A/N This was my first attempt at a Destiel fic, inspired by 4.14, the one with the siren. Rated M for a reason, kids. Usual disclaimers go here.

Zephyr.

A Reflection of Desire

Part One

The weather was miserable outside but it promised to be hot as hell inside. The mere thought made Dean smirk to himself without humour. As hot as hell. Yeah, he knew how hot hell could get and there were no strippers there last time he'd checked, unless they'd been reduced to tormented souls, the likes of which all blurred into one endless stream of suffering.

Still wearing the suits they used to impersonate FBI agents they flashed their fake badges at the bouncer, though unknown to them the beefy guy guarding the door would have let them through any way – they looked like the right sort, dressed well, the kind of client the joint needed instead of the sleazy blokes looking to cop a feel without paying their buck.

Dean had been to a lot of strip joints. A lot of 'em. This one was no different to a hundred others he had seen, the girls all doing their scantily clad thing on stage, gyrating and grinding their hips, dollars tucked into panties of cheap lace, satin and lycra.

Despite his feigned enthusiasm earlier he had no interested in any of the girls. He was here on business, not for pleasure. Not like he could really get any pleasure out of watching the girls swing about their poles. Something in him had died when he went to hell and now he was a different man altogether. He couldn't objectify women like that now, didn't seek a quick cheap thrill the way he used to.

Maybe he was just tired. He didn't know what was up with him but even Sam was picking up on it as he barely glanced at the girls on stage. He'd made a fuss of it before, trying to be his old self for the sake of his brother, acting like the concept of strippers was still a wonderful thing to him, like he couldn't wait to get a lap-dance.

He just wanted to get the job done with.

They surmised that they were looking for three girls and Sam set about questioning the owner of the club, a balding man in his fifties. Sam recited the names Jasmine, Aurora and Ariel along with a brief description but received nothing for his efforts. Dean scanned the room, looking for any of the girls. Any time his gaze lingered on one of the girls she tried to catch his eye and entice him, thinking he was checking her out. His gaze moved elsewhere when he realised that it wasn't the girl he was looking for.

"There's a girl that matches Aurora's description leaving through the back." Sam said quietly to him, nodding his head towards the door. "I'll follow her, you stay here and see if you can find the others."

"Shouldn't be chasin' tail on the job, Sammy." Dean chided playfully, receiving a flippant wave of the hand as Sam left him to get on with it.

He sighed and tugged the cuffs of his suit jacket. At the bar he ordered a beer and took it to a table far from the stage, walled in a little to allow for privacy. From here he could survey the whole room without gaining much attention. Hell, he could have sat front row for all the attention he'd get – a room full of horny straight men didn't give a shit about some guy in a suit when there were women in bikini's right in front of them.

"Hello Dean." Said a familiar, low voice.

He'd been lost in thought, trying to figure out what they were dealing with while swigging from his beer, and hadn't even noticed anyone come up to him.

In front of the table stood a man with dark hair and deep blue eyes, his jaw stubbled darkly, indigo tie loosened around his neck. Swathed in that beige trenchcoat was the angel Castiel.

An angel of the lord, in a strip joint.

"You must be desperate if you're willingly coming to a place like this. Doesn't the sight of so much flesh sear your angelic eyes?" He said sarcastically, noticing a subtle yet definite difference in the angel. "What is it? I'm working, I got no time for talk of devils and seals, Cas."

"What do you think you will find in a strip joint, Dean?" Said the angel, still standing ominously in front of him, looking down at him when normally he would be looking up. He was a couple inches shorter than Dean, at least.

"You'd be surprised." Dean muttered. "What do you want, Cas?"

Castiel stared at him in that calm way he had, the unnerving stare that made you feel uncomfortable, like a bug under a microscope, but there was a peculiar glimmer in his cobalt blue eyes that Dean had never seen before. Rather than feeling discomfort under the intense gaze Dean found that he couldn't look away from it.

His eyes were so…mesmerising. The intense way he had of looking at you like he was looking into your soul sent chills through Dean. His face, strong featured as if chiselled from marble, always looked so hard, so set against expression, but his eyes – his eyes spoke volumes.

