SPN fic: Any Old Music Will Do - chapter 3/4 - You'll see

[the_diggler]

Chapter 3 - You'll see.

Please see the fic masterpost for warnings and other information.



[ prologue] [ chapter 1] [ chapter 2]

~

“Dean.”

“What’s up, Sam? Everything alright?”

“Mm-hmm… Did you work last night?”

“Yep.”

“…Another late one?”

“Yeah, but it was more pleasure than business if you know what I mean. You know how the ladies love me!”

“Hmm. Yeah.”

“How ‘bout you? Get up to anything interesting last night? For once?”

“…Well, funny thing, Dean. I was stuck at a bus station last night, with someone who turns out to know you.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Meg.”

“…Meg.”

“Yeah, you remember Meg, Dean? One of your old “clients?””

“...fuck.”

“What the hell, Dean! You’re a stripper? And an escort? How long has this been going on?”

“Uh… Since after dad died?”

“Oh my god, Dean!”

“Look, Sam, it had to be done. We had bills to pay, and bartending wasn’t cutting it.”

“Jesus, Dean, there were a million other things you could’ve done!”

“No, not really. Not for the same kind of money.”

“I could’ve helped! I could’ve gotten a job too!”

“You were just a kid, Sam! You didn’t need to worry about that kind of stuff.”

“You could’ve at least told me!”

“Why, so you could freak out on me like you are right now? You’re making it out to be some kind of terrible thing and it’s not. Maybe I like it, did that ever occur to you?”

“Do you? Really? Or is it just easier to tell yourself that?”

“…”

“Dean...”

“Sam, no, it’s fine, really. I’m good at what I do. I’m being safe and most of the time it doesn’t feel like work at all.”

“That’s not the point, Dean. I know you feel like it’s your job to take care of me, but… I can’t just be okay with the fact that I’ve been living off money that you made selling your body for sex! I mean, how the hell am I supposed to look you in the eye and be okay with that? I can barely look myself in the eye!”

“Sam…”

“No, I can’t right now, Dean. I just can’t.”

~

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fucking bitch.

Meg. The psychopath. Dean wasn’t sorry to hear she’d left town.

She also happened to be Dean’s first private dance, in that first hotel room, years ago. Dean doesn’t miss the irony in that – that it would ultimately be her to bite him in the ass.

And ultimately, the reason Dean is the one to cave in next.

It’s been months since he last saw Castiel. Months since Castiel finally decided to cut himself off from Dean, and months since Dean’s let himself even think about it – that last frantic night together, and how different it was to any night they’d had before. Maybe it had just been pent-up desire, built up over the weeks apart since the night of Anna’s funeral. Or maybe it had been because of everything Castiel was going through at the time, emotions still raw with grief, but… Castiel was usually so straightforward in his eagerness for Dean, so unabashed in his enthusiasm – not that he had been any less passionate or direct – but that night there had been layers upon layers in every touch, leaving Dean scrabbling to understand the meaning underneath.

He still doesn’t fully understand. But he does understand that it’s… too much. And he suspects that’s why Cas had to cut himself off.

Fine. Dean knew he would eventually. So Dean let it go, and doesn’t think about it.

Until he’s too busy trying not to think about other things.

It happens a lot like the first time. He doesn’t plan it, and he’s not really aware of what he’s doing when it happens. All he knows is that he’s had a week from Hell, and the bruises to show for it, and when he goes for a drive to take his mind off things, he ends up at the library again. Not the club, where he can drink for free. Not any number of bars or pool halls on the way there. But the goddamn library.

“Castiel,” he barks at the twitchy guy behind the desk, cutting in front of the waiting people lined up there. The guy points a shaky finger at the stacks. Dean makes for the bookshelves without another word, glaring down every empty aisle until he finds Castiel in the last one all the way in the back, just standing there, reshelving books, entirely oblivious to the rest of the world. Something livid and desperate rears up inside him at the sight, and he lunges forward the last few steps to grab Castiel’s arm, twisting him around.

