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The bar is on the cusp of the wrong side of town, full to the brim with people. Most are drunk. Someone bumps into Dean — tall guy, not much hair — and Dean's drink sloshes over the edge of the glass and lands on his boot. Instantly, Dean's hackles are up and he's about to yell after the man for not apologising.
Castiel steps in, putting himself in front of Dean and giving him a look .
"He's not worth it Dean," Castiel warns. "Just go to the restrooms and clean yourself up."
Dean just grumbles unintelligibly before downing half his beer and setting it on the bar.
The restrooms are down the stairs in the basement, sticky tile flooring takes him to the lower level and he finds the men's room at the first door. It's empty but he goes into a stall anyway and takes a piss.
On the right side of the stall is a hole, a few inches in diameter. Huh . Dean exits the stall, having done his business and washes his hands, noticing another soap dispenser on the wall that doesn't dispense soap. He pumps a load of it into his hand and then goes back into the stall he came out of, dropping his jeans and boxers to the floor.
Closing the lid of the toilet, Dean sets one leg up onto it and reaches around himself, touching his dry hole. He lubricates his fingers, and starts opening himself up. It's not too difficult, it's not exactly the first time he's done this - not even the first time he's done it awkwardly with one foot up on the toilet seat either.
When he's a couple of fingers deep, he hears the door open and someone comes in for a piss. It doesn't stop him, but he keeps his lips pursed. They leave after a couple of minutes.
As soon as he deems himself sufficiently open, Dean turns, shoving his bare ass against the hole and feeling the slight breeze against it.
Someone else comes in. Dean hears the tap run, then the sound of paper towels being discharged from the dispenser and then silence. The door doesn't open again. Footsteps come closer and Dean shoves his ass harder against the hole.
One pump of the lubricant dispenser.
Dean braces himself, and yet, he's not ready when strange fingers shove into his hole. Dean grunts, grabbing onto the toilet roll holder for support. They go in deep, Dean can feel the knuckles against his rim, and twist and scissor. There's pressure against his walls and the sensation zings through him as if he's not been touched in months. The fingers leave him as suddenly as they arrived and he hears the distinct sound of flies being undone and the shadow between the stalls shift.
There's a huff of air from outside the stall, a sign that Dean hopes is the man lubricating his cock. Dean is so ready for this, can't wait to tell Cas how he got railed in the bathroom of this shitty dive bar.
The cock rests against his asshole; he can feel the nipple of the condom squash against him moments before the push. The whole thing slides in in one swift motion. Dean can't help the high pitched whine that leaves his throat. It feels like it never ends, hovering right next to his prostate when it finally does. The man lingers.
"Hold on, bitch." The voice is whiskey deep.
Dean does as he's told, both hands holding onto the toilet roll dispenser and hoping it holds up to what's about to come.
The man goes to town, shoving and pushing, grunting and nailing his prostate like he means it. Dean comes quickly, without much thought, but the man carries on. Dean's own cock flags for a little while before it starts filling again.
Dean's sure someone comes in, takes a piss and ignores everything else before leaving. The thought makes him blush but he doesn't care.
Dean removes one hand from the dispenser, tugging on his own dick to encourage it and pushing himself hard against the hole to get the most out of the ride.
The grunting and breathing gets heavier behind him, the pace more stuttered before it speeds up again and Dean feels the come fill the condom as the man sighs heavily.
Then he's gone. The bin clanks as the condom is disposed of, the tap goes on, then off again as hands are washed and then the door squeaks as it opens then shuts with a soft thud.
Rolling off a wad of tissue, Dean cleans himself up, wincing at the feel of the rough paper against his sensitive hole. Jeans back on, boots re-tied, Dean exits the stall and straightens his shirt. He looks like a wreck in the mirror, so splashes his face with water and dabs it dry with a paper towel. It will have to do.
Castiel is standing by the bar with two fresh drinks when he gets back. His boyfriend gives him a strange look but hands it over to him.
"Thanks," Dean says with a smile. He takes a couple of sips, then leans in close to Castiel so his lips touch Castiel's ear. "I just got railed so hard."
"Did you now?" Castiel grumbles.
"Yup." Dean winks and chugs half his beer.
Neither of them are in a fit state to drive, so they walk back home. Castiel threads his fingers into Dean's and he pulls him close. Dean presses a sloppy kiss to his jaw.
"Can't believe you called me a bitch," Dean whispers.
"I'll do it again," Castiel says.