Archive of Our Own ^beta

Becky was not an easy person to keep up with. She clipped down the tile hallway in her kitten heels, flicking through the paperwork on her clipboard, not looking to see if Cas was still behind her. He had to half-jog after her or else risk getting lost in the labyrinth office space.

"You should have been e-mailed these forms last week when we signed you, but I'm going to go over them again just to be sure," she said, licking her thumb to turn another page. "There's a long list of things that are not allowed on set with Dean. Slip up once, slap on the wrist. Slip up twice, I'll throw you out on your ass, we clear?" Becky threw a look over her shoulder at Cas, her eyebrows raised in question.

"Crystal." Cas rounded the corner with her, now almost abreast. She started rattling off the preordained guidelines.

"First off, this is strictly a blowjob scene. You don't do anything to Dean beyond that. No kissing. No hair-pulling. In fact, no contact anywhere above the shoulders. Confine licking to his chest and stomach. But no nipple-play, especially not pinching."

Cas fought the urge to roll his eyes. He'd worked with "straight" stars before, and these gay-for-pay guys never failed to get on his nerves. Most of them were obviously queer and just playing up their machismo for that special audience who harbored some stupid fantasy about seducing a straight dude. But this one, Dean Winchester, star of StraightShooter.com, he took the cake.

The guy's following was insane. Hundreds of thousands of subscribers downloaded every single scene he put out, and most of the time Dean didn't even do anything, just received a blowie from a co-star and called it a day. Cas was trying to remain professional—a gig was a gig, and the money for this one was better than most—but personally he wasn't a fan of any performer who profited from internalized homophobia. There was enough self-loathing in the world already.

"Most importantly, the scene ends with Dean jerking off on himself. You do not come into contact with his come at all. Do you understand?" Becky barked, and Cas nodded. "Good. Some guys don't get it, you know? Dean's got an image to maintain."

And see, this was exactly the kind of thing that rubbed Cas the wrong way. Getting your dick sucked by another guy? That was fine, peachy, "a mouth is a mouth," take it any way you can get it. Letting another guy touch you like a human being? Totally queer. It was shit like this that made him glad his niche was good, old-fashioned deep-throat. At least he was an honest cocksucker.

He couldn't really blame Becky, though. As Dean Winchester's manager and director, she had a product to sell and a performer to protect.

"Once again, because it bears repeating," Becky said as they reached the double doors marked Studio 4. "Just the blowjob. No ass-play. Dean only does rimming scenes with co-stars he's worked with before. If you boys work well together today, who knows. Maybe you'll get a shot. But for now, let's keep it at oral. No wandering fingers or tongues."

"Got it," Cas murmured. Like he'd go above and beyond for this douche out of the goodness of his heart.

"All right, let's get to work." Becky pushed her way through the door and launched herself into the bustling studio space. The set was the classic bedroom scene, a low platform bed outfitted in clean white sheets and mounds of pillows, sectioned off by false walls to create the illusion of a real home. Sound and camera workers were still setting up their equipment, with a skinny bearded guy standing in the middle of the chaos calling out orders to the lighting crew.

"To the right! No, your other— Oh, hey baby." He kissed Becky hello and turned to nod at Cas. "Welcome, new guy. Becky read you the riot act yet?"

"He's up to speed," Becky answered before Cas could even open his mouth. "Cas, meet Chuck. He'll be doing the story direction." Then, to Chuck: "Honey, are you picking up the kids at three?"

"Yeah, absolutely. Mary has ballet today, right?" Chuck asked.

"Wednesday. But good try." Becky gave him another peck on the lips and turned to grin at Cas. "Let's get you acquainted with Dean, hm? Dean!" Her shrill voice echoed through the cavernous room. "Where is he?"

"Right here, boss," a gravelly voice wound its way through the room, and Cas turned to find Dean Winchester loping toward them.

Cas had seen Dean's clips before, so he knew what he looked like, though he'd expected him to look less attractive in person. Most of the big stars were air-brushed within an inch of their lives on film. But Cas was surprised to see Dean was actually...very beautiful. His stance was easy, his legs bowed in a way that reminded Cas of cowboys and leather-clad bikers. He wore low-slung jeans that rode perfectly on his narrow hips, and a plain tee that stretched tight across his chest. He was clearly in amazing shape, the perfect combination of lean muscle and tan skin. But it was that face that won, hands down: strong, stubbled jaw, full red lips. His bright green eyes were capped with the longest lashes Cas had ever seen on a man, and the smattering of freckles across his nose gave the impression he'd led a rugged, Land's End catalog kind of life. Jesus, Cas had worked with hot guys before, but this one was scary-hot.

"Hey there. I'm Dean." He offered his square palm, and Cas took it, unusually thrilled at the roughness of the other man's hand. Like he'd actually worked with them once upon a time.

"Cas Novak," he returned, his voice pitched low.

Dean offered him a blindingly white, possibly even sincere, smile and said, "Looking forward to working with you, Cas."

Cas had thought he'd been rid of the last of his self-consciousness long ago, but standing there with Dean made him uncomfortably aware of his own pale, thin body. God, he hoped they didn't want him to play the twink to Dean's hunk; he hated being made to feel small and helpless. It just didn't suit him.

"Let's run through the story while Becky gets the crew in order," Chuck said, leading Cas and Dean through the minefield of wires and cords to the makeshift bedroom in the middle of the studio. He made a rectangle out of his thumbs and forefingers, framing the mattress with them. "So I'm thinking we'll start you off here, Dean. Slow pan up from your feet to your face. Becky will hate it, but I keep telling her, feet sell."

Dean glanced over at Cas, watching him watch Chuck, catching his doubtful look. "Don't worry, Chuck and Becky know their shit. Haven't steered me wrong yet."

Cas just stared back at him. He'd been prepared to hate this guy on sight; it wasn't fair that he was being so decent. And was it just him, or was Dean not giving off any gay vibes at all? Could the guy actually be as straight as his website claimed?

Chuck continued. "You'll give your little intro, got a hot new guy coming over today, yadda yadda, you've heard he's a great cocksucker, all that jazz. Then we have Cas come in, we do a POV sweep, up and down, and then—Cas, can you do intimidated?—anxious, maybe shy?"

"That's not really my thing," Cas hedged. "I can try my best, but—"

"Chuck, don't you think Cas is more the challenging type?" Dean broke in. He laid a hand on Cas's shoulder as if testing the strength there. "Could be hot." The suggestion was a welcome one, and Cas sent his silent thanks to Dean with a quick glance.

"Yeah, sure, challenging. Playful," Chuck mused. "Some good-natured bullshitting back and forth, maybe you say something like 'you sure you can handle it?' and Cas, you're like, 'oh, definitely' and you're practically drooling for it, you know? Yeah, yeah, I like that better anyway. You good with that, Cas?"

Cas nodded, and Chuck clapped his hands, a signal of finality. "Great. Becky will run through the actual scene with you soon. She blocks all the real action." He ran his gaze over the assorted pillows on the bed. "I think we're missing some props here. One second, guys." And he darted away through the buzz of workers.

The warm weight of Dean's hand fell away from Cas's shoulder. "So I've seen a few of your clips. You put out some good stuff. Really intense," Dean said, casually stuffing his hands in his jean pockets.

Cas fought the dryness in his throat. "Thanks."

"Now, this is just a personal preference, but you don't plan on doing any of that gagging stuff today, do you?" Dean twisted his lips into a disgusted frown. "I know some guys get off on it, but if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not have you choking on my dick."

Cas squared his shoulders, instinctively going on the defense. The gagging Dean referred to wasn't something Cas had invented; porn had trends just like anything else, and the loud sounds of someone choking while giving oral sex was one of those things that had lately become popular for whatever reason. But it was just played up for show, a spectacle for the viewers who wanted to see and hear Cas do that. And that audience fucking loved it, so who was Dean to tell him it sucked? But, he reminded himself, pros don't take criticism so personally.

"If it's not part of the script, I won't do it. Shouldn't be a problem," Cas muttered, hoping Dean caught his subtle dig at his size.

If Dean did, he didn't show it. Just smiled that shark-like grin and clapped Cas on the back. "Awesome. It's going to be a good shoot, I can tell."

Becky bustled over to them, her arms overflowing with bottles of lube and lotion. "Let's get a move on, guys! Hit the showers, have the body hair girl clean you up, and get fluffed. Tight schedule today."

"Always is." Dean winked—actually winked—at Cas and headed for the showers with a bow-legged swagger.

Cocky son of a bitch. Cas followed, scowling.

_______________________________

The opening shot was a close-up of nicely proportioned toes flexing against the crisp white sheets. It panned up long, tanned legs dotted with the occasional freckle, all the way up to the apex of thighs, where a half-hard cock was held in a steady hand.

The camera continued up the naked body to Dean's face, his eyes glinting with devilish intent. "Hey there, people. Got a treat for you all today. Cas Novak is dropping by, and if you haven't seen this dude in action, let me tell you: it looks like he sucks a mean cock. Guess I'll see for myself if all the rumors are true."

Camera 2 picked up from another angle. Cas appeared in the doorway, hands braced on the jamb, dressed in tattered jeans and nothing else. He swept his gaze over Dean, his eyes glinting with appreciation. Cas had always been told his eyes were his best feature; there was an intensity there that translated well on film, and he used that to his advantage whenever possible.

"You ready for this?" Dean asked, stroking his thickening cock with a slow smirk.

Cas licked his lips and allowed his eyes to track between Dean's face and his hard-on. "Absolutely. Can't wait."

