Work Text:
The house lights change from golden to blue and turquoise and the throbbing music of the club dims, signifying a change of dancers onstage.
The stage runs five feet high through the center of the club, perpendicular to the club's back wall, with tables on either side to sit and watch, and a bar on the opposite wall. Several shiny metal poles are spread out along the platform's length, and a woman in pink heels is walking off the stage.
Conversation buzzes around the crowded room as clusters of people, men and women alike, stumble across the floor back to their table, marked with a purse or empty drink glasses, or to the bar for another shot. More than a few bored glances are cast at the stage in hope of a distraction.
A slightly rumpled, dark-haired man walks out onto the far end of the stage. The people not occupied by a stripper already in their lap tip back their drinks and turn in their chairs to get a better look at the unusual figure standing center stage.
The man has wild hair that sticks out at every which angle and blinding blue eyes for those lucky enough to be crowding the stage and be close enough to see past his wary squint around the room. He is dressed much more modestly than any of his preceding dancers, but his heavy gaze makes even the unusual head to toe suit indecent, and a trench coat flutters nervously around his legs. The man is gorgeous, there's no doubt in the club about that.
A few wolf whistles follow him, followed by sniggers and carrying comments in the music's lull about what tax accountants do after work.
A moment later the next song's guitar riff joins the man in the trench coat standing awkwardly on stage. The classic song is met with cheers and more whistles.
She's my cherry pie!
The man stays frozen in the center of the stage, his posture stiff and awkward. He squints around at the mass of people, looking unsure how he got there. He catches the eye of another stripper leaning against the club's back wall who gestures at him encouragingly. The man shoots back a shaky smile.
Cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise.
The man in the trench coat tilts his head to one side, listening as the songs title line rings out Sweet cherry pie! As the words fade out, his tension follows, his body relaxing visibly, and a smirk inches across his face.
And hundreds of eyes freeze on the figure on stage. As twin shadows spread out behind him.>
***
Dean is mad at Castiel. But then what else is new.
Castiel flips to the last page of the book and closes the cover with a snap. He sighs and gets up from the small green armchair he was perching on to exchange it with another issue from the library's magazine self.
Dean had told him Castiel should have trusted him. Well, yelled, it felt like to Castiel. Not that it mattered how Castiel felt; he was the one in the wrong.
Castiel's eye catches on a National Geographic issue with a stone covered in faded sanskrit on its front. He turns away quickly and flips through the Home Decor section for a while, but he isn't really seeing any of the renovation tips or color wheels in front of him. The sanskrit on the magazine cover is shifting to enochian in his mind and he can't stop seeing the desecrated Biggerson's restaurant bathed in blood.
He had run away with the tablet, to protect it, and the other angels had slaughtered so many innocent people trying to catch him and that was his fault. That is what weighs most heavily on his mind, not even losing the tablet, or not trusting Dean hurts as much. But then in all honestly Castiel does not regret what he did trying to keep the tablet safe. He will still do all he can to outwit Heaven and Hell and save his old home.
Like that has ever worked in the past. Castiel destroys everything he touches.
It's why the Winchesters never want him around, Castiel knows. That's why they only call him when they absolutely have to, when his powers are needed. Because they know he'll ruin everything. At least he is useful as an angel. And Castiel can live with that, better to be needed as a tool than not at all. All the more reason to mend his latest grievance, before they decide to find another less troublesome angel.
Cas' last thought leaves him feeling more useless than ever and he gives his head a small shake to try and clear it.
The Southern Living magazine in his hands is crumpled in his clenched fists. Castiel releases his grip and runs a finger down the page, instantly mending the torn paper. At least that he can fix.
Castiel decides, after reading through the Cosmopolitan issues 1990 to 2010 ("food is the way to a man's heart"), that a consumable gift would be best for Dean. Gift giving is a human tradition and maybe acting more human will build trust between him and Dean?