What were they saying tonight?

He couldn't translate that look. It seemed to be telling him a thousand things at once. He just wished that the awkward angel would say something rather than just keep staring at him. As long as he stared at him, Dean stared back, eyes shifting from his eyes to his other features, lingering on his full, slightly parted lips.

"What do you want, Dean?" He eventually replied, deep gravelly voice jolting through Dean's body like hot lightening. His voice. Christ, he'd forgotten how much he loved his voice.

Wait, what? Loved his voice? What the hell was wrong with him, thinking that kinda thing? It wasn't even his voice, it was the voice of whatever poor son of a bitch he was using like a puppet. The thought disturbed him, that the handsome man standing in front of him wasn't even Castiel, it was some guy he was inhabiting while on Earth. That for all the times he'd seen and talked to Castiel he had never seen his face before.

What did an angel even look like, any way? Beautiful and flawless with white feathery wings, a halo of light about their perfect heads like iconography portrayed them to look? If angels were supposed to look perfect, Castiel was pretty damn perfect as he was in Dean's eyes, even if that wasn't his true appearance.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, he turned Castiel's question over in his mind. Nobody ever asked him that. Nobody ever asked what he wanted, what he needed. It was a startling question solely because he was not prepared for it and never really dwelt on it, never considered what he wanted from life now that he had a second chance at it.

"What do I want? What do you mean, what do I want?" Castiel only continued staring. "I want to go back to the motel and get some sleep, that's what. I want this case to be done with, to find whatever it is I'm looking for and – "

"What are you looking for?" Castiel interrupted.

"I don't know. That's the thing; we don't even know what it is we're looking for." Dean sighed. "Why are you just standing there? Sit down, you're making me nervous."

Castiel sat next to him. Close next to him, close enough that Dean could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see every small detail in his face and feel the soft exhale of his breath.

"You work so hard, Dean, always doing one job or another. You should take time to rest and enjoy yourself."

Dean let out a huff of a laugh. "What's this, an angel telling me to take some R&R? What happened to my divine purpose, god not being done with me? What happened to Lilith and the seals, to needing to stop the god damn apocalypse?" He drained the last of his beer. "I need another drink. Do angels drink? Do you want a beer or somethin'?"

Castiel moved closer to him, Dean freezing at the sudden movement, heart thumping wildly in his chest until he swore that it stopped altogether when he felt Castiel's chest touch slightly to his and felt the brush of his lips against his ear as he spoke. The angel truly did not understand the concept of personal space

"Relax, Dean. We should go somewhere else. Somewhere quiet." His voice, God, that voice was like quiet thunder in his ear.

Castiel retreated ever so slightly, his breath no longer hot and moist on his ear, stirring his hair. His face was mere inches from his, so close that his breath tickled Dean's face. Those eyes locked with his and made Dean stutter as he talked.

"S-somewhere else? Without strippers, you mean? Look man, if you gotta talk to me just say so, but I am on the job, I can't just up and leave, I mean, Sam is – "

"We should go somewhere else." Castiel repeated. "You're right; I need to talk to you. It's important. We have to go, now."

"Well, uh, ok then, I guess." Dean looked away from Cas' face, forcing himself to get up.

He missed the sly smile that fluttered at the angels lips.

Whipping out his cell phone Dean dialled Sam's number, finding it engaged and leaving a message for him.

"Sam, Cas showed up, we're heading to the motel. I'll be there, give me a call."

He was outside with Castiel, walking to where he'd parked the Impala. Castiel stayed close to him and Dean swore he felt his hand brush his, by mistake or not.

Climbing into the car he willed himself to get his shit together. Why was he so agitated? Not agitated in an angry sense, but agitated as if he was flustered by something. He stole a glance at Cas and saw the angel staring at him, his eyes quickly looking away from that penetrating gaze as he felt his pulse quicken.

He felt nervous around Castiel. Whether it was because he was an almighty angel or because he didn't act human he wasn't sure, it was probably a combination of both. He certainly didn't act like a normal person, with his incessant violation of personal space, intense watchful stare and odd mannerisms.