Dean scratched at his own chest, his fingernails brushing the black lines of the tattoo over his heart, a nonchalant gesture calculated to draw Cas's eyes to his muscled form. "Hope you can handle all of me."

"Oh, I think I can manage." Cas approached the bed, crawling onto the mattress on his hands and knees, slotting himself between the V of Dean's legs. "You just lay back and let me make it good for you."

There was very little lead-up to the action. Becky had plotted out the scene to ensure a tight final product, no dead air. Cas nuzzled the base of Dean's dick, licking the shaft enough to make it glisten. He swallowed down half the length, humming in apparent rapture. Above him, Dean cursed ("Oh, fuck. Oh my god." The usual.) and folded his hands behind his head, laying back in his best hedonistic pose.

Dean was even larger than Cas expected, with the kind of cock that never seemed fully hard, its sheer weight causing it to bob low. He was cut and shaved, smooth all the way around the base. He smelled strongly of juniper mixed with musk, the scent filling Cas's senses as he worshipped Dean's cock. And that's what this whole scene was about: worshipping the beautiful Adonis, lavishing him with pleasure, hoping that maybe, if you were good enough, this god would grace you with a small reward. Cas was beginning to see the appeal.

Cas relaxed his throat and took the rest, inch by inch, sliding down until his chin was nestled on top of Dean's tight balls. Dean crooned his pleasure, and even if it was all an act, Cas didn't care, the sound went straight to his cock. He hardened further in his jeans, straining against the zipper. He suckled messily, letting the saliva drip down his chin, mixed with sharp pre-come.

The working part of his brain noticed Camera 3 moving into position next to him, and Cas spread his legs so they could get the shot of his dick, the hard line of it trapped under the worn denim. Becky had advised him to touch himself, but he held off for now; he didn't want to finish too soon.

"Jesus, your mouth," Dean hissed, and Cas allowed himself to feel the swell of professional pride. Damn straight, he was good.

A few more takes of oral, and they moved on to the next position. "Lay back," Dean said for the benefit of the camera. "I want to fuck your face."

Normally Cas would strain to appear eager at the prospect, but this shoot was different, off-kilter. He licked his reddened lips and eyed Dean's erection like he wanted more—and it wasn't a lie.

Dean stood beside the bed while Cas laid across the mattress, his head hanging off the edge. He tilted his head back and looked up at Dean towering above him, still fisting his huge cock.

"Go ahead," Cas said, his voice low and husky. "Do whatever you want." He opened his mouth, his tongue extended in invitation.

"Fuck," Dean groaned, guiding his dick between Cas's wet lips and down his throat. This position was Cas's specialty. He was a little worried he might gag this time around; Dean was huge, and Cas was tensing with nerves he'd thought he'd lost years ago. Also Dean didn't hold Cas's head steady at all, just kept his hands to himself—either clasped behind his head or palming up and down his own torso—which made Cas's job somewhat harder. But Cas concentrated on the smell and taste of Dean under his nose and tongue, and he made it work. He closed his eyes, opened his button fly, and stroked himself while imagining, stupidly, impossibly, that Dean wasn't acting when he thrust into Cas's mouth.

By the time Dean's come shot happened, Cas was harder than he had been in a long time. He watched from his upside-down spot as Dean let loose all over his own naked chest and abs, long threads of come that Cas ached to taste despite Becky's warnings. He waited for his cue, and when it came, he breathed a sigh of relief; he had been on the verge for too long. Dean's hand splayed across his shoulder as he played up the whole weak-kneed, fucked-out aftermath of his own orgasm, and that simple touch was enough to send Cas spiraling toward release.

He lay there, panting, trying to get his bearings, trying to remember what Becky had outlined for the final shot, but his mind was a total blank. Cas blinked his eyes open and stared up at Dean, completely lost.

"Guess you handled it pretty good after all," Dean said, his hand kneading Cas's shoulder, a smile stretching across his handsome face. "Good times."

"Yes," Cas agreed, still winded. He bent his neck back even further to catch a glimpse of Dean's dick, still rock hard and twitching. Cas noticed a tiny, perfectly round freckle on the underside of the shaft. On impulse, he stretched up and swiped his tongue across it, keening with want. "Too good," he murmured, collapsing back on the bed.

Dean stared down at him, a strange look clouding his green eyes, and for a moment Cas was afraid he'd broken one of the many rules. But he hadn't licked any come away, he was sure of that. Maybe there was an over-arching law that forbid over-familiar touching with the star. But Dean didn't get angry about it, just broke into another grin and turned to the camera.

"Hope you had fun too." That trademark wink. "See you soon."

"That's cut, people! Good job, everyone!" Chuck shouted, and all around them the crew began breaking down equipment. Cas sat up shakily, accepting a towel from one of the workers with a quiet thank-you. He wiped the worst of the come from his stomach.

"Think we got all the shots we need—?" He turned to face Dean, but the other man was already gone. Oh. Cas's disappointment turned to shame. Don't be stupid, he told himself, you probably blew this gig with that little stunt at the end. You should be glad the guy took off instead of chewing you out in front of everyone. He took his time cleaning the sweat off the back of his neck, not quite ready to face the rest of the crew.

Cas stood on wobbly legs, wrapped the towel around his waist, and headed for the shower room. But before he could retreat into a nice steam bath, Becky caught up with him. She was still preoccupied with her clip board, but she was beaming at it.

"Excellent work, Cas. Really nailed it," she said. Clearly she was the kind of person who rode the high of accomplishment. She was transformed from her earlier cloudy attitude.

"Yeah, I— Thanks."

"You'll be happy to know," she gushed, "that Dean has already OK'd you for a rimming scene. I can't fit it in the schedule until next week, but we can get you back in for more oral on Thursday."

"He— Really?" Cas gaped. "You want me back?"

"Of course." She looked up from her paperwork, sing-songing, "Riiiiiimming! It's going to be awesome." A thoughtful look stole over her face for a moment. "You know, Dean's never signed off on a co-star so fast. He must be getting more laid back in his old age or something." Becky shrugged and turned sunny again. "God, I love doing a good day's work! Get cleaned up, Cas, go home, get some rest. You earned it. I'll call you soon to set up a time for the next shoot, okay? Kisses!"

Cas watched Becky bounce off across the set, puzzling over what she had said. Did Dean request him again because the scene had genuinely turned him on too? Or was Cas just deluding himself, and Dean was making a professional call based on how well they'd worked together? Not that it mattered either way. Cas never had and never would get involved with anyone in the business. It was just asking for trouble.

Shuffling into the shower room, Cas reached for the stack of clean white towels near the door, but stopped short when he spotted a small pair of reading glasses perched on top of the uppermost towel.

"Hey, are these—?" He looked around the mostly empty shower area. "—anybody's? At all?" He picked up the delicate frames and weighed them in his hand.

Chuck popped up from behind a rack of soaps and shampoo, juggling what looked like eight different kinds of dildos. "Oh, those look like Dean's. Are they the fancy ones?" He squinted at them. "Shit, they are. Becky spent a fortune on those. He's always forgetting them." Chuck balanced the sex toys in the crook of his elbow and checked his wrist watch. "I have to pick the kids up, like, five minutes ago. Cas, could you return those to Dean? My loving wife will murder us all if they end up missing."

"Uh, sure. Where is he?"

"Oh, he left. He lives just up the hill, Terrace Point, apartment 3. You know it?"

Cas did, and said so.

"Thanks, man! Huge help." And Chuck hustled out with his silicone burden, leaving Cas holding the reading glasses and wondering how the hell he ended up getting roped into this.

_______________________________

Cas tugged a wrinkle out of his shirt before ringing the bell. The door was nondescript, situated on the second floor of a modest building in a quiet neighborhood. Cas had pegged Dean Winchester as the kind of guy who'd be living it up in a chrome and glass condo with an ocean view. But this place? It was just...normal.

The door swung open and revealed Dean, clearly taken aback at seeing Cas there, his eyebrows raised high.

"Uh, hello again," he said, propping his forearm above his head, against the door frame. The stance made his soft, faded tee shirt ride up, revealing a tan hipbone jutting from a pair of frayed plaid pajama bottoms.

"Here, I—" Cas fumbled in his jacket pocket for the reading glasses, holding them out carefully. "Chuck asked me to bring you these."

"Oh! Ha, thanks." Dean took the glasses with an abashed shrug, examining them with a head shake. "Can't believe I left them behind. And after Becky reamed me last time." He looked up at Cas, his eyes dancing, once more the relaxed beauty. "Hey, sorry I took off so fast after we wrapped. I have plans, couldn't be late."

"Obviously," Cas drawled, unable to stop the sarcastic remark from tumbling out of his mouth. He looked pointedly at Dean's clothing.

"Uh, yeah." Dean chuckled a little self-consciously, looking down at himself. "They're casual plans." He pursed his lips and raked his eyes over Cas, then shook his head. "Sorry, geez, I'm an asshole. Do you want to come inside?" He opened the door wider in invitation.

"I don't want to intrude," Cas said quickly.

Dean glanced at his watch—a chunky, masculine thing that paired nicely with the glasses—and shrugged. "I've got a few more minutes. You came all this way. Plus, I like to get to know my co's. Makes everyone relax during shooting, you know?"

Cas could have demurred, but he found himself selfishly not wanting to leave. Dean's very presence was magnetic. Cas just wanted to stay there with him as long as possible, even if it was a terrible idea. And so he let Dean usher him inside the cramped but tidy apartment.

The first thing Cas noticed was the sheer amount of books. Bookcases wrapped around the walls, stuffed with cheesy spy paperbacks, serious-looking political hardcovers, war histories, and a few of perennial bestsellers. There must have been hundreds.