So far on a note page a librarian kindly gave him, Castiel has written
Beer
Pie
iniquitous magazines
Castiel privately calls the magazines the-stuff-that-Dean-hides-every-time-Cas-enters-the-room. Castiel did some research after the third time Dean slammed the laptop closed on him, and it is called "pornography", though he still does not understand Dean's particular fascination with Asian women. Or large breasts. It is all, most, confusing.
Porn aside, the real problem is obtaining his peace offering. Human trade requires currency–he doubts they take 1922 bank notes–and he most certainly is not going to steal the stuff and pretend two wrongs make a right. He also can't ask the Winchesters how to hussle credit cards or skam pool in the midst of Sam's trials. No, Castiel must get money some other way.
In a blink, Castiel is standing in the middle of a main street of a city near Lebanon, in the entertainment district.
It seems like the ideal place to find money, as many of the buildings have names like 'Golden Spoke', and Castiel won't have to exert too much grace if Dean prays to him suddenly. Not that Dean would.
Castiel feels his spirits drop, it is too much to assume pie will fix anything at all, Dean will never forgive him.
Nevertheless determined, Castiel turns on his heel to walk to the sidewalk and is promptly hit by a wall of noise and metal.
Disoriented, Castiel sits up and sees a large fender a few inches from his nose.
Castiel blinks at it for a moment, blood running down onto the pavement. A loud rushing is filling his ears and he feels like his vessel's insides have turned into cotton. The driver's yell of shock from inside the truck filters through to Castiel where he is sitting on the pavement. Castiel hears a car door open and he quickly flies to the sidewalk. His grace has already hurrying to mend his six broken ribs and snapped spine, but he stands still and rubs the back of his neck for a moment to allow the internal bleeding to stop completely.
Castiel glances up and down the street while he waits. He is trying to decide which flashy building to try first, when out of the corner of his eye, Castiel sees a red and white paper sign fluttering against the pins holding it to the front of a windowless cement block building, squeezed between a dark vintage shop and a shiny new restaurant. The sign reads:
NEED MONEY?
NOW HIRING.
WE ARE OFFERING
TEMPORARY
STAND-IN JOBS
FOR REGULAR PAY
It seems promising. Castiel needs money, and he is most definitely looking for 'temporary'. And he is good at standing.
The bold text on the sign is followed by a series of numbers to call for the job and a nearby address.
Castiel quickly dismisses calling, he is not using a phone if he can help it–Sam and Dean always laugh at his voicemails and he'll never get a job that way. So he flies to the address a few blocks over–it is a plain cement block building with only a set of doors and a small light up sign proclaiming 'Guys and Roses'–and opens the double glass doors and steps inside.
There is a narrow hallway that Castiel follows into a large blue-walled room with an oblong platform extending about five feet off the ground, running down its center. A few people are moving briskly around the room, looking busy and important, and Castiel looks around for someone to inquire about the job. He notices a man with a bored expression on his face sweeping out a corner of the room. Castiel walks quickly over.
"Excuse me." The man looks up and raises his eyebrows like he doesn't have all day.
"Where do I apply for your temporary standing job?" Castiel asks, trying to appear confident. His mouth contorts around the last part, unsure if he said the phrase correctly.
It appears he hasn't because the man's eyebrows creep higher and he looks Castiel up and down in a strange way that makes him feel like a mannequin. Perhaps Castiel shouldn't have worn his trenchcoat, it was warm outside and a human would probably be affected by that and Castiel did not need the guy to be suspicious of him already within seconds of meeting him. Was Castiel that bad at acting human? Castiel starts to shrug his coat off, but the man stops him quickly with raised hands.
"Oh no, it's okay! I'm sure you're serious," The man laughs, "You don't need to show me. Let me just get Liz, 'kay?"
"Oh, alright," Castiel says and pulls his trenchcoat back on.
The man disappears down a smaller hallway off to the side of the stage and is back within a few minutes with a woman, who Castiel assumes is Liz, wearing jeans and a zip-up jacket in tow.