“Dean, wha--?” Castiel gasps, eyes immediately falling to the bruise on Dean’s cheek. But Dean doesn’t even give Cas the chance to voice his concern, pushing Cas back against the bookshelf and crushing their lips together. Castiel moans and sags into him, immediately responding to the onslaught, even after so long.

Dean is hard in seconds, and he grabs Castiel’s thighs, hooking them around his waist and hiking Cas up against the shelf. He starts thrusting against Castiel, forcefully, until he feels Cas hard against him as well. He can hear Castiel whimpering in his ear, but even then Dean doesn’t ease back, driving harder, as if he can get even closer by breaking Castiel apart and sinking into what’s inside.

“Yes!” Dean hears himself gasping incoherently against Castiel’s lips, “Need,” and “You,” as Castiel tries to smother their moans with his mouth, swallowing them down. But Dean doesn’t want to be quiet. Dean wants to scream. The way Castiel feels pressed up against him, the way Castiel claws at his back, trying to pull him even closer… Dean didn’t know what he was coming here for, didn’t plan for this, but there’s an inevitability in it, that washes through him when he comes, burying a choked-off sob in Castiel’s neck.

That’s where he comes-to again, face pressed into Castiel’s skin as the other man strokes soothing fingers through his hair, hushing him softly. It takes another long moment before Dean begins to release his iron grip, letting Castiel slide his legs free from his waist to stand on his own. And that’s when Dean finally looks up, and around, remembering where they are, and realizing, with horror, what he’s just done.

“Shit, Cas! I’m sorry! I didn’t… I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he hisses, backing away. “Fuck, that was totally out of line,” he curses, scrubbing a hand over his eyes as if it will all disappear along with the harsh glare of the library’s fluorescent lighting.

“Dean, wait. Talk to me,” Cas pleads, coming closer, but Dean swiftly steps out of reach, backing away even faster.

“I’m really fucking sorry, Cas,” he says once more, before fleeing the scene, again.

~

It’s a small blessing that it happens to be gentlemen’s night that night, because after leaving the library, Dean doesn’t think he can plaster on the charm for the ladies. Male audiences are usually more subdued. They don’t usually show up in large groups, and don’t require as much interaction, mostly just there to enjoy the view. So Dean gets up to do a relatively basic number –  no costumes, no gimmicks, something he could do in his sleep – and gets a decent amount of tips anyway.

But just when Dean’s about to walk offstage, he notices Victor in the audience.

Not for the first time, he wonders why so many cops spend their time in places like this, with people like Dean. It must suck to be so consumed by your job that you don’t have time to form any real relationships, or to be so jaded by the things you’ve seen that you just aren’t capable of letting anyone in or hanging on to something good. It must be really fucking lonely.

Victor is probably the only cop who comes in regularly that hasn’t slept with Dean yet. Which is a damn shame, because Dean suspects the guy would be a kinky son of a bitch in bed. But the man has way too much integrity to pay for it. Dean’s feeling a little vindictive about it that night though. So after his number he makes his way through the audience, sits himself down on Victor’s lap, and grinds up against the man until Victor comes in his pants.

Dean feels marginally better afterwards.

Even though he knows he could get into trouble for what he just did. The licensing laws for the club are a bit tricky when it comes to what’s considered “entertainment” …but as far as Dean’s concerned, it’s not his fault if someone in the audience gets over-excited. And no matter how big a tip he gets for it, it’s just a tip, not payment for services rendered.

So the guy came in his pants, big deal. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Not a single damn thing. Hell, Dean was barely even hard.

Regardless, he’s not really surprised when he gets called to Crowley’s office afterwards. He takes a minute to pack his tips away in his locker, then throws an old t-shirt and some ripped jeans on over his g-string, and gears up to get yelled at.

Only, when Dean steps inside Crowley’s office, the man doesn’t look angry at all. Just the opposite, in fact. There’s a sickening leer on the man’s face, and an unusual thickness lingering in the air, telling him that Crowley knows something Dean doesn’t.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas!” Dean whips around at the familiar voice, and there’s Castiel, just standing by the door behind Dean, looking more rumpled than usual and a little worse for wear. “What are you doing here?”