"Wow," Cas said, turning around slowly to take it all in. He peered at the copy of Henrietta Lacks that was laying on the coffee table. "So the reading glasses aren't an affectation?"

Dean laughed. "My eyes have gone to shit in the past few years. When I told Becky, she made me do a few solo scenes with the glasses on, you know, jerking off while looking at dirty magazines and stuff. The viewers went crazy for it. Turned into a regular thing. If I can manage to keep this pair from wandering off." He unfolded the little black frames and slipped them on. Cas tamped down on the immediate surge of desire that stabbed through him at the sight. He'd never had a glasses kink before, but this guy was pressing all sorts of new buttons, it seemed.

"But yeah," Dean continued, gesturing to the shelves of books, "I started picking up books to keep myself from going nuts on the set. Have to fill that downtime somehow. What about you? Read much?"

"Not as often as I should," Cas admitted, looking for a distraction from Dean's handsome face. He ran his fingertips over the spines of the nearest set of books, recognizing some titles, completely baffled by others. "My spare time is usually wasted on sleep."

"Yeah, I know how that is." Dean flopped down on the ratty brown couch that was shoved against the far wall, stretching languidly across the corduroy cushions. Jesus, he looked like the sexiest librarian Cas could ever dream of.

"Can I ask you something?" Cas blurted out before he could stop himself. "Is the straight thing just an act?"

Dean scratched the back of his head, his lips twisting into a bemused pout. "I, uh—" he began.

"Sorry, it's none of my business, I know," Cas backtracked.

"Nah, man, it's fine. It's just— Look, I never claimed to be one-hundred percent heterosexual. I let dudes suck me off for a living. That's pretty damn gay." That boyish, chagrined smile spread across his face again, and Dean looked down as if collecting his thoughts. "But gun to my head? I'd call myself straight, yeah. I like women. I like fucking women. When I retire from the business, I see myself settling down with a woman. Heh, if any would have me," he chuckled.

"So why do gay porn?" Cas asked, leaning back against the bookshelf with his arms crossed over his chest.

"The money." Dean shrugged, cracking his neck from side to side. "Simple supply and demand. People don't watch hetero porn for the guys. This pays way better. And hell, I'm good at it, so why not?"

Cas looked around Dean's apartment, considering. The place didn't look like its owner was at all materialistic. The furniture was well-worn, the TV wasn't even a flat screen, and the books looked mostly second-hand. If Dean was doing this for the money, what the hell was he spending it on?

Cas was trying to figure out how to tactfully phrase that question when the loud scrape of a key in the front door echoed through the living room. Dean tugged off his reading glasses and jerked his wrist up to his eyes, staring at his watch in horror. "Aw shit." He looked up at Cas, then shot a glance at the opening door. "Shit, shit, just, um— Shit."

Cas froze and watched as a tall man with chin-length hair and a UCLA sweatshirt strode into the room, a leather messenger bag dangling from one shoulder. "Hey Jen, I'm back," he announced, then caught sight of Cas standing there. "Oh. Hi. Didn't know you had company."

Dean, you fucking liar, Cas thought. Of course Dean Winchester's secret boyfriend would be nine feet tall. Also, Jen? Dean's real name was Jen?

The huge guy stuck out a hand. "I'm Sam. Jen's little brother."

"Ah. Yes." Cas recovered as quickly as he could and shook Sam's hand, trying his best not to betray his relief. But come on, brothers? They looked nothing alike. Still, Cas would take a gargantuan sibling over a jealous lover any day.

Sam was waiting patiently for the proper response, Cas realized. He swallowed and added, "I'm Cas. We—" he gestured to Dean, "—work together."

"Are you a photographer?" Sam asked.

Cas shot Dean a panicked look, and Dean jumped into the conversation with a forced laugh. "Yes, yes he is. Best damn photographer I've ever worked with." He leaped from the sofa and whacked Cas on the back, his arm resting across Cas's back like they were old pals.

"Cool." Sam grinned widely. Oh, there was the family resemblance: good teeth. "I'll have to take your word for it. When your brother's an underwear model, the last thing you want to see is his portfolio, am I right?"

He laughed, and Dean laughed (too hard), and Cas just stood there, hoping his mouth wasn't hanging open too far.

"So Jen, you got those books I need for class?" Sam prompted, and Dean quickly supplied him with a stack that was waiting in the hallway.

"All right, now you better go study, Sammy," Dean said, practically shoving him down the hall.

"We're not going to order Chinese?" Sam asked.

"Nah. You got to concentrate on those finals, you know, eyes on the prize. All that jazz." Dean opened the door for him.

"Uh, okay, sure. Nice meeting you," he threw over his shoulder at Cas, and Cas lifted a hand weakly to wave goodbye. Dean shut the door behind Sam with a loud click, then leaned his forehead against it.

"You weren't supposed to see that," he muttered.

"Your brother thinks you're a model?" Cas said slowly. "And your name is Jennifer?"

"No! My real name's Jensen, idiot." Dean sighed and turned around, leaning back against the door with his hands folded behind him. "And yeah, Sam doesn't know about— Well, about any of this. And it's going to stay that way." His voice sounded dangerously sharp.

Cas stood a little straighter. "I'm not here to blackmail you," he growled, offended at the mere suggestion.

"I know, it's just—" Dean sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "Sammy's the only family I got," he said softly.

The pieces suddenly clicked into place for Cas: Dean's shabby apartment, Sam's sweatshirt, no apparent parents in the mix. "You're putting him through college," Cas said.

Dean nodded, staring at the floor. "He's a smart kid. Wants to go to law school." He gave a dry huff. "Do you have any idea how much that shit costs? And then there's his room and board, books, suits for internships, beer money—"

"How long have you been doing this on your own?" Cas asked, sitting gingerly on the old couch.

"Since our dad died." Dean fidgeted with his fingernails, as if trying to clean grime out from under them. "I was eighteen, Sammy was still in middle school. No way was I letting foster care get him." He stared up at the ceiling, lost in the memory. "I worked like a son of a bitch. Tended bar, fixed up cars, did some construction. But money was so tight, I couldn't—" A helpless shrug. Dean took a few paces over to the sofa and collapsed next to Cas. "Porn was like a fucking gift from god compared to all that. Best money I could make legally. And it had to be legal—if I ever got arrested, Sammy'd be on his own."

They were silent for a long moment, Cas sitting with his thoughts, imagining Dean as a teenager, suddenly responsible not just for himself, but his baby brother. Now the only things in his house worth anything—the fancy watch, the glasses—were props Becky had bought for him; Dean was still saving everything for Sam. Jesus.

"Man, I'm sorry," Dean suddenly exhaled. "You probably didn't want to hear my whole life story."

"No, please, I—" Cas snapped his mouth closed and rethought what he wanted to say. "You make more sense to me now."

Dean raised his eyebrows at that. "Oh yeah?"

"Yes." Cas swallowed. "May I ask: are you afraid of your brother finding out that you do porn, or the fact that it's gay porn?"

Dean didn't answer for a long while, just stared down at the floor, rubbing his chin with the tips of his fingers. "I don't know," he finally said, quiet and low. "I don't have a clue. I don't even want to think about it. There's a few ways he could take it, and all of them suck."

The sudden urge to reach out and—what? Hug him? Tell him it was going to be okay?—twisted in Cas's stomach. He had to get out of there before he did something stupid.

"Well." Cas glanced at his watch and got to his feet. "I should be going. Thank you, for—" he searched for the words, "—an interesting day, Dean. Or, Jensen."

Dean smiled. "Stick with Dean. Jensen Ackles is just the guy on my driver's license. Only my brother calls me that anymore."

"Fair enough." Dean stood and they shook hands, a strange farewell when their first meeting consisted of oral sex. But that was life, Cas thought as he walked toward the door. "Dmitri, by the way," he said as Dean opened it for him.

"What?" Dean asked, his forehead creasing in confusion.

"Dmitri Krushnic. That's my real name. It doesn't seem fair to know your secret identity without you knowing mine."

"Dee-meet-tree, huh?" Dean rolled the name on his tongue as if testing it out, shaking his head when he found it lacking. "Man, you were right to change it. Doesn't sound like you at all."

"I know." Cas managed a small smile. "Goodnight, Dean."

"Night." Dean waved him down the open-air hallway before shutting the door with a soft click.

_______________________________

Gabriel put down his double-shot espresso with a heavy sigh. "Bitch," he said to Cas, "you are so far gone at this point, the goddamn Voyager satellite couldn't find you."

Cas screwed up his face and sipped his tea. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"We've been sitting here for about, oh, ten minutes," Gabriel said, staring over Cas's shoulder at the huge wall clock at the other end of the cafe, "and you have managed to shoehorn this Winchester slut into the conversation seven times. I know. I counted."

"I'm trying to tell you about this shoot, Gabe! Something was off about it, I don't know. It felt weird," Cas grumbled into his mug. He hadn't even mentioned the after-shoot visit to Dean's apartment yet, and now he was thinking maybe he shouldn't share that with Gabe if this was his reaction.

"It felt weird because you have a crush the size of the Titanic on this guy." Gabe's face melted into something approaching actual concern, and he leaned forward, elbows on the little table, to speak in a low voice. "On one hand, I'm kind of glad. You're so fucking quiet, Cas, it's like I've got to dig everything out of you. So it's good that you finally like someone enough to tell your best friend in the whole world about it; it means you have feelings in there after all." He poked a finger at Cas's chest.

Cas adjusted his gray shawl-collared sweater and glared. "Thanks."