But in truth, that wasn't what made him nervous.

What made him nervous was the fact he found himself attracted to the angel. If that wasn't a whole new level of crazy/weird then he didn't know what was. For one, Castiel was a dude, or so he assumed seeing as he was using a man's body as his vessel. For two, there was that point right there – it wasn't Castiel he was attracted to, really, was it? It was some guy whose name he didn't even know.

Not that names mattered, but it was not just Castiel's borrowed appearance he liked. It was him. His weird, inhuman, awkward self. His awkward self that was being more awkward, or at least making Dean feel that way.

They drove to the motel in silence, Dean wondering what it was like for an angel to ride in a car when they could fly, how insufficient vehicles must seem to them.

"Do you know why I'm here?" Castiel broke the silence abruptly. Dean shrugged, glad for a distraction from his disturbing thoughts. Attracted to an angel. A male angel. Jesus, he was messed up.

"To talk." He answered shortly. "Right?"

"Yes, that's right. We need to talk, Dean."

Dean noticed that Castiel said his name an awful lot. He also noticed that he really liked how it sounded when he said it in that rough voice of his.

"What about?" Dean ventured.

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You never talk about yourself, do you? Not even to Sam, except on rare occasions. You keep it all inside, and that is not healthy."

"What, are you lecturing me or something? Trying to convince me to go to confession and let it all out?" Dean shook his head. "Listen, I get it. You're an angel and you work for God, I accept that he must probably exist if the likes of you do, but that don't mean I'm gonna go all devout just because you want me to."

"I want you to talk to me." Cas said when he was done ranting, not even showing a hint of indignation at Dean's flat-out refusal to fully acknowledge the existence of God. Which Dean found strange, of course.

"Talk to you? About what?"

"About you. You need to talk to somebody, Dean, I can tell. I know."

Dean gave him a long, questioning stare before he turned his eyes back on the road, or rather, parking lot, where he was pulling into a free space.

"You angels are a freaky bunch, you know that, right? You want me to just talk to you like we're old buddies?"

"You want to talk to me."

"Do I?"

"Yes." Castiel said firmly. "I can tell. I know." He repeated.

"Know a lotta things, don't ya?" Dean muttered under his breath. He got out the car, Castiel following suite, and they went into the room he and Sam were sharing.

He immediately removed his tie and unfastened his top button, tossing both tie and jacket onto the bed where he slumped down, already half exhausted.

Castiel stood and stared at him until Dean motioned for him to sit down, made nervous once more by his ominous presence.

"So you want me to talk, huh? What about?" Cas opened his mouth and Dean held up a hand. "Don't just say 'you'. I get that. What do you want to know in particular?"

"Anything you want to tell me."

"Anything? Just, anything?" Dean scratched his head. "I don't get you at all, Cas."

"You don't have to."

"Your one-liners get kinda tiring after awhile, y'know. God, I feel like you're a shrink or something, the way you stare a lot and say a little. What's with this talking about myself thing anyway? What purpose does it serve you?"

"It helps you. You want to talk but you won't admit it even to yourself, so I'm here to listen, to help you." Castiel replied in that calm way.

Dean returned his stare second for second, drinking in his appearance once more, slightly less disturbed now than when he first realised he was attracted to him. To a man. Dean had never been attracted to a guy, or even a butch chick. He was all about ladies that were ladies, all swelling curves and soft lips.

Castiel was rough around the edges and looked like he needed to sleep. His hair was ruffled and messy, he needed a shave and could do with loosening up.

At that thought, Dean pulled out his hip flask and unscrewed the top, taking a long drink of whiskey and automatically, curiously, offering it to Castiel, who sat on the bed opposite him.

To his surprise, Castiel took the flask from him.

"So you angels…you actually drink? Do normal things?" He asked in surprise as Cas held the flask to his lips. His lips parted and sealed around the lip of the flask and he tilted his head back, eyes locked onto Dean's the whole time.