“…You needed me,” Castiel replies quietly. Dean blinks stupidly at him, stunned into speechlessness.

“How touching,” Crowley interrupts, his leer widening as he extends a hotel key towards Dean. “Your usual room is waiting,” he says, the numbers 620 glinting off the key’s fob-tag in fake plastic gold.

Dean grabs it. He can’t get out of there fast enough. He yanks Castiel along quickly by the hand, unwilling to let go out of sheer disbelief that the man’s there. And yet, Dean can barely look Castiel in the eye, afraid that the surging, swelling thing in his chest will spill over if he looks too long.

He leads Castiel straight to the shower, helping Cas take off his many layers when the man’s too slow, and pulling Cas under the spray with him. And then he holds on, burying his face into Cas’ neck and letting the hot water beat down comfortingly across his shoulders, sluicing the body-oil and sweat and grime from the club to the drain. Slowly, eventually, he feels the tension bleed from his body, his limbs beginning to relax and his breath coming easier.

“Dean,” Cas murmurs eventually, gently prying him loose. As Dean slowly looks up to meet Castiel’s eyes, the shower spray hits his face, and by the look on Castiel’s face Dean knows the water is washing away his stage makeup as well, revealing the bruise on his cheek. “What happened?” Castiel croaks, reaching up to touch the darkened swell.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” Dean replies, pulling Castiel’s hand away from the tender flesh. Doesn’t even sting anymore. Just the occasional hazard of the job. And he’d learned to expect it from Michael a long time ago. Michael is good-looking enough that he shouldn’t need to pay for sex, but he’s also the worst combination of religious and closeted, and as a result he’s always a little rough with Dean in bed. But this time, Dean just didn’t feel like saying yes anymore.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing, Dean,” Castiel says, his eyes searching. “You don’t owe me an explanation, but I just want to help,” he adds softly, and Dean crumbles a little at that.

“Sam… My little brother… He found out about what I do. The dancing, stripping… everything,” Dean explains haltingly.

“He was angry?” Castiel asks.

“Furious,” Dean chokes out. “And the thing is, I started doing it all to take care of him. He’s so smart, Cas, he’s going to Stanford, he’s got a great girl he wants to marry… I just want him to have the best life he can have.”

“I understand, Dean. He’s your brother and you want to take care of him,” Castiel murmurs, sighing. “But is this the life that you want?”

Dean shrugs silently, dropping his head against Castiel’s shoulder. He just doesn’t know anymore. And as Cas pulls him close again Dean flashes back to a night months ago, when he’d quietly asked Castiel, ‘Who takes care of you?’

“You deserve good things too,” Cas whispers, and Dean holds on even tighter.

They’re both pruny by the time Dean lets Castiel pull him out of the shower, and the water’s begun to run cold, but Dean barely notices, wrapped up in the warmth of Castiel’s body. They stand in the bathroom for so long, just kissing each other, that they’re both nearly dry by the time they start moving towards the bed.

Castiel lays Dean down, stroking his fingers through Dean’s hair as they kiss, slow and comforting, and Dean gives up on time altogether, losing all sense of it against Castiel’s lips. He doesn’t even realize he’s trembling until Castiel lifts his shaking hands to his lips, pressing gentle kisses against them as well.

“What can I do, Dean?” Castiel whispers, searching his face. “What do you need?”

“I…” Dean’s voice cracks thickly on the words, and he has to take a shaky breath to start again. “I want you inside me.”

Even in the low light, Dean can see the flare of heat in Castiel’s eyes at that, can feel the hitch in Castiel’s breath against his fingers. Cas presses another kiss against them, nodding, not a trace of hesitance in his face though Dean knows Cas has never done what Dean’s asking of him.

Dean’s throat cracks again when he opens his mouth to speak, but as soon as the sound escapes, Dean realizes he doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say, the words are so utterly stuck in his throat. And in the end the whole endeavour probably comes out sounding like an embarrassing little sob.

No, it must sound like that, by the way Castiel kisses him again, stroking his hair and hushing him with soft murmurs. And once again Dean loses himself, giving himself up to Castiel’s mercy.