"On the other hand, though..." Gabe wagged his head from side to side as if too pained to spit it out, but did it anyway. "Cas, the guy is straight-acting trash. You don't want to buy what he's selling, trust me."

"I don't think it's all an act. He claims he's really straight-identified," Cas said.

Gabe rolled his eyes expansively. "Oh, please! You don't stick your dick in other dudes' mouths from nine to five without being the tiniest bit bisexual. He can claim whatever he likes, but you know what this is, right? More of the same self-hating bullshit."

"So what?" Cas spat, slamming his mug of tea on the table with a bang. "You don't know him. Maybe he has his reasons. Maybe he just needs someone who—"

"Cassie. Cassie. Cassie?" Gabriel held up one finger until Cas stopped talking, then continued. "He is not your charity case. He is not an old Schwinn you can fix. Dean Winchester needs a lot of things, but sweetie, you need to watch out for number one."

Cas stared down and to the left, his face growing hot with embarrassment. He knew in his head that Gabriel was right; it wasn't worth it. But he still wanted it, and didn't that make him the biggest loser on the planet?

"Hey." Gabe's narrow fingers grazed his wrist, and Cas looked up to find his friend offering his most apologetic smile. "Don't beat yourself up over this. You're a pro. Be civil, be friendly, but don't be stupid. Just suck his cock, tongue his ass, and move on to the next big thing, okay?"

A middle-aged woman at the table next to them swung her head in their direction, but Gabe ignored her.

"Yeah," Cas agreed quietly. "Okay, I will."

"Great. Are you going to eat that biscotti?" Gabe shoved it into his mouth before Cas even answered, then shrugged into his coat and pushed away from the table. "Got to run, I have a shoot in thirty." Crumbs sprayed a bit; Gabe swallowed. "Bukkake scene, ugh. My hair's going to be a wreck." He sent an air-kiss to the lady at the next table and headed for the door.

_______________________________

Cas gripped Dean's hips, his blunt fingernails scratching into the smooth skin as he held Dean against the wall. Dean stood tall above him, alternately looking down at Cas, who knelt between his legs, and tipping his head back against the wood paneling.

"Shit, yeah, suck me," he chanted. Cas worked his mouth up and down Dean's cock until Dean cried, "Oh yeah, that's it, I'm coming!" He backed off, watching Dean jerk himself to completion, come splashing across his stomach all the way to his chest. Cas ran his hands down Dean's quivering legs and waited for him to finish riding through his come shot, watching the fluid tracking its way down his chiseled body.

"Cut! Print! That one's in the bag," Becky yelled. The set bell rang and the crew hurried to change the props for the next scene. Cas sat back on his haunches, cracking his jaw from side to side.

"You good?" Dean asked, offering him a hand. Cas stared at it for a moment, then finally took it, allowing Dean to pull him to his feet.

"Yeah, fine. Nice shoot," he said, striving for nonchalance.

"You too." They accepted towels from one of the girls and headed toward the shower area. Cas was glad Becky's studio was outfitted so well; there was nothing like a hot scrub after a scene. After showering, he dried off and found his change of clothes. Cas was just pulling his old tee shirt over his head when Dean appeared, fresh from his own shower, towel wrapped around his narrow hips.

"Whoa! You're a Cal fan?" Dean flicked his wet hair out of his face and pointed at Cas's shirt.

Cas looked down at the blue and yellow lettering adorning his chest. "Of course. Why else would I be wearing this?" he asked.

"I don't know. Brings out your eyes?" Dean shrugged, then brightened. "Hey, do you want to come over and watch the game tonight?"

Cas blinked. "Tonight? I, erm—"

"Come on, I never get to watch sports with anyone these days. Sam's more of an art-house movie type, and the only other guys I know are, uh—" He paused.

"Gay," Cas supplied.

"Yeah. Not a ton of football fans on the set, you know? Not that gay guys can't be into sports. I mean, obviously, because you are." Dean scratched the back of his neck, and Cas caught a glimpse of his well-formed flank. "So what do you say? If you're not busy."

As it happened, Cas did have plans. He was supposed to go out dancing with Gabe, something Gabe forced him to do every month or so. Gabe would bitch up a storm if Cas blew it off. And yet, the idea of sitting on Dean Winchester's crappy couch, drinking beers, and watching football sounded strangely appealing. Plus, Gabe had said he should be civil.

"All right," Cas said.

Dean actually wooped in excitement. "Let me get dressed. I'll drive," he called over his shoulder. Cas couldn't regret any decision that made Dean grin like that.

They settled in at Dean's place soon after, tortilla chips and six-packs standing by. Dean sprawled across more than half the sofa, looking like a fucking Abercrombie model in his ragged Cal hoodie. By contrast, Cas sat neatly on his end of the couch, rolling his bottle of Bud Light between his palms. He glanced over at Dean's profile, which was just as gorgeous as the rest of him. How the hell was he supposed to relax and act natural when Dean's eyes lit up at every down?

"Did you see that?" Dean clapped his hands, laughing with unrestrained glee. "What a catch! Oh my god." He took another pull of his beer and looked over at Cas as the game went to commercial. "So, did you, like, go to Cal or—?"

Cas shook his head. "No, I never went to college."

"So how did you end up rooting for the team? I mean, my dad was an alum; that's how I got into it."

Cas took a long swallow of his beer and gazed intently at the spokesman on the television, who was expounding on the virtues of erectile dysfunction cures. "I dated DeJohn Masters," he said.

"Wait, what?" Dean shifted on the couch, turning his body sideways to face Cas fully. "DeJohn Masters, the running back? Number fifty-seven? Got drafted by the Giants last year? That DeJohn—"

"Yes, Dean. That DeJohn Masters," Cas said wearily. "He used to give me tickets to watch him play." He shot a quick smile over at Dean. "I dumped him, but I kept the team."

"Jesus." Dean sat back heavily against the cushions, staring open-mouthed into space. "DeJohn Masters is gay, huh? Wow." He whipped back to face Cas. "And you dumped him? The guy broke, like, every single record in the division."

"Surprisingly, that is not high on my list of traits for prospective partners," Cas said. He shrugged. "His star was rising, teams were courting him, reporters were starting to sniff around. DeJohn didn't want to be outted; he thought it would hurt his chances in the draft. And he was probably right. So we split up."

"Oh. Fuck, I'm sorry," Dean said, his voice quiet and tight.

Cas waved his beer bottle in his direction as if sloughing off the apology. "Ancient history. It was for the best. I learned my lesson: you can't be with a guy who's in the closet unless you want to get pulled back in there too."

The commercial break ended, but somehow the game didn't hold their attention any longer. Dean cleared his throat and shifted his beer between his thighs. "Did he know you do porn?" he asked.

Cas smirked into his beer. "Oh yes. He was a fan of mine before we even met."

"Really?" Now Dean was gaping. "Are you fucking with me?"

Cas gestured expansively. "One hundred percent truth."

"God damn it!" Dean rocked back into the couch cushions, laughing so hard he sloshed a little beer onto his jeans. "I can't believe you! You get fans like DeJohn Masters and I'm stuck with a bunch of weirdos and psychopaths!"

Cal made a first down, and the TV crowd cheered, but Cas ignored it. "Psychopaths?" He hated thinking about Dean being stalked, or worse, attacked by some rabid fan.

Dean dabbed at the beer stain with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, shaking his head. "I shouldn't bitch; most of my subscribers know that it's all fun and games, but there are just a handful out there that think— Hell, I don't know what they think. A few times I've been recognized on the street, and these guys will say things like, oh hey, Dean Winchester, want to ride my cock? How much would it cost? Twenty bucks? Shit like that." He shrugged. "Makes it hard to take a girl out for dinner, let me tell you."

Cas looked around the living room; no photos of women, just a few of Sam and Dean together. "Is that why you aren't seeing anyone?" he asked.

"Well, it's not easy explaining to a chick that you're gay-for-pay. And lying through your teeth only works until she finds out you don't work for the FBI." Dean's brows twitched at the memory, and he drained his bottle. "Most girls take off when they get the truth. The few who stayed kept begging me to quit, thought I must've been abused or something to keep doing this. Which, whoa, I was not, okay?" Dean shook a finger through the air to underscore his point.

"Why not date a woman who's in the business?" Cas suggested, cracking open a new beer and handing it to Dean.

Dean shot Cas a look that said Come on, be serious. "Tried it once. Not worth the drama."

"Agreed. Too many queens in our lives already."

Dean chuckled and raised his bottle. "I'll drink to that." Cas clinked his beer against Dean's and drank with him. But what Dean said next almost made him spit it out: "I'm lucky I can suck myself off. Who needs chicks when you got skills like that, right?"

Cas stared over at him. "You can do that?"

"Yeah. Done it in a few videos, too. It's the gayest thing I do," Dean laughed. He calmed when he saw the look on Cas's face, a cross between intrigued and shocked. "What? It's not that weird, it's—"

"No, it's only—" Cas licked his lips. "I can do it too."

"What?" Dean put his beer down on the coffee table. "No fucking way."

They went back and forth for another commercial break, Dean convinced Cas was pulling his leg, Cas insisting he was telling the truth. The beer made them rowdy, posturing and needling at each other like boys. Finally, Cas relented to Dean's calls for proof and stretched out on his back on the living room carpet. He pulled his legs up and over in a plow pose, then let his legs fall open on either side of his head. He waggled his tongue, which reached only inches from his crotch. "Told you so," he said.

Dean picked up his cell phone and tapped the screen a few times. "Holy shit, I am totally telling Becky about this."