Dean swallowed anxiously as Castiel swallowed whiskey, strangely aroused by the sight of the angel drinking hard liquor, by the contraction of his pale throat. He held the flask out for Dean, his lips glistening with moisture.

A soft pink tongue darted out to sweep over his lower lip, and Dean almost groaned at the sight. Shit, he was losing his cool, and fast.

Quickly he took another long swallow of whiskey. Castiel watched him closely.

"You want someone to talk to, don't you? Someone you can confide in, tell your secrets to. We all have secrets but not all are necessarily meant to stay unspoken. You can talk to me, Dean. Tell me what you want."

Dean gazed at the angel's face for a long moment before replying.

"I want you." He said without hesitation. He felt oddly peaceful.

Castiel smiled at him then, the first time he had seen him do so, and it made him shiver. It was a slow, sly smirk that teased at the corners of his mouth and glittered in his eyes.

There was less than two feet between the beds where they sat facing each other. Cas had only to move forward slightly and suddenly there he was, knees place either side of Dean as he straddled his lap, arms on his shoulders, staring down into his eyes.

"Take me." He said in so heated a voice Dean felt himself melt instantly.

He placed one hand on the back of Castiel's neck and pulled him down, their lips meeting in a hungry crush as Dean's other hand tugged that damn trenchcoat off. Aiding him to remove it, Castiel shrugged out of it and let it drop to the floor, pushing Dean back onto the bed, his weight balanced but his hips pressing down into his.

His arousal formed, it seemed, instantly. The feel of Castiel's slightly dry but altogether wonderful lips on his own, the scratch of his stubble on his cheek, the press of his hips – it all served to stoke the newly discovered embers of desire inside of him into a roaring fire that threatened to consume him entirely unless he had Cas, had him now.

He was vaguely aware of his phone ringing, knowing it would be Sam. More aware was he of the hot, wet cavern of Castiel's mouth when Dean pushed his tongue into his unresisting mouth. Nimble fingers worked the buttons of his shirt undone and suddenly he was bare chested and Castiel's hand was stroking over his body, burning hot with lust like nothing he had ever known.

He broke the passionate kiss reluctantly.

"Cas, Cas wait, my phone, Sam will – "

"Sam will interrupt us. You don't want him to, do you? You don't want to have to stop just so he can have your attention, do you? I thought you wanted me." Cas murmured into his ear, his tongue flicking up the shell of it to make Dean shudder in pleasure.

"God, yes, I want you." Dean groaned, yanking Castiel's tie off and tearing at his shirt, impatience and need too overwhelming to care for the material as it ripped with a satisfying sound.

He could feel Castiel's chest against his, his warm, soft flesh connecting with his, and it felt perfect, so completely perfect, but he wanted to see him, see what was under all those layers of conservative clothing.

He shoved him roughly off and they moved up the bed, Castiel falling back onto the pillows, torn shirt open to expose a lean, pale torso, a trail of dark hair disappearing into the waistband of his black pants where the outline of his erection was prominent, straining the fabric taut.

Dean swept his eyes over the sight laid out in front of him, his cock throbbing in response. He kneeled between Castiel's spread legs, fully prepared to do what he had never done before in his life – have sex with a man, a man inhabited by an angel, no less. It was just perverse enough to push Dean's buttons.

With urgency he tackled the next obstacle – Castiel's pants. In no time he had the belt unbuckled and was tugging at the zipper, hooking his fingers over the waistband and dragging them down, Cas kicking his shoes off and Dean having to move out of the way to get them off entirely before he settled back into his place between the angels legs.

It was an overtly sexual image, one Dean had never considered himself capable of appreciating. The way Cas was sprawled on the bed in just a pair of tight black boxers and a hastily torn shirt, his chest rising and falling with every breath, his erection bulging in his underwear…it set Dean on fire.

Castiel sat up, his hands working open Dean's trousers until he had them off, each of them removing the others shirt until they were clad only in their underwear, Castiel pressed into the mattress by Dean on top of him as they kissed passionately, hips grinding into each other wantonly.

His phone rung out again, ignored.