"I'm Liz," The woman says, confirming her identity and she extends her hand for Castiel to shake. Her grip is firm and Castiel restrains himself from tightening his own grasp competitively to keep from breaking her fingers. Evidently he did not succeed as the woman, Liz, raises her eyebrows at him and flexes her fingers afterward before stuffing them in her jean pockets.
"You applying for a stand-in job?" She asks, and looks Castiel up and down like the other guy did.
Castiel nods and then remembers to say "Uh Yes".
"You're in luck," Liz glances at the clipboard in her hands, "One of my regular guys is out sick today and I have an empty spot," Liz gives Castiel a brief but warm smile, "The club opens in a few hours, so we've got just enough time for you to give me a short audition to show us what you can do."
Two hours later, Castiel follows a young woman in a red, sequin tube-top down another hallway to a sparsely furnished room with a mirror, and table underneath it. The woman who showed Castiel to the room hands him a stack of clothes and sets a pair of clunky shoes on the table. Castiel takes the bundle of clothes from her and holds it, feeling confused.
"No, you put them on, silly!" The woman chides and takes the clothing out of his hands, where he had been squinting at it suspiciously, and places it on the table by the shoes and flicks on the lights around the mirror.
She hovers in a friendly manner, leaning on the dresser. "I'm Mae, by the way."
"-I'm Cas." Castiel tells her after an awkward pause. Humans expect him to reciprocate when they introduce themselves, he reminds himself.
"So I saw your audition earlier..." She seems oblivious to Cas' fumbling and gives him a blinding smile. Her red lipstick matches her top and boots. Castiel peers a little deeper. Her soul also has deep red veins, through the usual white light of the human soul, that reach out excitedly to everyone around her, and at the moment are wavering towards Castiel. It explains why she likes the color red so much.
"Yes," Castiel agrees, and, feeling more amiable towards the friendly soul from which he gleans no ill intent, he offers tentatively at conversation, "Did I do alright?"
"Well you got in didn't you!" Mae says gesturing grandly, nearly hitting the mirror. "It was pretty good, and I would know. You were practically weightless on that pole."
Castiel winces. He did remove gravity from his vessel for about half a minute of his audition routine. "Uh thanks..."
"I'm serious, you'll do great. Don't be nervous."
Castiel wonders how she knew, and tries to protest.
"Angels don't get nervous."
Mae snorts loudly. "See, that's the kind of confidence I wish I had." She whips out her phone and checks the time, "Okay, I gotta go. I'm on next. Good luck 'Angel'!" She calls over her shoulder with a wink.
Castiel gives her a small wave, but his hand lowers itself slowly of its own accord as he looks down at the daunting pile of clothing in front of him.
Under closer examination it is, strangely enough a pair of slacks, shirt and tie that look exactly like the one he is wearing. Well, Liz had said she was 'inspired' (Castiel makes mental air quotes) when she saw Castiel perform his audition in his suit and trench coat. He suspects it may have been a little unorthodox if the arriving dancers' sniggers were anything to go by.
After putting the clothes on, however, it is quite clear they are not in fact, exactly like the ones he is wearing.
Castiel hangs his trench coat carefully on the back of the chair in the corner of the room and strips out of the rest of his clothes. He pulls on the new ones and squints into the mirror above the table. He makes an odd picture and he plucks at his pants.
They are a great deal tighter than Jimmy Novak's and make an interesting effect when Castiel examines his backside in the mirror as in the bright lights he can see the lines of his new underwear through the snug fabric. Castiel will ask Dean later for advice on how to keep undergarments like these from riding up, since he knows Dean has experience with them. Though Castiel is pretty sure it will be one of those topics that Dean tells him to Never Bring Up Again…so maybe not.