Cas dropped the pose and rolled back onto the sofa, laughing at the bewildered look on Dean's face. "Thought you said it wasn't that weird."

"Uh, being a unicorn? Not that weird. Meeting another unicorn? That's the fucking lotto right there!" They twisted the caps off another set of beers and slouched into the cushions, bursting into giggles every few minutes until they calmed.

Maybe it was just the alcohol, but Cas felt warm and comfortable here, talking to Dean about their exes and watching football. He could get used to it, if he let himself. They sat in companionable silence, watching the players regroup on the field, and if Dean noticed Cas was sitting a little closer, he didn't mention it.

_______________________________

"You are kidding me!" Becky squealed. "First of all, the original video you co-starred in is killing it on StraightShooter.com. It's got the highest views this month, and it's only been up for a week! And now I find out you can really do that? I thought Dean was just being a jerk and texting me lies."

"Why's this so great?" Cas asked, still in the middle of applying lotion to his bare limbs in the shower room. From a nearby bench, Dean called to them while being fluffed by a rail-thin blonde woman.

"Becky's convinced that self-sucking is the new feet," he explained.

"Auto-fellatio is one of our highest rated search terms," Becky said primly. "We're lucky enough that you can do it, Dean. Can you imagine the traffic when we upload a rare double selfsuck?" Becky gazed off into the middle distance, clearly already plotting. "We can make it a kind of competition: first guy to get himself off wins the right to do whatever he wants to the other guy, and then of course Cas comes first, and he gets to rim Dean and— Oh my god, I've got to tell Chuck." Becky traipsed from the shower room, fist pumping all the way.

"She's excited," Dean said dryly, then, to his fluffer with a wince, "Oh, sweetheart, a little less with the teeth, okay?"

"Sorry, Dean," she mumbled with his dick still stuffed in her mouth.

Amateur, Cas seethed.

"Hey Cas, who do you get to fluff you?" Dean asked, twisting as far as he could to see Cas on the bench behind him, the muscles of his back and shoulders rippling with the movement.

At this rate, I won't need one, Cas thought. "Um, I usually don't need the help. I should be fine," he said.

"Really?" A young, supple guy walked by, wrapped in a towel; one of the extras preparing for a shoot later in the day. Dean raised his eyebrows at him. "What about that one? He your type?" Dean laid a light hand on top of the blonde's head as he spoke.

Cas whipped around to face the wall. He'd never been turned on by hetero acts before, but this one was undoubtedly making him hard. "No," he said. "I don't really have a type."

"Okay. Didn't mean to pry." Dean patted the fluffer on the shoulder and she pulled off, blinking up at him. "Thanks, Jo, I'm good." Jo smiled and left, leaving Dean and Cas alone. "Just trying to help," Dean continued, pulling on his robe. "You don't talk much, you know that? Seems like you know everything about my life, and all I got on you is you used to date a running-back."

"I'm not very interesting," Cas said, slathering lotion onto his thighs. "There's not a lot to tell."

Dean walked around Cas's bench and leaned against the wall, not bothering to hide the half-hard erection tenting his robe. "Everyone's got a story. Why'd you get into the business?" he asked. "Boyfriend talk you into it?"

Cas swallowed and looked away. "No, no boyfriend. I was..." He coughed. "I was seventeen when I came out of the closet. My family disowned me. They threw me out on the street."

The smile slipped off Dean's face. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"I was lucky," Cas continued, gazing up at Dean. "I could have been sent to a camp or whatever, made to believe something was wrong with me. But because they didn't care enough to bother, I was free. I could do what I liked." He shrugged. "I like sex. I provide a service, and I'm good at it. I don't have to be ashamed of it, just like I don't have to be ashamed I'm gay. And that's why I got started in the business." Cas ducked his head, breathing hard. "I've never told anyone that before." And, he suddenly realized, he probably shouldn't have told the one person he was supposed to be distancing himself from.

Dean licked his lips. His erection had flagged under his white terrycloth robe; Cas supposed they'd need to call Jo back.

"Cas," Dean whispered, his eyes gone soft. "I—"

"Don't worry about it." Cas stood and grabbed his own robe, avoiding Dean's gaze. "See you on set when you're ready."

_______________________________

Being this flexible was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing for obvious reasons—who wouldn't want to be able to suck their own dick?—and a curse because it wasn't easy. In fact, it was supremely uncomfortable.

Cas was on a bed, rolled up into a little ball, his spine arching up into the air, his legs splayed on either side of his head, toes braced against the mattress. He balanced on his shoulders, careful to keep the weight off the back of his neck. And if he tilted his face up just enough he could barely, just barely, lick and suck the head of his own cock.

It was a talent he'd discovered as a teenager, which, he supposed, was when everyone found out whether they could or not, because everyone tried at least once. He could still remember the first time he'd tasted himself: that shocking bitter flavor of his own come. Cas lapped at the crown of his erection, careful to keep the thread of pre-come connected to his lips as long as possible.

Dean was right next to him, mirroring his position, tugging at his heavy balls while sucking himself off. Though Dean was not as bendy as Cas was, the sheer size of his cock meant he could reach it with his mouth. Cas glanced over to check his progress, and their eyes met briefly. The camera may not have picked up on it, but Cas saw Dean smirk around the head of his own dick.

Cas had worried he wouldn't be able to get off this way like the script called for, but if Dean threw him any more of those looks, he wouldn't be able to stop himself. He couldn't be sure from this angle, but it looked like Dean was massaging his hole, spreading his cheeks wide open, presented perfectly in the air. Cas jacked his heavy cock harder, bending himself in half to lick the pearls of pre-come off the tip.

"Think you're going to win this thing?" Dean asked breathlessly. The teasing about their bet was part of Chuck's storyline.

Cas pulled off for a gasp of air, panting, "I know I am."

"Yeah?" Dean ran the flat of his pink tongue over the head of his cock. "What are you going to do to me if you do?"

"You'll see," Cas answered.

They moved on to filming Cas's come shot just in time. Cas's thighs were trembling on either side of his head with the force of his need. He gave himself one last lick, rough and wet, and felt his orgasm wash over him. He let the sticky fluid drip onto his lips, licking stray drops from the corner of his mouth, moaning with relief.

"Oh shit," Dean murmured. His hand reached out and caressed Cas's hip, a tiny gesture that could be considered no more meaningful than a pat on the back, but Cas shivered at the touch anyway. "Guess you win after all. A bet's a bet." Dean began unfolding himself, his feet lifting back up.

"No. Don't stop." Cas unrolled himself in one fluid yoga-like motion, holding Dean's legs still with a hand to his ankle. "Keep sucking yourself."

"If that's what you want...." Dean kissed the end of his own dick and sucked the tip into his mouth with a moan.

"I want you to do that," Cas said, "while I do this." And he sat on his knees before Dean's upturned ass, kneading the cheeks between his palms and licking his lips.

The glint of realization in Dean's eyes, while faked, was still one of the hottest things Cas had ever seen. "Are you—?"

Cas bent his head low and lapped at Dean's little hole, flattening his tongue against the puckered skin, holding Dean's gaze all the while. Dean gasped and spasmed, his spine jerking dangerously, his dick painting his own chin with dampness.

"Fuck, you're an angel. Give me more," Dean growled. His hand came up to cup the back of Cas's head, holding him against Dean's ass. Cas wondered if the hair-pulling rule was only a one-way thing, because Dean's fingers were tugging gently but insistently at the crown of his head. Just the idea that Dean might have forgotten himself for a moment, that he might actually want this, made Cas groan low in his throat. He lapped at Dean even harder, stabbing his tongue into that tight, musky space.

Dean's hand fell away from Cas's head, and Dean played up his pleasure for the cameras, panting to the side into a pillow, gritting his teeth between whispered encouragements. "Just like that, yeah, oh my god."

Cas ran his hands down the backs of Dean's strong, tanned thighs, following the paths of his freckles, blowing cool streams of air at his hole in between long licks. Dean returned to sucking himself, tugging his cock toward his lips with a desperation that didn't seem feigned. The head of his cock popped from his mouth over and over, an obscene smacking sound that went straight to Cas's dick.

"I'm going to— Holy fuck," Dean moaned, fisting his erection tightly, his eyes squeezed shut.

Cas pressed one last kiss to Dean's hole, and Dean shuddered beneath him. His cock flexed, spilling come all over Dean's reddened lips, his stubbled jaw, his cheek. Dean gasped out wordless curses as Camera 3 came in tight, getting a clear shot of the come dripping down his face.

Cas helped Dean unfold his legs, his shaking hands perched on Dean's knees. Dean blinked his eyes open, staring up at Cas with something like awe. Oh god, how Cas wanted him, wanted to taste him, to lick him clean and kiss that mouth. Without knowing what he was doing, Cas tilted his head to the side and leaned forward an inch. But then—then Dean moved too, sitting up just a little, his eyes glued to Cas's lips like they were where he wanted to be.

It was only a moment, but it was heavy as lead.

Cas shook himself out of it, backing away too quickly, panting and keeping his eyes lowered. A long stretch of silence followed with just the whir of the recording equipment cutting through the room.

"That's cut!" Becky finally shouted. "Holy shit, guys." She rushed the bed, tossing robes and towels on the mattress. "That part at the end, where it looked like you might kiss each other? That was so hot! Why didn't you tell me you had that planned?"

Cas glanced over at Dean, who was flushed and sweaty, not meeting anyone's eyes as he wiped the come from his face.

"Thought we'd surprise you. Keep you on your toes," Dean said, his voice rough.

"Well, you're lucky Chuck got a close-up of it. Hit the showers, guys. Good job."

