"Whiskey," Dean grunts out, eyes already scanning the place for the girls that aren't interested in good conversation, because Dean's out for one thing and one thing only tonight.

The shot's slid toward him and he's already ordering another one as he slams it back, flashing a quick grin at the bartender because if all else fails maybe he can score there. He winks at her and pays. "Thanks sweetheart," he says, and he plays up that southern drawl because he might have been all around the country enough to lose it mostly but people still respond to it.

Metropolis, he thinks, is very much his kind of town. No matter what time of day it is, there's always someone awake. This bar, however, may not be, because all of the women are dressed in high heels and there's more than a few suits around him. The shot was about three dollars more than he expected it to be and he might have to be moving down the line of bars to the next one because this place is what Sammy would call Classy, with a capital C, and Dean just ain't.

He decides to give the bar one more scan, letting his eyes follow down the curve of the brunette in the corner's neck to where her breasts tried to spill out of her top and thought maybe. Maybe. But a hand landed on her shoulder and she turned into it and then she was kissing some really tall Wall Street type, and yeah. No.

He's patting his pockets for a tip for the bartender, because even if he's not gonna get laid here tonight he might as well build up some brownie points, when he sees him. This bald cat sitting at the end of the bar, eyes glued on him. Their eyes catch and baldie's mouth quirks up in vague amusement and Dean smirks back at him. What the hell, right?

He slides up to the stool next to him, leaning against the bar and cocking his hip out because he knows how to do the majority of his flirting with his body, and it's not like this guy isn't already interested. And hell, he could go for a guy tonight. He's not feeling choosy right now.

"Come here often," he asks, and then he wags his eyebrows because he knows it's the lamest line in the book but sometimes you'll stumble across someone with a good sense of humor that appreciates the mundane for it's redundancy.

Eyes roam down his body in a very slow, very much not subtle at all arc, and he's hard already. They catch at Dean's fly and stick. "More often than a man with my reputation probably should."

Five weeks straight on the road with only your brother for company can make a guy go a little lust-insane, and so Dean's really not all that surprised that he's already so turned on that his eyes are starting to swim. There's something about this guy that literally oozes sex and Dean wants to drag him back to the bathroom, lock the door, slam him up against the nearest stall, and come so hard he doesn't see straight for a week.

Blue eyes twinkle up at him and Dean's struck by the amusement in them, like this guy's reading his every thought. If they don't say 'so what are you waiting on?' then Dean just doesn't know anything. His smirk widens. "So should I try a few other lines, or you wanna just skip the pleasantries and suggest a nice quiet place where we can pretend we're going to talk?"

The tongue darts out to lick at his lips and Dean watches, feeling his dick jerk because of course the first thought he has is what that tongue would feel like against him. Of course it is, that's exactly what the guy had been thinking of when he'd done it. "Well, aren't you forward?"

Dean shrugs and lets his eyes travel over his body, long and lean and made for sex as far as Dean is concerned. "You seem like a guy who doesn't appreciate pretense," Dean says, looking back up at him and arching an eyebrow. "But if it makes you feel better I could pretend for a while that I'm really just interested in finding out what you're hopes and dreams are."

The smile takes Dean by surprise because it's so honest, and he thinks maybe if this were some other time, some other place, maybe if it hadn't already been five weeks, this guy is someone he might have actually wanted to get to know, gotten to like. "Should I tell you my name, or is that not on the menu tonight?"

Dean blinks. "Oh. Right yeah, no, tell me. I'm Dean by the way."

The hand comes out and Dean reaches out to take it in his, smooth and silky and warm, no calluses, and he was right. This bar is all class. "Lex."

He almost drops the hand. "Wait a minute."

Lex's grin widened. "You mean you didn't make the connection already?"

Dean's eyes widen. "You're fucking with me. I come to Metropolis for one night and the first guy I hit on is Lex fucking Luthor?"

Lex tilts his head. "That was you hitting on me? I was pretty sure that was you blatantly trying to get me in your bed. The term 'hitting on' seems a bit too subtle for you."

Dean frowns, his lips pouting out, and damn right he knows that's attractive. It's why he does it. It's the right move too, because Lex's eyes are immediately drawn to his mouth and it's a battle for Dean to not start grinning again. "Doesn't have to be a bed. I'm good with the bathroom."

Lex just smirks at him. "The bathroom? Really? What makes you think I'm that kind of guy?"

It occurs to Dean then that Lex is fucking with him, and he can't decide if it's annoying as hell or arousing as fuck, but he knows that he's harder than he's been in a long time and if he didn't get somewhere pretty damn soon he was liable to hump the damn bar. "I don't. But a guy can hope."

"Tell you what," Lex says, standing up and resting a hand on Dean's shoulder as he passes behind him, leaning in and whispering right in his ear. "Meet me in the back alley in two minutes."

By the time Dean turns around to say 'hey, you're not gonna hire some goons to beat me up, are you?' Lex is already gone. Dean shrugs because he's fought demons for christ's sake, he's fought vampires and grim reapers and god damned wendingos. He's pretty sure he can handle a few of Metropolis' finest, even if they do work for Lex Luthor.

When he walks out the back door with his muscles tense and hand hovering over the back of his jeans to grab for the taser gun he'd brought with him his mouth falls open at the sight of a limo. A stretch limo, black, tinted windows, and this sucker's gotta be at least thirty feet deep.

"So are you going to gape, or are you going to get in?"

Dean blinks and finds Lex looking bemused in the rolled down window. "Can I do both?"

He gets in of course.