Chapter Text
Dean’s eyes ached. He’d been alternating between staring at his computer screen and poring over papers for the last four hours. He glanced at the clock in the corner of his computer monitor, checking to see how much longer he’d have to keep at it before he could excuse himself for lunch. He’d been in a rush this morning, had thought to pick up his morning coffee but not to grab something for breakfast, and by now his stomach was pestering him for something to eat. Fifteen more minutes, he thought, going back to reading over the latest analytical report from human resources. Just then, there was a knock on his door. Relieved to have an excuse not to keep reading, Dean’s head shot up.
He cleared his throat, willing his voice to work again after hours of silence and turned down the volume on his computer, silencing the music of the classic rock internet radio station he’d had it tuned to. “It’s open, come on in.”
The door swung open and in walked Pamela Barnes, flicking her long dark hair back over her shoulder.
“Hey there, Mister Chief of Marketing. Staying busy?”
Dean couldn’t help cracking a smile as Pamela, all propriety aside, perched herself on the edge of his desk, rather than taking the vacant chair across from him, and crossed her long legs.
“Don’t you know it.” He said back. “Now get your ass off my desk. You’re wrinkling my reports.”
Pamela rolled her eyes as she did as he asked. “When did you get so boring, Dean? You used to be fun.”
“Whatever happened to keeping work and play separate?” Dean replied, organizing a bunch of reports into a stack before standing and grabbing his jacket. “I was just gonna head for lunch, if you wanted to join…”
She nodded. “That sounds great. Because A: I’m hungry, and B: because I wanna talk to you about non-work stuff, as in playtime. And, like you said, work and play should stay separate.” Pamela gave him a suggestive wink and walked towards the door.
Dean followed, shaking his head. It had been a long time since Pamela had discussed playtime with him, and he wasn’t sure exactly what to expect from his ex-Domme.
"So, seeing anyone since Lisa?” Pamela asked bluntly as she speared a few leaves of her salad.
Dean nearly choked on his Diet Coke, surprised by how forward she was being. “Seriously?!” he grumbled, dabbing at the soda spatters on the tablecloth and his suit with a napkin. “That’s your idea of an opener?”
Pamela just shrugged. “I’m no good with the whole small-talk thing. I thought that we could just get down to business.”
“This is far from business, Pam. If we’re talking about what I think we are.”
“Dean, grow up a little. We’re just two adults, discussing relationships.” She sipped innocently on her lemon water, grinning at him around straw.
“Discussing taboo relationships.” Dean muttered. “To answer your question, no. I haven’t been seeing anyone since Lisa. And I don’t plan to for a while.”
“She wasn’t into the scene, was she?” Pamela asked. “Did she know you were?”
Dean looked irritated. “No, and no. To be honest, I was hoping she’d be the key to getting out of it all.”
A small bark of laughter burst from Pamela’s throat. Dean raised his eyebrows, look of annoyance deepening.
“Sorry!” Pamela said quickly, her face becoming serious. “I’m sorry, Dean, but really? Being a sub isn’t something you can just walk away from. It’s part of who you are, just like being a Domme is part of who I am. Think about it. You’ve seen that side of me. Do you really think I could change it?”
Dean swallowed hard and closed his eyes, rubbing a hand across his forehead. He remembered ‘that side’ of Pamela all too well. The stinging kiss of a riding crop coming down across his ass, the pinch of his nipples trapped in clamps. The overall helplessness of being wrapped up in Pamela’s beautiful diamond shibari, criss-crossing his chest and binding his arms behind his back. She had been whatever he needed her to be; a disciplinarian, a comfort, an anchor.
He came back down to earth with a bump, giving his head a shake.
“No.”Dean said after a moment. “No, I don’t think you could change it.”
“Exactly. So don’t sit there and shame yourself over something you can’t control and have absolutely no need to be ashamed about.” Pamela said, pointing her fork at Dean to emphasize her point.
Dean held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay. But I gotta ask, why’re you asking? About…” He lowered his voice slightly. “Me and the scene?”
Pamela shrugged and swallowed the bite of salad in her mouth. “Eat something.” She said insistently.
“No. Tell me first, I’d rather not choke, thanks.”
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Okay, you’ve twisted my arm. I think I might’ve found you a new playmate.”
“Pamela!” Dean spluttered. “I-...You-... I’m not on the market!”
“You’re not off it either. C’mon, a relationship might be just what you need, Dean.”
“A relationship maybe. Not a dom.”
Pamela narrowed her eyes and set her fork down. “Dean, honey, listen. When have I ever put you in a situation that you couldn't cope with?”
Dean mentally cursed himself. Pamela was playing him like a harp, using that tone of hers; calm and reassuring, but insistent that she be obeyed. Even though she really held no power over him anymore, Dean couldn't help but succumb.
“Alright.I’ll meet her.”
The corners of Pamela's mouth quirked slightly. “Actually, it's a him.”
“Pamela!”
“Dean!" Pam grinned and imitated his shocked tone of voice. "You’ve played with boys before. I think he’s just what you need. At least meet him. See what happens.” Again she was brandishing her fork at him.
Dean rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Alright. Okay. I’ll meet with him.”
Pamela grinned. If there was one thing she knew, it was that Dean Winchester as one stubborn son of a bitch, and if he really didn't want to do something, no force on Earth could make him. Dean could play it up all he wanted, but at least some part of him wanted back in the game, and was jumping at the chance to do so.