There were a handful of other stars in the shower room getting ready for the next shoot, and snippets of cheery conversation echoed off the tiled walls. Dean stalked off toward a far stall, his spine a stiff line, his shoulders tensed and hunched. Cas hesitated for a second, then followed.

"Dean," he said, trying to keep his voice low enough so they wouldn't be overheard. "About what happened—"

"Nothing happened." Dean twisted the belt of his robe into a knot at his waist. "We did a solid shoot today, end of story. Now I need to get clean. See you later." He entered the stall and shut the door with a bang.

Cas made his way to an empty stall and showered off slowly, lost in a haze. He kept replaying that moment in his mind over and over again. That look in Dean's eyes. The openness in that handsome, come-streaked face. The way he'd stared at Cas's mouth like it was a meal he hungered for. It hadn't been his imagination; Becky had seen it too. For a moment—just a moment—Dean had wanted him.

Cas ran his fingertips over his lips, which tingled with the phantom sensation of kissing Dean. But he couldn't indulge in this fantasy at work, of all places. He shook his head to clear it and rinsed off.

Cas was getting dressed when Becky approached him, her clipboard tucked under her arm.

"Hey Cas, outstanding work today," she said with a sunny smile. "I can definitely see you being a regular guest star on StraightShooter.com. I haven't discussed the specifics with Dean yet—he gets final say on all deals—but you guys have such good chemistry, I know he'll love the idea."

"Don't be so sure," Cas mumbled, shrugging into his shirt.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I mean, my schedule's pretty full. I don't know if I'll be able to commit to a regular gig," Cas said, his face flushing. He had always been a terrible liar.

Becky scrunched her face in consternation. "If you're concerned about your fee, of course we can negotiate—"

"It's not that. I just—" Cas swallowed and concentrated on buttoning his jeans. "I'll have to think about it."

Becky chewed on her bubblegum-pink lip and nodded. "Okay. Maybe this will sway you: I'm going to put you on the front page poll."

"What?" Cas frowned.

"You haven't done as many scenes with Dean as the other guys, but I think you have the potential for a huge following on the site. Think of it as a goodwill gesture."

"Okay, but what exactly is this poll?" Cas asked.

Becky blinked. "You haven't seen it?"

_______________________________

"You really need to do more research before a gig, Cassie," Gabriel drawled as his fingers flew over the glassy screen of his iPad. "You can deduct paid memberships as business expenses, you know. Got to check out the competition."

"So that's the only reason you happen to have an all-access membership to Dean's website?" Cas questioned, an eyebrow raised high over his coffee cup.

When Becky had told Cas to check out the home page for himself, Cas had immediately enlisted Gabe's help. He hated to admit it, but Cas was terrible at computers and rarely surfed online. Opening e-mails was the extent of his technological prowess.

Gabe made a sour face. "Bitch, you're the one with the straightie fetish, not me. This is purely research." The screen of his tablet resolved into StraightShooter.com's front page. "Here we go." He pushed the iPad across the cafe table. A splashy, half-naked photo of Dean sprawled across the top of the website, grinning coyly at Cas.

"Scroll down to see the poll," Gabe told him, and Cas did. There were about six names of performers listed, all of them big stars that Cas had worked with before. Luca Diablo—a sadist jerk that Cas had done one scene with before deciding he'd never make that mistake again—was at the top next to a huge pink bar that tallied 53 percent. There was also a countdown clock embedded in the corner, ticking down from nineteen days, four hours, fifteen minutes, and two seconds.

"I don't get it. What does it mean?"

Gabe sighed. "The video below explains, but don't press play unless you want to get us kicked out. And I love the coffee here so don't you dare." He sipped his espresso and smacked his lips.

"Fine, just tell me."

"Well, a couple months ago, paying viewers started voting for their favorite co-star of Dean's. Whoever wins will, and I quote, 'Do things to Dean Winchester you've never seen before.' They beat around the bush, but everyone gets the gist. That little clock? It's counting down to the day Dean gets fucked." Gabe raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Wait, what?" Cas stared at his friend in horror. "But Dean doesn't do penetration! It's one of his rules."

"Two ways this could go," Gabe said, holding up one finger. "One: there's a first time for everything and this is Dean's coming out party. Or two," he held up another, "they'll grind a little but not actually fuck. Either way he's going to make a fortune off this one video. Viewers have to pay a premium to access it when it's posted, and from what I can tell, people are just throwing cash at it. Kind of genius, really. Tease your audience so long they're willing to pay an arm and a leg to finally see the money shot." Gabe shrugged.

"But—" Cas looked back down at the screen, his mouth hanging open. "Luca Diablo!? He's a psycho! He left bruises on my throat, Gabe. He won't follow Becky's instructions, I just know it."

"I agree, Luca's a douche, but whether consciously or not, the viewers want to see someone wipe that goddamned smirk off Dean Winchester's face. Fuck the straight right out of him. And Luca's just the guy to administer that punishment."

"But that's sick," Cas whispered, his throat tight.

Gabriel wagged his head. "I'm with you on that. But hey, if the producer puts you in the running like she promised, maybe you can beat him to the prize. Who knows, you might get to pound Winchester into next year."

Cas put down the iPad on the table with shaking hands. It wasn't jealousy he was feeling—he knew Dean had sex with many, many other people—it was despair that anyone could want to hurt Dean, humiliate him, see him brought low. Is that what his career was really built on? Is that what people really wanted from Dean?

"I don't like this," Cas said quietly. "It's not right."

Gabe watched Cas's face carefully and set his coffee cup down on the table. "Cassie, Dean's a big boy. He agreed to this gig. He has his reasons, I'm sure."

A horrible sinking feeling overtook Cas's stomach. Do you have any idea how much that shit costs? How far was Dean willing to go for Sam, Cas wondered. He ached for Dean, beautiful, stubborn Dean, who loved his brother so much. Cas couldn't imagine anyone doing the same for him.

"You okay?" Gabe furrowed his brow. "You look like you're going to puke."

Cas took a shuddering breath, and the whole story came tumbling out: Dean's little brother, his ancient TV, their talk in the shower room, the way Dean's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the almost-kiss they'd shared at the end of their last shoot, and, oh god, the way Cas's blood boiled at the thought of Dean being fucked by Luca, the top from hell.

Gabe's eyes went wide. "Whoa. That's, like, the most I've ever heard you speak at one time." He bit his lip. "You're really crazy for this guy, huh?"

"I know it's stupid," Cas said miserably, cupping his coffee mug between his hands and staring down into the dregs. "And I know what you're going to say: that I should give it up, forget all about Dean, and get on with my life. You're right, I know you're right, but—"

"Hey." Gabe covered Cas's hands with his own, prying them off the mug. "This is the only time you will ever see me go all Love Actually on you, so pay attention. You're my friend and I don't want you to get hurt. But I also don't want you to mope around for the rest of your life going, What If?" He shrugged. "You want Dean? Go after him."

"What?" Cas shook his head. "But he's made it very clear he's not interested in men, specifically me. He practically ran when I tried to talk to him about the kiss."

"Oh, you mean the kiss that he almost initiated? The kiss he went all crazy closet-case over? That kiss?" Gabe squeezed his hands, offering a fond smile. "The worst that can happen is he turns you down. And at least then you'll know for sure. You're both professionals. You'll work through it." He shrugged, flicking his hair out of his eyes. "Besides, you guys look fucking hot together."

"Gabe!"

"What? It was research, and you totally did. Your clips are blowing up like nobody's business on Twitter."

"On what?"

"Never mind. So what are you going to do? Sleep on it?" Gabe asked.

Cas stared at the little countdown clock, still ticking away on Gabe's iPad. He drained his mug. "I think I'll stop by Dean's place tonight," he said with a nod.

"That's the spirit!" Gabe cheered, raising his cup in salute.

_______________________________

Cas stood in front of Dean's door, alternately raising and dropping his fist before he could work up the courage to knock. A small part of him hoped that Dean wasn't even home. Maybe he could come back tomorrow. Or slip a note under the door.

He could swear he heard Gabriel's voice in his head yelling, "Bitch, knock already!"

Fine. Deep breath. He rapped his knuckles against the faded wood and waited.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dean opened the door, wearing worn jeans and a faded Lakers tee. Cas couldn't quite place the look on his face.

"What's up," Dean said, his voice a steady, emotionless flat line.

Cas opened his mouth, but no words came. He'd thought of a million ways to say what he wanted to say on the drive over, but none of them seemed right.

"I need to talk about what happened at work," is what he started with.

Dean flicked his gaze up and down the empty hall. "Not a conversation to have out here, man. If you got something to get off your chest, come inside." He turned away, leaving the door open for Cas. Not exactly the most positive reception, but at least Cas had his foot in the door.

Dean was waiting for Cas in the living room, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against one of the many bookcases. "So what's eating you?"

"I think you know," Cas said quietly, "because I think it's eating at you too."

A slow shake of Dean's head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do," Cas hissed. "For god's sake, Becky almost picked up on it. You have to see how I—"

"How you what?" Dean stood taller, his arms dropping to his sides, tense with restrained anger. "How you want to fuck me? How you think you can just waltz in here and stare at me all intensely and somehow convince me to turn gay for you? Yeah, I see that!" Dean advanced on him, his finger stabbing at Cas's chest, accusing and unyielding.