Last, Castiel pulls on a pair of tall black leather boots that have silvery buckles down the sides. (But only after sliding around the small room for a few hysterical minutes after realizing socks are slippery. Let it never be said Angels have dignity. Cause they don't. At least Castiel doesn't. Socks are quite enjoyable.)
"Five minutes to showtime, Cas!" He hears Mae holler through the door as her heels click by on the way to her own changing room.
Castiel hurries to zip his boots up and takes one last look around the room. He spots a pot of a shiny blue substance sitting in one corner on the dresser, probably left behind by the room's usual occupant.
He opens it and holds it up to examine curiously the tiny hexagons of foil in the light. A rush of air from the door of the dressing room opening sends a large puff of the foil into the air and it settles over Castiel from the tips of his hair to his shoes, which are now standing at the center of a large circle of blue glitter. Castiel blinks down at the bedazzled floor.
The person who had opened the door, Mae returning from dropping off her cash, grabs Castiel by the elbow, ignoring the pool of glitter on the floor, and pulls Castiel out of the dressing room. His boot buckles clink merrily as he trips over the door frame.
Mae ignores Castiel's stumble and reaches back into the room and grabs the trench coat off the chair. "Liz said to wear this."
***
Castiel feels an uncomfortable human emotion like a swarm of bees is churning around inside of him, as he peaks around the corner of the hall to see the stage. Maybe he does get nervous, Castiel admits.
As the poppy electric song playing on the speakers comes to a close and the house lights change from warm colors to cool blue and green, Castiel feels a shove from behind and is pushed out of the safety of the hallway and into the club, a short distance from the stage stairs. Castiel looks back at Mae, who gestures toward the stage frantically, and feels a rush of gratitude that she is obviously wasting her break to help him out. Him, someone of no importance.
Castiel walks up the stage stairs as the previous dancer, a woman who just matches him in height in seven inch neon heels, steps down from the stage.
He moves awkwardly to center stage, half-way down the oblong platform. There are some cheers and whistles, and Castiel tries to take in the tables full of people all around him. He fiddles with the snap-on tie Mae gave him, he does not know why his hands won't sit still. It probably has to do with the swarm of bees in his stomach that have not settled but continue to roar at him to get off the stage.
As jeers and a plastic cup bounces off his shoulder, Castiel realizes a second line of empty music has joined the first. Castiel cocks his head to one side to listen to the music he had been ignoring.
She's my cherry pie. Tastes so good, make a grown man cry... Sweet cherry pie!
A small smile ghosts over Cas' lips. It sounds like something Dean would like; both the pie and the song.
Castiel stands up straighter, and looks around at all the people gathered around tables and the stage. A thrill runs through him, much different than the bees: a sharp dropping sensation. Not urging Castiel to flee, but hungering for Castiel to keep all the eyes on him. He feels excitement and anticipation at having so many people actually see him, when he usually goes unnoticed and forgotten by both the Winchesters and his angelic kin. Castiel lets the rich symphony of drum and bass run through him, shaking his core and vibrating out to his wings spread wide and dominating, hidden in the ethereal plane, but with a magnetizing presence in this plane nonetheless.
The club seems to sense the presence of something alien, something not natural, and it freezes with all eyes on the stage for a split second.
Castiel raises his chin and arches an eyebrow at them, feeling his power flowing through him. Not just his grace but how the crowd is hanging on his every move. As Mae said, it is time to give them a show.
Castiel runs his hands through his hair, making it stick up impossibly more, and starts to roll his body through the song's thrums like he had in his audition. His wings flutter their own dance and before he knows it, Castiel is lost in the music.
Castiel drops near the edge of the stage at eye-level to the people clustered around the stage with VIP passes and opens his legs and shuts them smoothly, enjoying how their eyes follow the motion. Curving up to his full height again in a fluid motion, he steps nimbly across the stage to show the audience on the other side the same peek.
Silver boot buckles flash and jingle on his legs as Castiel swaggers along the edge of the platform, and he lets a group of women with sashes on feel up his calves underneath the flaps of his trench coat.