It’s slow and unhurried, though there is no less urgency. Dean can feel it in the way they shake against each other, the way their breaths hitch and gasp in each other’s mouths. Castiel finds all of Dean’s bruises and hurts, and kisses them as if he’s blessing them, or worshipping them, and it makes Dean want to wear them forever instead of covering them up and hiding them. It’s like Cas is taking away all the filth he’s inflicted on himself, and is rebuilding him, making him clean again. And when Cas finally begins to open him up, he does it even more carefully than Dean did it for him the first time, treating Dean like the fragile thing he isn’t.

“Am I hurting you?” Cas even goes so far to ask. And Dean opens his mouth to remind Castiel that he’s done this many times before, harder, or rougher, or with more inside him even. But what comes out is,

“You could never hurt me.”

And as soon as he says it, he knows he means it.

Castiel huffs out a kind of surprised sound then, like all the air has been punched out of him at the words, and he just stares at Dean, wide-eyed and vulnerable, like he’s been caught-out somehow, doing something he knows he’s not supposed to.

“Dean…” Castiel whispers, a reverent sound that seems like it’s been drawn from Castiel’s throat against his will. So many different emotions wash across Castiel’s face, Dean can’t place them all, doesn’t think he could if he tried, and he begins to squirm under the scrutiny, desperate.

“It’s okay, Cas. Please don’t stop. Please,” Dean moans, reaching up to press his hands against Castiel’s face with urgency.

The touch seems to snap Castiel out of it, and he collapses against Dean, burying his face in Dean’s neck and clinging.

“Cas, please,” Dean whispers again.

Castiel loosens his grip, taking another deep breath to sigh heavily against Dean’s skin, but he still doesn’t move any further. Dean doesn’t know if Castiel’s suddenly decided he can’t go through with it, or if it’s something else, but he’s afraid to ask. Afraid to bring it up in case it gives Castiel an out. Dean needs this.

So instead, Dean reaches down, slow and careful, trying not to scare Castiel any more than he already has, and guides Castiel’s length inside him. Castiel’s breath hitches harshly once the head breaches Dean’s entrance, but from there it’s an easy and inevitable slide in, all the way, until Dean is filled to the hilt.

Dean tries not to make a sound, biting down on his groan for fear of spooking Castiel. But once Castiel’s buried inside, he clutches Dean even more tightly, breathing hard, and Dean knows Cas won’t let go. Whatever sudden reluctance Castiel was overcome with is forgotten as the needs of their bodies take over, overwhelming them.

Dean begins to move, working Castiel’s length inside him. He reaches down to grab onto Castiel’s hips, guiding the man into a matching rhythm, and the touch seems to snap Castiel out of it again. Cas finally lifts his head from Dean’s neck, meeting Dean’s gaze with eyes still full of too many things to read, conflicting and spilling over each other as he thrusts into Dean, the way Dean’s wanted since the first moment he laid eyes on the man.

“Anything,” Castiel whispers. “I would do anything…” he says, but the words choke off in a way that tells Dean he’s trying not to say more. Trying not to say ‘for you.’

But Dean hears it anyway.

~

“Hi, This is Sam--

“…Sammy?”

“--Winchester’s phone, please leave a message so I can get back to you.”

“…”

~

It doesn’t take long for Castiel to come see him again. But in the short time between, Dean feels like something’s crawled under his skin and taken root, itching away until he doesn’t even feel like his body belongs to him anymore. He feels jittery and displaced, and maybe a little angry about it, so when he finally lays eyes on Castiel again, all he knows is that he wants to scratch.

He needs Castiel inside him again so badly. The few steps from the door to the bed are a blur, hands grabbing and stripping clothes until there’s nothing left but skin, and then Dean’s pushing Castiel back onto the bed and climbing on top of him, barely able to stop attacking Cas’ mouth long enough to breathe. Not until Dean is sinking down onto Cas’ glorious cock – maybe a little too fast, but so entirely necessary – then he can’t help but throw his head back and gasp for air, like a drowning man finally breaching the surface.