Cas's mouth went dry. "No, Dean, I—"

"I guess I didn't want to see it at first. Thought you were different, but you're just like all the other guys who want to bang a straight dude," Dean shouted. He took step forward, still pushing against Cas, and Cas stepped back in retreat. Dean followed, unrelenting, shoving at his shoulders now. "So what do you want? Want to lock me up in some leather daddy dungeon and whip my ass? Hold me down and let your friends use me like some bitch? What's your big fucking fantasy, Cas?" Cas couldn't answer, too mesmerized by Dean's furious snarl.

Dean gave Cas one last push, not very hard, but enough to throw Cas off balance. He tripped backwards and cracked his head against the bookshelf that he hadn't realized was right behind him. He gasped, seeing stars, but Dean must not have noticed or cared, because he was still ranting.

"That's why you came here tonight, right? Tired of sucking me off? Decided it was time I gave you something in return? Come on, Cas, spit it out. Tell me what you want from me!" Dean got in Cas's face, his breath hot on his face. Tears sprang to Cas's eyes; his head was pounding. He put a hand to the back of his head, his knees buckling when his fingers grazed the painful lump that was rising there.

"Dean, stop—" He crumpled toward the floor, and would have fallen if Dean hadn't caught him by the shoulders. "I'm not—" He couldn't get the words out; the tears were coming too fast. Cas rarely cried, and hated doing it in front of anyone, but the sudden pain made his eyes water.

Dean seemed to understand something was wrong and crouched down to Cas's level. Cas was still cradling the back of his sore head, and Dean's hand joined his there, feeling the growing knot. "Oh shit," he whispered. "I— Hold on."

He left and returned in a few seconds, pressing a cold blue ice pack, the kind weight lifters used after working out, to the back of Cas's head. "I'm so sorry," Dean said, on the verge of babbling, so frantic were his words, "I didn't mean to hurt you, I didn't mean it." His spoke against Cas's shut eyelids, murmuring so close that when Cas finally pried open his eyes, his entire view was filled with Dean's wide-blown pupils.

"I'm sorry," Dean said again, and his thready voice made it clear it wasn't just the physical injury he was talking about. He reached out with his free hand and wiped away the salty tears from Cas's cheek, his big hand staying there, cupping Cas's jaw.

Cas realized his hand was clutching at the fabric of Dean's shirt, fisted against his chest for balance. He ran his thumb over the soft cotton and tried to catch his breath. His gaze wouldn't leave Dean's, and they sat there together crumpled on the floor for a long moment, just watching each other.

When Cas finally spoke, his voice was shredded. "I won't lie, Dean. I do want you—but you, not some fantasy. I thought—I hoped you felt the same."

"Cas—" Dean swallowed.

Cas dropped his eyes to stare at the floor, his eyesight shimmering with the last of the tears. "I never do this, I swear. Fall for co's, I mean. I can't believe how stupid—"

"Cas." The ice pack landed on the floor with a thud, and Dean's right hand, icy cold, joined his left in framing Cas's face. He leaned in, his lips parted, eyes never straying from Cas's mouth, just like before.

"Dean?" Cas closed his eyes as Dean kissed him, soft and tentative like a teenager, his trembling hands and lips at odds with everything Cas had experienced with him physically before.

Dean pulled back slowly, his breath brushing Cas's cheek. "Oh god," he groaned, burying his face against Cas's neck, inhaling deeply. "Cas, I don't—shit, this is going to sound so fucking girlie—I don't ever feel this way about anyone. I can see a hot guy and know objectively he's hot, and I thought that's what this was at first, but the way you look at me like you fucking know me—" He pressed a kiss to Cas's shoulder, a gentle bite. "—I love it. And it scares the shit out of me."

"It's all right, it's okay," Cas whispered, wrapping an arm around Dean with great care; Dean was coming face to face with a lot of things tonight, and he didn't want to frighten him. But Dean was the one who pressed Cas against the bookcase and kissed him again, deeper this time, his tongue slipping into Cas's willing mouth with practiced ease. Cas kissed back, his head still aching from the blow and now whirling with the sudden change in Dean's approach.

Dean growled and grabbed Cas by the hipbones, hauling him into his lap like he weighed nothing. "You have stubble," Dean muttered against Cas's chin, nipping at his jaw.

"Yes, sorry." Cas bit his lip, wishing he'd shaved that afternoon. Dean was probably weirded out by the facial hair.

"Don't be." Dean rubbed his face against Cas's neck like a cat. "’s fine. It's not like I can pretend you're a chick. Not like I want to." He dipped his head to Cas's throat, suckling at the white skin between his collarbones. Cas gasped, tilting his head back, nearly cracking it against the bookcase again. Thankfully, Dean caught him in time, his hand cradling the back of Cas's head like it was made of glass.

"Maybe we should move this party off the floor," Dean chuckled. His words were flippant, but his eyes shone with nervous energy. "Bedroom?"

"Dean, we shouldn't— We don't need to take things so fast."

"Hey, this isn't my first rodeo." A slow smile, those white teeth.

Cas tipped his head to the side, tracking his eyes up and down Dean's face. "Yes, it is," he said quietly.

The false, confident grin slipped from Dean's lips. He ducked his head, huffed a laugh. "Okay, got me there. Guess this is a little different from what I'm used to. But hey," he smiled again, tentative this time, more open, "I always jump in feet first." He pressed a kiss to Cas's throat. "Come on. Come to bed," he murmured against the warm skin there.

How could Cas say no?

Dean's room was sparse, not a lot besides the full-sized bed (not even a queen), its navy blue sheets in disarray. Dean tugged the pillows back into place at the top of the mattress with a quirked smile. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting company."

"It's fine." Cas caught Dean's hand and held it between both of his, looking him straight in the eye. "We go at your pace here," he said. "If it's too much, just tell me and it all stops."

"Cas, I'll be okay. I'm a professional," Dean said.

"This isn't work. It's not the same." Cas sat on the edge of the thin mattress and stared up at Dean. "Are you sure you really want this?"

"Heh." Dean's tongue darted out to wet his lips. "I'm nervous as hell, okay? But it's you. So yeah, I want it." He drew his palms over Cas's chest, slipping them up to hook his fingers over his collarbones, his mouth hovering just inches from Cas's. "You gonna kiss me, Cas?"

Cas did, trying valiantly to keep the kiss reined in, almost chaste. But then Dean groaned into his mouth and all bets were off; Cas kissed him like he'd wanted to since this maddening man had walked into his life. His fingers carded into Dean's short, soft hair, tugging him closer, nipping at his pinked lips, swallowing the sounds he made. Before he knew it, Cas was pushed back on the bed, Dean covering him, heavy and hot, his erection pressing against Cas through their jeans. Cas's own cock twitched, already hard.

Shit, he hadn't been this turned on in years and they weren't even unclothed yet.

Dean reached for the buttons on his shirt, and Cas gripped the hem of Dean's yellow tee and yanked it over his head. Cas couldn't help licking across Dean's sweat-sheened chest, tracing the five-pointed star tattooed above his heart, sucking a nipple with careful deliberation.

"Fucking Christ," Dean grunted, his fingers flexing on Cas's shoulders. He threw his head back, his neck a beautiful, strong column.

"Was afraid you wouldn't like that," Cas murmured against his sternum. "It's against your rules."

"It's against the rules 'cause I thought it was too gay," Dean said, unbuckling Cas's belt with a single-mindedness that Cas adored. "I'm starting to rethink all my rules, though." He glanced up, his eyes dancing with humor.

They finished undressing, one piece of clothing at a time thudding to the floorboards with long bouts of kissing slotted in the spaces between. Cas loved being able to concentrate on Dean—nothing but Dean and the map of his freckled skin. At work there were cameras, angles to consider, scripted marks to hit. Off the clock, Cas was still a performer in bed, but now all that laser focus could be shifted to his partner. He flipped their positions, taking advantage of Dean's preoccupation with nibbling his earlobe, and pressed their bare skin together from mouth to ankle.

Dean moaned, his lust-dazed eyes gazing up at Cas through his thick lashes. His big square hands faltered in mid-air as if not sure where to land, what to grab hold of. Cas took one of Dean's wrists and guided it toward his hipbone. Dean caught on and gripped Cas tightly, his thumbs rubbing circles into the small of his back.

"So how do you want me?" Dean asked. The words nearly caught in his throat, and if his hands shook on Cas's hips, no one had to mention it.

Cas dipped his head low and kissed Dean, worrying his full lower lip. "How about inside me," he whispered into Dean's mouth.

Dean shut his eyes and pressed his forehead to the slope of Cas's shoulder. "Yes please."

There was lube, plenty of it, from Dean's sponsor company. It smelled like fake cherries. Cas didn't mind. He guided Dean's hand, showing him where to press, how to stroke and ply. They started out with Cas on top, sliding down onto Dean's thick cock, letting gravity work with them.

"Cas. Oh god." Dean didn't sound like he did when on set; he sounded breathless, broken, wrecked, out of control. His eyes were squeezed shut like he was afraid to see what was happening, and his hands remained clamped to Cas's hips like he was scared to move. "You feel amazing."

Cas stretched out along Dean's body, chest to chest, lifting and dropping his hips by scant centimeters. But even that was like a wave of pleasure-stoked fire through his veins. His cock dribbled pre-come against Dean's tight abs.

"Dean," he whispered into the shadows of his neck, "I need you." Cas wasn't sure what he was asking for, but he was too far gone to care, too drugged with the scent and the feel of Dean beneath him. "Need you so much, Dean." He sat up again, riding Dean faster, one hand pinching at his own hardened nipple, the other splayed on Dean's chest for balance. The sight of his pale hand against that tanned chest sent a new shudder of want through his middle.

