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When Cas first moved to the city, he tried to find all of his “spots.” All the places where he could find like-minded people, and where he felt at home. He found his coffee shop, the library, his tree in the park, and finally, his bar.
His bar was the last thing the Cas found. It was an old, grungy, dive bar that looked like it had stepped right out of the 90’s. It was the kind of place where you walk off the sidewalk down into the bar. It had bad lighting, red carpet, and a little stage along the far wall. The bar was on the side wall, and there were tables and booths all throughout the place.
Every Thursday and Sunday, the bar hired a musician to come in for entertainment. Cas always made sure to show up on those days.
After a few weeks, Cas noticed that the same man kept coming back. He normally played on Thursdays, but he would occasionally come on a Sunday. This man was tall, with gorgeous Texas bowlegs, and soft brown hair. His hair was spiked up into a faux-hawk style, the tips dyed blue. Even from afar, Cas could tell his hands were well-worn and skilled from all the guitar playing. Some nights, this man would wear jeans and a flannel, but when the nights were hotter, the man would put on a black or gray tank top, and Cas could admire his tattoos.
Cas never sat close to the stage, he didn’t want to be noticed, but he could make out some of the tattoos on the man’s arms. His left arm was covered with flowers and birds and other plants. He looked like he had gathered all the beautiful parts of the world and plastered them on his skin. His right arm had a little less coverage, but it was a stark contrast to the left arm. Here, he had grayscale art, some that looked like sketches from a notebook, and some that looked like quotes or words. Cas would bet that the ink continued under his shirt, but the man never took off the tank top.
Cas came to the bar night after night, week after week, feeling inexplicably drawn to the man with the voice smooth like honey. Cas watched this man with rapt attention, and soon he began dreaming about him.
One Thursday night, Cas was sitting in his usual booth, with his usual drink. The man was singing, wearing a dark tank top. Usually, he sang classic rock, with the occasional alt rock song, but tonight was different. The band started playing the chords to a song that sounded like an early 2000’s emo song. The man’s hands began to caress the guitar, and he looked at the floor. As soon as the man sang the first lines, he locked eyes with Cas.
Cas didn’t hear what the song was about, only that it sounded beautiful coming from that man, because he was too busy staring into his eyes. Cas got lost in those eyes, in that face, in those lips. He stared and stared, feeling lust curl in his gut. The song came to an end, and the man excused himself, saying he was taking a break. The man walked right up to Cas’ table and sat down across from him.
“So,” the man began, his voice sounding richer up close, “I’ve seen you around. What's your name, handsome?”
“Castiel,” he responded, holding out his hand, “but you can call me Cas.”
“Well, Cas, it's a pleasure to meet you. Name’s Dean.”
Dean reached out his hand to put it in Cas’ and Cas took it. Dean tried to pull away, but Cas held on gently, turning his hand over to admire the art on his arm.
“I really like your tattoos,” Cas said.
“Thank you. Do you have any ink?”
“I have a couple pieces, nothing as big as yours, though.”
“You’ll have to show me sometime,” Dean said with a wink.
Cas chuckled, but that was the only response Dean got to his obvious flirting.
“So Dean,” Cas asked with a smirk as he leaned closer to Dean to growl in his ear, “would you let me take you on a date?”
Dean closed his eyes and bit his lip for a moment, before he looked at Cas again. “Yeah, Cas. You can take me on a date.”