And when Dean’s lungs finally start working again, so does his mouth. “Yeah, that’s it. You like that?” he hisses, though he doesn’t even wait for an answer. “I love it. Love the way that cock feels in my ass. Been wanting it so bad. Just lay back and let me ride it, baby, yeah, so good…”

It’s fast and dirty and hard, but all Dean gets from Castiel is a little frown, eyes searching him with something like… sadness in them. And even though Dean rides Castiel within an each of his life, it’s nowhere near as good as it was last time, and Dean feels strangely unsatisfied afterwards.

He doesn’t know why. But the way Castiel gingerly extricates himself from the bed afterwards, silently picking up his clothes and woodenly going through the motions of getting dressed, makes Dean feels like a selfish bastard. Like their roles have reversed somehow and Dean has just used Castiel in the worst way.

It takes longer for Castiel to come back the next time. Long enough that when he finally returns, Dean feels a little light-headed, like he’s finally releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding the entire time. And it isn’t until then that he realizes how worried he was that Castiel wouldn’t come back at all. Too worried. Which is probably why he’d been suppressing the thought altogether, until he laid eyes on the man again.

Dean knows he fucked up. Even though he doesn’t know how he did. So the only way he can think of to make up for it is to leave the ball in Castiel’s court, let Castiel have whatever he wants, however he wants it. It’s a tried and true technique that’s worked well for Dean in the past.

“Tell me what you want, Cas,” he murmurs shakily, once they’re standing by the side of the bed. His forehead is pressed to Castiel’s, too afraid to look directly into Castiel’s eyes in case the disappointment from last time still lingers there, and his hands tremble where they rest cautiously on Castiel’s shoulders. “Do you want me inside you? Or do you want to be inside me again? Do you want is fast and hard? Or slow and soft? I’ll do anything you want.”

“Dean,” Castiel rumbles, taking Dean’s shaking hands from his shoulders. “Stop talking,” he says, bringing Dean’s hands to his lips and pinning Dean with his gaze. “I know what I want,” he murmurs, before finally letting his eyes flutter shut, pressing a kiss to Dean’s knuckles.

“Okay…” Dean exhales shakily, before silencing himself like Castiel wants. Dean doesn’t think he could speak anyway, with the way Castiel is handling him, so gently and nearly… reverent with every press of his lips. Dean knows he doesn’t deserve it, but if it’s what Castiel wants, then Dean is going to let him have it. And when Castiel strips off their clothes and pushes Dean back onto the bed, he does it so carefully and deliberately, Dean thinks he could actually start to believe that he’s some kind of precious thing, to be cherished and loved.

Loved.

It isn’t until Castiel pushes inside him that Dean finally realizes. Castiel is making love to him.

Suddenly it’s so clear. It’s right there, in Castiel’s eyes. And now that Dean can see it, it’s all he can see. It’s so overwhelming, Dean finally has to look away, scrunch his eyes shut and pull Castiel closer, so he can hide his face in Castiel’s skin.

But then it’s as if all of Dean’s other senses are heightened, and he can feel it in the way Castiel holds him, in Castiel’s heartbeat, so sure and steady against him, calm and strong against his own erratic and racing pulse.

When Dean told Castiel he could have anything, he didn’t expect this. He can’t understand it. At all. But he grits his teeth and bears it, even though it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean curses when he finally finds his voice again, lying shaking on the sheets afterwards.

“If this is something you would rather not do, just tell me, and I’ll leave you alone,” Cas murmurs, and Dean knows Cas is just trying to give him an out, but he’s still shaky and confused and hears it more like an ultimatum, and the last thing he wants is for Castiel to leave him.

“No. Don’t,” Dean replies, finding Castiel’s hand and twining their fingers together. Castiel nods, bringing Dean’s hand to his lips again, softly kissing his knuckles.

~

Cas comes back nearly every night after that. So much so, that they even develop something like a routine. Cas doesn’t like to sit at the bar while he waits for Dean to cleanup after his number – uncomfortable in the loud atmosphere of the club, and not much of a drinker anyway – so he usually goes ahead to their room, and takes a shower while he waits. Most of Dean’s clients like to shower afterwards, wanting to be clean of whatever debauchery or filth they’ve engaged in before going back to their regular lives. But it’s the reverse with Cas. Like it’s Dean who he wants to be clean for. And once Dean works that out, he stops showering in the dressing-room first, so he can get upstairs all that faster, and climb into the shower with Castiel instead.