The emotions Castiel can feel rising around him from the surrounding souls are winding around him like hungry snakes. So eager to take and strip him dry.
And Castiel revels in it.
Castiel feels a deep pleasure at being able to give something to people, to cause pleasure instead of the pain he usually inflicts. Like a caretaker almost. A caretaker in leather boots and spandex. Castiel's mouth twitches at the thought.
As Castiel finishes his loop of the stage, a boy in a maroon jacket, certainly too young to have a real ID tucked in his pocket, is standing by the stage, eyes wide and mouth open, and Castiel nudges him cheekily with the tip of his boot as he passes.
Castiel prances away to center stage and deftly starts shrugging off one shoulder of his coat.
"Ooooooooooh," The crowd calls in one voice for a second.
Castiel slowly rolls his shoulder back and the canvas material slides off and drops on the floor to leave an unobstructed view of a thin white dress shirt and a blue tie hanging loosely around his neck.
The angel steps over his crumpled coat and bends to pick it up, thrusting back his hips, his ass quite literally on display. His pants look practically painted on and the edges of his panties stand out in floral ridges through the black fabric under the extra strain. Castiel gives his butt a little wiggle and a light slap it with the palm of his hand. He straightens and twirls his coat and throws it off stage. Castiel can feel a building thrill as the crowd's energy climbs.
He drops into a squat directly in front of the boy in the maroon jacket, this time opening his legs up wide. The crotch of his pants puckers out and Castiel runs his hands over the insides of his thighs and closes his eyes with a pornographic moan as the boy's embarrassment runs through Castiel's grace. When Castiel opens his eyes, the boy blushes bright red and laughter ripples through the crowd.
Castiel slowly pulls his tie from his shirt collar while still dropped down in front of the boy. The blue fabric slides across the cotton, and Castiel hangs the tie over the boy's neck. He gives the boy a sultry wink. The boy reaches up, as Castiel turns away, to touch the tie around his shoulders reverently, his neck pink.
Castiel hops between feet with a clink of buckles so he is facing away from the boy and practically skips to the pole set at the front end of the stage. He wraps one hand around the shiny metal and circles his hips toward the audience. Castiel starts to undo the top button of his shirt with his other hand. The white buttons glint technicolor as he pops them open one by one to reveal a growing V of tanned skin.
With his shirt hanging open, Castiel slides his hands under it and pushes the fabric to the sides so his hands can skim over his hard chest and hipbones and down over his clothed thighs. Castiel lets out a small moan of pleasure, unheard above the music, and the rest of his shirt is quickly discarded on the floor to join his coat. His broad shoulders and arms are now fully visible, and they ripple as Castiel dry humps the pole. He rocks his body against it, hands running up and down the metal.
Castiel hooks one leather boot around the pole and follows it in a tight spin, his shins pressed to the metal. He twists around the pole, and, using no small amount of upper body strength, hoists himself up off the ground until he's writhing on the pole midair. He flips himself upside down on the pole and his back flexes as he holds himself vertical to the floor with his feet less than a foot from the mirrored ceiling.
The angel moves so his body is bent at a right angle with his legs parallel to the floor. He bounces his legs playfully but has his eyes narrowed at the floor in concentration. Castiel thrusts back against the pole with his arms and up. The momentum carries him in an arc, feet first, onto the floor and he lands in a crouch, spiderman style. Castiel smirks at the hollering crowd's swell of endorphins.
Castiel steps backward and twists around the pole once more with his back pressed to it, and bends his knees and grinds his ass into the metal.
Castiel pushes away from the pole and walks towards the edge of the stage with one hand trailing behind him. He pushes his hips forward and this time fingers his belt. Castiel tilts his head back and caresses his hair and neck while he withdraws the leather apparel. The belt slides free of its loops and he wraps the buckle end around his fist, hitting the loose end against the floor to the beat of the song.
