach Cas and start dancing with him, griding on him. Within moments, they disappeared. An odd, sinking feeling settled in Dean's stomach, but he shook it off. Nice going, Cas. He thought, Fifteen minutes in and you've already found yourself a date. 

Cas wasn't aware someone was dancing with him until her body remained against his for longer than the usual five seconds it takes to push through a crowd. He smiled awkwardly at her and started to edge away, but she stuck to him. When she turned to face him, he recognized her as the bartender. He found it odd that she could dance when she was working. She mouthed something at him, but he couldn't tell what it was. She pressed her body closer to his, put her lips to his ear and whispered, "Do you wanna feel good, baby?" He nodded. Of course he wanted to feel good. Didn't everyone? Those lips were at his ear again, "Gimme a twenty and I'll make you feel amazing." He gave her twenty dollars, not thinking of consequences. She handed him two tiny little purple pills. There was an odd looking rabbit head stamped on each. She motioned for him to take one. He did so. It tasted awful. Pressing her lips to his ear one final time, she instructed him, "Give the other one to your hot friend in the corner, the one glaring at us." Cas turned just as Dean came back into view, looking supremely pissed off. Cas worked his way back over to Dean and took his seat.

Leaning over to get as close as possible, Cas said, "I think I like dancing. What is this music called?" "Porcelain and the Tramps," Dean shouted back. After a few more swallows of beer, Dean pointed at himself, then at a sign reading, "PISS BUCKET" over the restroom doors. Cas nodded in understanding. Mere moments after Dean left, a new song came on, and a now-familiar feeling began to twist low in his belly. Desire. He'd found that word more appealing to his tastes than "lust". Cas' heart began to pound and he wanted. He wanted to feel. Sometimes, he worried that he was a sensation junkie, but right now, nothing mattered. Cas stumbled towards the so-called "Piss Bucket", vision slightly blurring. He pushed open the dual-hinged door. It was the same kind he'd seen in some old cowboy movies Dean had made him watch. The actual door was large and solid black. Once he managed to get through that, he found himself in a single room with about 16 stalls. Some stalls held two pairs of feet, some held three. Some were high heels, some were doc martens, and still others were chucks. It seemed to be an all-gender bathroom. Dean was leaning against the wall by the two tiny grubby sinks, holding a wet paper towel over his eyes. Cas stopped thinking. 

Dean had been trying so hard lately, pretending so much. Pretending he didn't feel anything out of the ordinary when Cas was around, pretending he didn't spend fifteen minutes of every shower rubbing one out while moaning Cas' name. He was pretty sure Sammy had some idea, but he wasn't going to give his brother any more ideas. Now, he just wanted to stop thinking. Trying to stop trying, he found, was a lot harder than it sounded. The next thing he knew, he was pressed against the wall, warm lips on his, scruff scratching against his own, an erection pressing at his thigh. His eyes flew open, only to see the clear blue of Cas', hooded with desire. Before he could stop himself, Dean was kissing back, pushing Cas toward a stall so they could have a modicum of privacy. He locked the stall behind them. He bit down lightly on Cas' lower lip, recieving a satisfying moan. Here, two men together wouldn't recieve ugly looks or harsh judgement. Music pumped through the walls. Porcelain screamed, "GET ON YOUR KNEES!" and Cas did as he was told, sliding down Deans body until his knees hit the filthy floor and he was eye-level with the straining bulge in Dean's pants. Cas slid his hands into his soon-to-be-lover's shirt, tugging it out of his waistband, then unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly. Cas mouthed his cock through the soft fabric of his boxer briefs. Dean moaned softly, tipping his head back against the graffitied wall of their stall. Cas smiled softly and pulled out Dean's cock, licking a stripe up the underside and breathing hot air against the already over-heated skin. Dean's breathing hitched. Without further ado, Cas took Dean in his mouth and sucked, hard. Dean's fingers tangled in Cas' unruly hair, pushing his head closer, panting, "More, yes, Cas... more..." Cas was all too willing to drink him down, taking him all the way, making him wild with need. He was too close, too soon. Dean pulled Cas back up to his feet, pushing him against the wall, mashing their lips together. Cas exposed his neck and Dean took the hint, biting the flesh cnnecting his neck to his shoulder. The first bite was tender, gentle. Cas' moan urged him to bite harder, leaving a dark bruise. The need was too much. Too much.

Dean slipped his hand into Cas' pants, cupping his ass firmly. Cas hiked his leg up onto Dean's hip, exposing himself to Dean's touch. Dean reached into the go bag he carried with him everywhere, fingers closing on a bottle of lube. He slicked his fingers with the stuff and lifted Cas, twisting the smaller man gently to open up his arsehole. Dean slid his first finger into Cas' tight opening, only up to the first knuckle, giving him time to adjust to the new intrustion. Cas moaned wildly, pushing his body down against Dean's finger. Cas licked Dean's earlobe and whispered, "Don't be gentle. I've thought of you for so long..." Dean ushed his finger all the way inside Cas, who bucked forward slightly, gasping in obvious pleasure. After a few moments, Dean added a second finger, then a third. Cas nearly screamed when Dean nudged his prostate, only managing to stifle it my biting down on a mouthful of Dean's t-shirt. Dean moaned a little. Too much. 

Cas turned his back to Dean as soon as the fingers were removed, dropping his pants and spreading his knees to balance on the closed lid of the toilet. Cas gripped the top of the toilet with both hands and looked over his shoulder, expression wanton and sultry. His kiss-swollen lips were pushed into a mild pout and his pupils were blown. Dean lubed up, lined himself up, and pushed into Cas in one smooth move. Within moments, their panting turned to moaning, Dean holding so tightly to Cas' hips, he was sure they would be bruised. Cas braced himself against the wall and pushed himself back onto Dean's cock, moaning loudly each time Dean rammed into his prostate. Dean bit Cas' ribs, kissed his spine, stroked his cock, anything, anything to keep them in sync. He could feel the tightness in his sides and tried to hold back, but Cas' orgasm came without warning. Cas froze or a split second, then he screamed, "DEAN!" his whole body erupting into uncontrollable shaking. Watching Cas come undone was the end of Dean's self control. He came so hard, he saw stars. He was vaguely aware he was gasping Cas' name like a chant, but all Dean could really focus on was their combined orgasm. As the finally descended back to Earth, they became aware of whoops and cat-calls coming from the other stalls. Dean would have been more embarrassed if he hadn't just had the best sex of his life. He cleaned the both of them up, helped Cas ut his clothes back on, and stumbled with him back out to the main room of the bar. 

The bartender saw the pair come struggling out of the bathroom amidst a cacophany of whooping and yelling. She covered her mouth and hid behind the bar, giggling. On the same day, every month, the couple came in and made a show of making out mid-dancefloor to Porcelain and the Tramps' King of the World. She couldn't help but think that they were a new brand of beautiful.