Brian's gaydar was never wrong, and the man standing across from him was extremely hot, in a girlish sort of way.

"FBI," Dean said, flashing a badge. "We're here to investigate the string of deaths that have been reported recently."

Brian arched an eyebrow at him. "Since when do the FBI care about a bunch of fags overdosing at a club?" His gaze slid down the man's body. Yes, he was hot, alright.

Dean stared at him blankly, and then turned to the much larger man standing next to him. "What did he say?!" he hissed at him.

Sam shot Dean an irritated look and hissed back. "Don't be a jerk, Dean."

Ah, so he was closeted. How cute. Brian smirked at Dean and narrowed his eyes. "Well, I'd be more than happy to show you around. I'm the owner." He gestured around the empty club. "Would you like to see the bathrooms first? Or the back room? I also have a private VIP lounge that I'm sure should be... investigated thoroughly."

Dean paled slightly and looked back at Sam. "Uh, um-"

Sam did his best not to laugh and nudged Dean sharply with his elbow. "Dean will be happy to help."

"Sammy!" Dean said in a desperate, low voice. He looked panicked.

"I'm going to go interview witnesses," Sam said happily, and he turned to leave.

Dean smiled nervously at the man in front of him. "Uh, so... where should we start?"

Brian licked his lips. Where, indeed?