He turns his back to the club and smacks his ass with the strip of leather.
Crouching down, Castiel slides the belt upstage and grabs the pole behind him above his head with both hands. He curves so his head is upside down, face to the pole and his back and neck are curved back with his feet still touching the floor. Castiel's bare upper body shines with sweat and glitter, and when he swallows his adam's apple bobs obscenely. With only his arms wrapped around the pole, Castiel pulls his feet off the ground so they are above him on the pole. In a blur of writhing skin Castiel is right-side up midair on the pole. He falls toward the floor at a stomach-dropping pace, hugging the pole and catching himself just before his boots hit the ground. Castiel delicately puts one boot on the ground at the base of the pole and then the other. And softly toes his way to the tip on the stage.
Castiel twirls so his back is to the audience and bends forward at the waist and trails his hands over his leather boots and their silver buckles and the bunch of fabric where his slacks tuck inside his boots. His hands smooth over the backs of his thighs and curve with their tight apex. Castiel spins to face his audience again and takes a few steps forward. His hands glide on the sweating skin of his torso, up over his stomach and pecs and down again to the button of his pants.
Castiel deftly unhooks the button, and his other hand roams over and pinches and kneads one of his sharp hip bones.
Castiel turns around and slides his hands under the waistband of his pants, pulling it out and letting it snap back against his skin. He pinches the top of the garment and begins to ease the fabric down, exposing a pale strip of powder-blue lace.
The tight pants pull over the curve of his ass with some wiggling, and reveal a pair of delicate blue satin panties edged in lace with a metal clip glinting on each hip and another pair digging into the fleshy insides of his thighs. The blue panties are tiny compared to his hands as he pushes his pants down past them, but with more coverage than normal ladies' panties, just enough to keep the club from becoming a very different sort of business.
Castiel turns to show the audience his profile and he bends over with his back arched inward and his lace clad hips thrust back. He wiggles his ass and his pants slide down his upper thighs and uncovers dark blue garters that lead down to another set of silver clips, attached to the tops of sheer stockings of a deep indigo that stands out starkly against the light strip of skin peeking out between the powder-blue edge of the panties and the top of each stocking.
In a few more sultry moves, Cas' pants are in a pool around his ankles.
Castiel circles the pole and tangles his trailing pants around it in a neat spin, the buttons at their cuffs snapping to let the pant legs slip over Castiel' boots and around the metal rod. The satin front of Castiel's lace panties presses out, and the boots' high cuffs accentuate his muscular legs. Castiel whirls around a second time with his knees bent so his lacey ass nearly brushes the ground.
Clad in nothing but buckled leather boots, sheer stockings and a pair of powder-blue panties, Castiel steps away from the pole, leaving his pants behind, and struts to the edge of the stage. He drops one final time.
He rolls his shoulders back and spreads his legs to almost a 180. He squeezes his thighs and messes up his hair with both hands. The last guitar riff of Cherry Pie roars out.
Castiel winks at his fevered audience and grins.
***
By the end of the night, Castiel has a substantial pile of crumpled money on his room's dressing table, dug out of the top of his garter. It is well past midnight now, but Castiel is satisfied his earnings will be enough for his plan to fix things with Dean, and piles the still crumpled bills into the pocket of his trench coat.
Castiel bids Mae goodbye, and says farewell to his "dressing room". He walks proudly out of the blank building with its red and white sign and flies to the parking lot of a Gas 'n Sip in Lebanon to purchase Dean's pornography and dessert.
Castiel is back dressed in Jimmy Novak's office suit with its plain loafers and thick navy socks. His trench coat hangs around his frame, a little too big like always. And Castiel's perpetual frown is back in place, the joy of the club seemingly forgotten when confronted with reality. For all appearances, the same as before.
But he isn't the same. Not exactly anyway, because tucked away, deep in the inner pocket of Castiel' coat, is a neatly folded square of powder-blue lace.