It becomes almost like a ritual, helping each other wash away the worries of their lives, until it’s just him and Cas, together between the sheets.

Sometimes they talk first. Sometimes they talk afterwards. Sometimes they don’t talk at all, just laying together in comfortable silence, being. But at some point in the night, Castiel always, always, finds his way inside Dean.

Castiel comes to see him so much, Dean barely even has time to see his other clients anymore. And it surprises Dean how little he minds. He usually loathes the idea of anything ‘routine’. But this feels anything but.

At first he thinks it’s because Castiel always tops him now, the way he prefers. So of course Dean might not need to see anyone else if he’s always getting what he wants. But that doesn’t explain the nearly tangible sense of relief Dean feels whenever he steps into their usual hotel room, greeted by the familiar sound of Castiel waiting for him in the shower. Doesn’t explain how Dean starts sleeping better in sheets that smell like Cas, instead of his own clean bed at his barely used apartment.

And it doesn’t make sense, when his nights with Castiel sometimes feel like the most challenging and confronting nights of his life. Too often Dean tries to revert to his old ways, pushing for harder, rougher, dirtier… but Cas is so patient with him, sometimes even letting Dean have his way. But eventually Dean begins to give in more often than not, letting Cas have his slower, softer, sweeter… even though it’s so much more difficult.

It used to be easy, giving his clients what they wanted. Maybe sometimes, it was even predictable as well. But letting Cas make love to him, over and over again... Every time, it knocks his feet out from right under him, leaves him breathless and reeling and so lost, he doesn’t know who he is anymore.

Or just the opposite. He’s not sure. He starts to question everything. Starts thinking about some of the things Sam said to him. And he realizes that maybe he doesn’t really like his lifestyle after all.

He doesn’t know who he is without it though. It’s easier to be what everyone else wants. What everyone else needs. And he’s just so good at adapting and avoiding and denying, that maybe he lost himself along the way.

But Cas is the only one that makes Dean feel needed. Dean. Not someone else’s fantasy version of him. Not some role he thinks he needs to take on for someone else’s benefit. Just him. When Castiel looks at him, he really sees him. And it scares the hell out of him, but it’s everything Dean never knew he needed.

He starts thinking, maybe this is all he needs. Maybe this isn’t just another role. Maybe this is really him, wanting this, with Castiel. Maybe he can give up the whole escort thing and be with Cas for real. Because it feels real. Maybe he can move Castiel and all of his musty old furniture into Dean’s spacious, too-empty apartment. Hell, maybe they can even get a house. And a yard. Big enough for barbeques and blow-up pools and swingsets… or something

And that’s when Dean finally realizes he’s in trouble.

But no matter how many layers and pretentions Castiel has stripped away, Dean still has his denial. So he denies and denies, conveniently ignores the little sparks of hope in his chest whenever he’s with Castiel, and reminds himself that there are no happily-ever-afters for Dean Winchester. Everyone leaves. Whether it’s the morning after, or a too-short short lifetime after, the end is the same.

Dean doesn’t need anyone, anyway. Doesn’t need to be needed. Doesn’t need Castiel to love him, because he doesn’t love Castiel. It’s just sex.

That’s what he tells himself. That’s what he’s going to stick with. Denial is a well-worn armor that’s never failed to protect him in the past, sometimes the only shield he’s had against the kind of loss he’s had in his life, and the fallout left in its wake.

So maybe that’s why, when he walks into Crowley’s office one night, and sees Castiel bent over the desk, a high flush on his cheeks as Crowley pounds into him from behind, Dean feels nothing at all. It’s like his brain shuts down altogether as he stands frozen in the doorway, taking in what’s happening right in front of his eyes.

“Well are you just going to stand there?” Crowley snarls, not even bothering to stop. “Either join in, or get out!”

Dean gets the hell out.

He fucking runs.

~ tbc