"Here, I got you." Dean reached behind Cas's knees and, in a display of strength that should not have been so arousing, rolled him back in one smooth motion. Cas blinked at the sudden change of position, on his back with his legs bent almost to his shoulders, Dean still deep inside him, sliding in and out at a steady, deliberate pace.

Dean was biting and kissing anything his mouth could reach: Cas's vulnerable ankle, his calf, the point of Cas's chin. He reached down to stroke Cas's hard cock, still bobbing between them, slick with its own wetness.

"Dean!" Cas's spine bowed in pleasure. "I—I can't last—"

Dean licked a stripe down his quivering calf and sucked a kiss to his ankle. "I know, I'm right there too, fuck— Cas, feel so good."

Cas's hands scrabbled for purchase, slipping on Dean's sweaty skin, accidentally brushing his fingertips down the cleft of Dean's ass. Dean shivered like racehorses do, a growl emanating from his throat.

"S-sorry," Cas whispered, pulling his hand away, but Dean snagged him by the wrist and yanked it back.

"Do it," he hissed. "Oh god, fucking do it."

Cas bent himself in half even more, thanking god for his natural flexibility, and circled his fingertip around Dean's hole, once, twice.

Their faces were so close, Dean only had to tilt his head to capture Cas's mouth in a wild kiss. Their bodies bucked together, Cas's finger slipping into Dean just as Cas felt his cock shoot loads of come between them. Dean groaned at the hot wetness, thrusting one final time into Cas before stilling and panting against Cas's neck. Cas opened his mouth in a silent cry, feeling the pulses of come inside him.

They lay there for a long moment, gasping for breath and saying nothing. Dean slipped out and rolled off a few minutes later, padding away on wobbling legs. Cas closed his eyes and heard water running in the next room.

It was a little bit of a surprise when Dean returned with a damp towel and carefully wiped down Cas's stomach and inner thighs. Cas tensed at the first touch of cool cloth to his skin, but he forced himself to relax and watch Dean work. Dean was thorough, cleaning away every last drop of come. When he was done, he tossed the towel on the floor and flopped beside Cas, his hands folded behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

"Dean?" Cas reached out a hand and touched him lightly on the ribs.

Dean glanced over at him. "Yeah?"

"Was that just the right amount of gay?" he asked, his face never breaking its serious expression.

It took a few seconds, but Dean broke into a wide grin. "Sure was," he laughed. "Just right." He pulled Cas over to his side, holding him there with one strong arm over his shoulders.

Cas dozed, so exhausted from everything that had happened that day. But before he drifted off, he remembered something important, his eyes snapping open. "Dean," he said, "don't do that scene with Luca. Please. Anyone but him."

"Wha—? Oh, you mean the poll thing." Dean rubbed his chin, scratching through the light five o'clock shadow there. "I got to say, the guy gives me the creeps. I've done a few scenes with him and he was just— Ugh." He shuddered.

Cas propped himself up on an elbow. "I'm serious. He won't be..." he searched for the word, "careful with you."

Dean looked up at him, honest affection shining in his eyes. "Yeah, he's nothing like you." He picked up Cas's right hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. "I'll talk to Becky. See what we can do."

A sigh of relief whooshed out of Cas. "Thank you. I know I have no business telling you who to shoot with—"

"Hey, I'm lucky you're not demanding I stop it with the porn altogether," Dean said. He smiled up at Cas. "Guess you can't get pissed about it, huh? You're no hypocrite. Or drama queen."

Cas tipped his head to the side, watching Dean closely. "How long do you think you'll stay in the business?" he asked. "You said before you would quit someday."

"Yeah, um." Dean shifted on the sheets. "What would you say if I told you I wanted to be a director after I retired?"

Cas considered for a moment. "I'd say show me the outline you've undoubtedly been working on for weeks."

"Fuck, quit with the mind-reading!" Dean cried, whacking Cas on the shoulder with a playful slap. Then he reached across Cas, smiling down at him as he rummaged in the bedside table's drawer. He retreated with a thick sheaf of paper and a pair of drugstore reading glasses in hand.

"It's just a first draft," he cautioned, slipping on the glasses and eyeing the pages in his hand. "And I've been working on it for months, thank you very much."

Cas suppressed a smile at first, then let it overtake the corner of his mouth. "Read it to me."

Dean cleared his throat and sat up against the headboard. "Okay. This is supposed to be the scene I do after the poll closes. I wrote it before Luca started winning. I definitely did not have him in mind, so...." He flipped over the first page and began reading. "'Scene opens, you and me in the middle of a blowjob...'"

_______________________________

Dean knelt on the bed, his hands braced on the sheets behind himself, his body a sculpted pyramid of golden skin. Cas sucked at his cock, licking the head like it was a precious gift.

"I put my hand in your hair, and you look up, all confused, and say—"

"Thought you didn't like to get touchy, Dean Winchester," Cas said, his voice husky and low.

"Can't seem to help myself today," Dean murmured, tightening his grip on Cas's hair. Cas moaned and bent to lap at Dean's weeping head.

"Then things get interesting."

One final thrust, and Dean pulled Cas off his dick with a secret smile. He turned around, gazing over his shoulder at Cas and the camera as he gripped the ironwork headboard, rattling them like castle gates in his hands. Dean bent forward, presenting his ass to Cas.

"Come on," Dean cooed. "Get over here."

"You slip in behind me, unsure at first, just running your hands up and down my arms and back, stroking my dick. Finally you ask what I want, and I tell you."

"Put that fat cock between my legs," Dean growled, "and rub against me until you get off."

"You squeeze my thighs together and press your hard-on between them, lots of lube and pre-come making it easy. The camera moves to the other side of the headboard and zooms in between the bars, getting a shot of the head of your cock sliding in and out of view. I keep looking down at it; I'm getting off on it, I'm not quiet about it."

Cas grasped Dean's hip and his shoulder, keeping them locked together as Cas rocked between his muscular thighs. Dean cursed, sounding almost shocked: "Fuck, feels good, just like that."

"You come all over my ass, finally. You're fucked out, out of breath, and then you realize—"

"Shit, Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Hey, don't worry." Dean craned his head over his shoulder to see the threads of come painted across his backside. "It was fucking hot."

Cas forced a nervous chuckle. "You are in a weird mood today. You never let me do that stuff."

"Yeah, well." Dean lifted himself onto his knees again, turning and staring Cas in the eye. "Today things are different." His kept his mouth close to Cas's, their noses bumping, their breath shared hot and fast.

"What's so different about today?" Cas asked.

"For starters, I'm going to fuck you so goddamn hard," Dean whispered, the camera picking up the way his tongue grazed Cas's ear.

"We go through my top three positions: doggie-style, standing with your legs wrapped around my waist—"

"Fuck! Oh, fuck me!" Cas shouted, hanging onto Dean's shoulders for dear life.

"—and finally we end face to face. For a little twist, I pull out a hand-cam from under the bed and switch it on so we get some raw footage from that. At first you're hesitant."

"Come on, what's that for?" Cas asked, batting the camera away from his face. "Stop filming and start fucking me."

"I can do both," Dean said, sweeping the camera from Cas's face down to where their bodies are joined, Dean still pumping away slowly. "Just want to record this historical moment. Not every day I do this with a guy."

Cas's eyelids fluttered in pleasure. "You're going to make me come," he hissed.

"I toss the camera aside, but it's still filming us, so we get shots from the hand-cam and the other cameras as I finish you off. You come again all over yourself, really wet and messy, and then I pull out."

Dean groaned and shook as his cock spurted thick gobs of come onto Cas's stomach, covering him even more thoroughly in white. Cas watched, one hand tentatively petting Dean's hair as he came down from his orgasm high. Someone in the background yelled cut, but they were still busy catching their breath.

"And then you turn to the hand-cam and ask—"

"Is that thing off?"

"Yeah," Dean panted. "We're clear."

"But of course it's still rolling. And we get the last shot."

"Good." Cas leaned up and met Dean's mouth in a bruising kiss, Dean's big hands cupping his face. They broke for air, a droplet of come slipping down Cas's torso as he sat up. "I love it when you fuck me," he murmured into Dean's mouth, just loud enough for the camera to pick up.

"I love it too," Dean smirked, kissing him again.

"Fade to black. End scene."

"And cut, for real this time!" Chuck shouted. "Hit the showers, superstars. Great fucking work, seriously!"

Cas pulled back, gnawing on his lower lip and watching Dean's expression turn from cocky to affectionate in three seconds flat. "You okay?" Cas asked. This thing between them was still so new, and performing together for the first time since they laid it all out on the table was a strange experience. Hot, but strange.

Dean grinned back. "Let's just say I am really glad your friend Gabriel got all his Twitter followers to vote for you." He pressed a quick kiss to Cas's cheek. "You were awesome, babe."

"Thanks." Cas accepted a towel from a crew member and walked with Dean toward the showers. "Dinner tomorrow?"

"I have to go out to the woods with Becky for some solo scenes. Won't be back until late. Day after?"

"I have a threesome shoot with Gabe, but I should be wrapped by five."

"Great. Come by around seven. Italian?" Dean nipped playfully at his neck. "Or we could order in."

"No, we promised Sam a real meal, remember? With silverware and everything?" Cas smiled.

"We spoil that kid." Dean smiled, and Cas thanked god for the millionth time that he'd persuaded Dean to come clean to his brother, who, it turned out, was a budding ACLU lawyer and completely gung-ho about being a sex-positive, accepting sibling.

He kissed Dean again, not caring about the stares from the crew and the other stars. "You love it," he said against Dean's warm mouth.

"Yeah." That new grin, open and beautiful. "I do love it."

fin