The Process

soupernabturel:

Prostitute!Dean, Cop!Castiel

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Dean sees Cas before Cas sees Dean.

To be fair, Dean is on the lookout for Cas and Cas is just on the lookout for anyone. Anyone on the Strip who’s misbehaving, acting out or just trying to make their way on the Strip in a, well, less than conventional fashion.

Dean does feel a little bit lucky though, leaning against Cas’ parked cruiser (he knows it’s his, he’s memorized the ID like his own phone number), as Cas rounds the corner in his tan uniform absent any detainees. It means they can be alone.

Stepping on the last of his cigarette, Dean stays where he is, perched on the front hood of the police cruiser, he’s drawing attention he knows, cos yeah, this is pretty ballzy, but luckily no one’s seen fit to try and mimic him.

Cas parked in a pretty secluded spot as far as the Strip goes.

The moment Cas sees him is kinda comical. He actually takes a step back. Dean fixes a flirty grin on his face, well it sort of comes unbidden at this point, the sight of Cas alone is enough to stir something up in Dean. Something…unprofessional. Dean knows fully well what he is and isn’t saying.

Cas comes over to him, a storm rolling. Dean slides off the hood but still leans against it.

Try and avoid me now fucker. He thinks with a smile. “Heya Cas.”

“For fuckssake, Dean.”

It’s practically a growl. Dean feels his smile widen. “Almost didn’t recognize you without the Wonder Twins.”

“I—” Cas begins, voice raised, but he looks around to see they’ve drawn some curious eyes he glares at Dean, lowers his voice. “Mx Johnson and Alfie are filming at the station tonight.”

“Admit it, you like your little entourage,” says Dean. “They’re gonna be sticking around awhile then huh?”

Cas doesn’t answer him. “Dean, go home,” He steps to Dean. “I am not in the mood.”

Dean huffs. Doesn’t back down. He meets Cas eye and…sees how tired the other man is. The line beneath his eyes having smoothed out to bags, the flat moue of his mouth is more chapped than normal, when Cas looks at him, he doesn’t meet his eyes, staring off to the side of Dean, over his shoulder.

“Cas—”

“Go home.” Cas side steps Dean entirely, opens up the door to his cruiser. Dean acts, reacts on instinct.

“But Officer! What if I’m out here—” He leans in close. Too close to be misconstrued as anything but murmuring in Castiel’s ear. Breath hot on the side of his face, the curve of his jaw, making it clear all at once, that this is an invitation. “Selling my body?”

Cas’ eyes flash, this ground is familiar between the now, almost in a semi-sick way, playful. He straightens, Dean steps back. Cas tugs on the hem of his shirt, Dean presses back a little against the cruiser, arches one brow.

Cas closes the door as he rounds on Dean.

Dean’s not quite sure what it says about him or specifically them that without even behind asked, Dean digs in his pockets for his wallet, ID and sosh and sets it all out on the hood.

Cas goes through his wallet roughly, not even bothering to check out Dean’s identification. “Are you hooking tonight?”

It’s not a serious question. Dean grins. “C’mon Cas, you know me better than that.”

“Yes, I know you enough not to give me a straight answer.”

Dean hums a low note as Cas turns to him. “Mmm, true.”

Cas’ eyes run up him and Dean actually feels it. A gentle hand, calloused probably, a part of Dean wonders if he would feel it, sliding down his arm, down his side, skirting across his stomach, fingers low. Course Cas wouldn’t do that, not now not here no matter that every time Dean looks at him he gets the impression the other man might want to. Certainly himself, he wants Cas to. But just, with this—with them.

It’s hard.

Shut up not like that.

It’s…complicated.

“Please,” Cas says lowly. “Stand up straight.”

Dean shifts his weight a little, from leaning against the cruiser to leaning on one hip. He watches Cas, pointedly now, not looking at him, but again just looking down at his wallet, nothing much in there, his cards, money, a photo of Mom, Sam and Jess, some condoms.

It’s not an incriminating amount, Dean actually forgot those one were in there, probably out of date, shit. Dean learnt his lesson as a rookie about keeping his kit in his wallet. But still, they’re nothing more than what a normal red-blooded American with a dick would carry about.

The string sitting in Dean’s pocket is less easy to explain away.

So is the shit-ton of money.

Double shit.

Cas looks at the few condoms a little harder, a little longer than he should, Dean thanks about cracking a joke, never seen a cock sock Cas? But what comes out instead is a little more sincere.

“So, you feeling better?”

Cas’ expression is blank. “Pardon?”

Dean knows fully well what he is and isn’t saying.

“The other day,” he finds himself going on. “I popped by for Krissy, you seemed…sort of stressed?”

Cas loses a little of the colour to his face, the Strip lights, a neon kaleidoscope, washing him out.

[ Read the full fic on Ao3 ]