“Great. He asked me to give you this.” Pam held out a neatly folded slip of paper to him. Dean took it and unfolded it, lip between his teeth.
In neat handwriting it said: Harvelle’s Roadhouse, 72 Kansas Road. 6pm, Saturday. Casual dress, I’ll be the one in the tie.
Dean snorted.”Say’s dress casual, but he’s gonna be there in a tie?”
Pam just shook her head. “Wait and see.”
Saturday arrived far quicker than Dean had anticipated. He found himself scrambling around his apartment at five o’ clock, rushing to get ready.
He took a quick shower, shampooing his hair only to mousse it into soft spikes afterward. He was glad the note had said casual dress, at least he didn't have to think too much about his outfit. He ended up donning a well-loved Lynard Skynard tee over a pair of tight blue jeans and his Dad’s old leather jacket.
Dean smiled at his reflection in the mirror by the door, then headed out.
The drive out to the bar was slightly awkward, despite Dean’s solitude, his gut in an anxious knot. Doms were a divergent and difficult breed. Some were rather in-your-face, dominant in all aspects of life and had unreal expectations. The kind that you’d read about in multi-million best-sellers about ‘taboo’ sex. The ones that would hurt you. Most, however, were good at acting like normal human beings, keeping their sexual lifestyle under wraps unless in the presence of like-minded people. Even then, the really good doms tended to keep discussions leisurely and simplistic, as to make all parties feel comfortable.
Part of Dean, the part that was excited for this meeting, hoped that this man Pamela had set him up with would be of the latter. But the anxious part of him warned him not to have his expectations set too terribly high. Though Pam had never deliberately put him in any sort of sticky situation, she was only human.
Based on what she’d told him, Pamela had met this dom through her new sub, Meg. That made Dean a little uneasy, but then, Meg in general made Dean uneasy. The woman was wild, somewhat mean-spirited and, based on Dean’s more private conversations with Pamela, an utter masochist. Therefore, by affiliation, this man who had previously kept her in line made Dean slightly nervous. Meg was the kind of sub that, when paired up with a beginner dom, turned them into sadistic monsters, thinking all subs needed and wanted was to be brutalized.
Dean parked the Impala in a spot directly in front of the bar. No way he was leaving his baby someplace he couldn’t see her. Especially in front of a place like this. The bar looked divey to say the least. Out in the middle of nowhere, with a sign over the front that was hand-painted if Dean had to guess, letters that had probably once been bright red faded to a pale pink and illuminated with black lights. The building itself was old, the siding cracked and greying. Dean’s lips became a thin line in distaste. What a shithole.
He got out of the car with a sigh and walked inside. The interior wasn’t much better to look at. It reminded Dean of the saloons he’d seen in the old western movies he and his Dad used to watch. There was a pool table tucked away in a far corner, several old wooden chairs and tables scattered around the room and a couple booths. In front of a bare space he assumed to be a dance floor, there was a small stage for live entertainment, with a jukebox against it.
“Jesus.” Dean muttered under his breath. He glanced around at the few patrons in the bar with a raised brow. No one here really looked to be his type; a few older men playing cards around one of the tables, a threesome of young men at the pool table playing a round, and a couple bikers with huge biceps leaning against the jukebox while Johnny Cash’s ‘Ring of Fire’ blared from it. Dean swallowed hard, and was debating on making for the door when he felt someone poke his arm.
He had to look down to see her, this scrappy-looking blonde in a crop top and tight jeans. Dean blinked, because she definitely looked out of place.
“You Meg’s friend?” she asked, crossing her arms.
“Uh...yeah. But I thought-”
The girl cut him off. “Yeah. I’m Jo. You’re here for my brother, Castiel. He’s in the back, cleaning up for his shift. He asked me to get you settled.” She inclined her head toward the bar. “Come on.”
Dean followed her over to the stools lined up along the bar, taking a seat next to a young man with a mullet who seemed to be asleep with his head on the bar.
“What’re you drinking, mister…?”
“Dean. Southern Comfort on the rocks, please.”
Jo nodded and retrieved the bottle. “Single or double?”
“Make it a double.” Dean said, knowing the alcohol would help to settle his nerves at least somewhat. He watched as she measured it out and put it over ice, then slid the glass over to him.
“So Meg thinks you and Cas would be good for each other, huh?” Jo asked, leaning on the bar to talk to him over the music.
Dean shrugged and took a small sip of his drink, hissing slightly as it burned its way down his throat.“I guess you could say that.”
Jo’s face darkened slightly at his casual tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It just means it’s complicated. Meg didn’t necessarily recommend your brother to me. Her...girlfriend did.” Dean explained quickly.
Jo didn’t seem fully convinced. “I see.”
Dean gave her a smile, trying to lighten her up, but that only seemed to irritate her more.
“One minute.” Jo grumbled, craning her neck as raised voices came from across the room; a fight had broken out between the boys at the pool table. She bolted out from behind the bar, bellowing at them with an impressively loud voice. The mulleted man next to Dean was suddenly on his feet and at her side, marching across the room.
“It seems you’ve caught us on an exciting night.”
Dean tore his eyes away from watching Jo hollering and mullet-head wrestling with one of the boys. “Aw, you mean this place isn't always jumpin’?”
His eyes widened slightly as he took in the man before him. He was tall, probably a few inches shorter than Dean, with a nice build and slightly chapped lips. Dean’s eyes met his, and he couldn’t help but admire the way their sparkling blue was enhanced by the man’s...tie.
This was Castiel.