Santorum Will Pry My Porn From My Cold Dead Hands - REPOST 1
A big thanks to fonkeestarchild (muchas, muchas props should be directed in that direction) for having all my chapters on file, and for sending them to me.
So here it is, the begining of the story. I'll be reposting it all in parts today.
So, funny story, I promised BHJ a porn prohibition AU, and then I started writing this, and then I stopped :P and for some reason, now I have a ton of work to do…I want to write more of it. So, I guess we’ll see how it goes.
“Baby, look at me.”
“Don’t call me baby.” Castiel says softly, looking up from the floor.
“Why?” Dean feeds another roll of film into the hungry camera. Its black eye stares down on Castiel, where he’s sitting awkwardly on the cushions and mattress that Dean had placed on the scrap of carpet lining the garage floor.
Castiel looks down to one side, blinking.
“You don’t like it?” Dean snaps the camera back into place.“Ok…well, I can call you whatever you want, whatever…just put your head up.”
Castiel does so, elegant neck arching.
He is however, still biting his lip.
“Stop doing that.” Dean murmurs, “At least not until I tell you.”
“I’m just…very aware that, I’m going to…do things.”
Dean sighs. “You’re not under contract. You can leave.”
“I want to do it.”
“Good, okay…but we’ll go slow, alright? It’s just me here.”
Castiel nods, and looks up.
(-*-)
Dean had stepped into that cafe expecting…what he wasn’t sure. A regulation porn star he supposed, muscles, fake tanned all over (or with some odd white patches) tattoos, and a dick down to his knees.
What he saw, was a medium height dude with messy dark hair, china white skin, and the bluest, widest eyes that Dean had ever seen.
The fact that he was wearing an oversized trench inside, and had a shadow of stubble creeping over his face, didn’t ruin the appeal of him. He was…perfect for what Dean had in mind.
The idea, of course, was suicidal.
Sam had already called him crazy.
“Where the hell are you going to find some girl, willing to take her clothes off for you?” Sam had asked, with his feet up on his coffee table, a football game forgotten on TV, a beer unopened in front of him.
“It’s not exactly hard.”
“Yeah, to get them to sleep with you. This is a little different.” Sam had pointed out. “Naked pictures, illegal porn…Dean, this could get you in a lot of trouble.”
“Well, porn’s been good to me. About time I give something back.” Dean had smirked.
“Yeah well, when you get arrested, don’t expect me to defend you, those NPB guys are crazy.” Sam had muttered, pouting.
It was true, the National Pornography Ban had a lot of people spooked, they’d shut down every dirty magazine, film company, even the book stores and websites that sold the stuff. A porn blackout that covered the entirety of North America. People were actually taking trips to Europe or Mexico to get porn and bring it home.
But, why smuggle black market porn in - when you could make your own, and ship it all over?
This was the idea that had occurred to Dean about a week and half of porn-less days into the ban, when he started to notice how much he missed it. Not like he really needed it, just like ice-cream doesn’t NEED whipped cream, and sprinkles and, hot fudge- but the experience is better with a little variety, something extra to get your taste buds working.
He’d found someone almost straight away. A model, a guy -for some reason it felt like it should be a guy - after all, it was far less likely to get personal. He was running a black and white print add in a crappy little circular, looking for work. He’d been out of it for a couple of months. Dean had thought it was some ex-porn star covertly looking for work. What he got was a gravelly voiced, angel faced ex-artists model - more used to being wrapped in a sheet on a chilly pedestal than splayed out naked on the floor.
But it was all he had. Like the drafty garage and the crappy video camera and analogue camera that he was working with. One for film, one for pictures.
“Castiel, right?” Dean had said, approaching the guy at the cafe table. When Castiel looked at him, Dean knew he had the right guy, and that he was in luck. There was something about Castiel that screamed ‘quality’ like a porcelain cup in a box of yard sale crap.
“Mr Winchester?”
“Dean.” Dean said, sitting down.
Castiel looked relieved. “I’m afraid I’ve been waiting a while, I was here far too early.”
“Eager.” Dean smiled, looked up as a waitress came over, and ordered a filter coffee.
Castiel fiddled with a brown sugar packet, holding it between his slim fingers, tapping it on the table. Dean smirked.
“You smoke?”
Castiel dropped the packet and smiled a small smile. “I used to. I quit.”
Dean nodded, the piece of information floating away from him as soon as it was acquired, not important. He looked Castiel over again, trying to work out if he’d found the right kind of man, someone who’d be up to what he was suggesting. Castiel gave away no hints, but met his stare as if it were perfectly normal to stare at someone in a cafe, having only known them for a few seconds, and one short phone call.
“So, what kind of work have you done?” Dean asked, finally.
“I was a model, for life drawing seminars at the university.”Castiel told him, one hand cupping the side of his demitasse.
“You realise this is different right?” Dean asks him.
“I was aware it was perhaps…a little on the shady side.”
“I’m shooting…” He mouths the word ‘porn’.
Castiel blinks, but otherwise does not react.
“Wow, I thought you’d have more of a problem with that.” Dean sits back. “Unless you’re going to report me as soon as you leave.”
“Perhaps there’s a better place for us to talk.” Castiel says.
“My place.”
Dean gets up, and Castiel follows.
(-*-)
And that’s it. That’s how they got here. Castiel sitting on the spare mattress that Dean had dragged out to the garage and covered with a white sheet. There’s another sheet tacked up on the wall, serving as backdrop, and under the mattress is a swatch of dark blue carpet that he’d dug out of a skip. Not exactly the ritziest setting for a porno. But Dean’s seen worse.
“So…yeah, this is where I was thinking we’d do it.”
Castiel glances at him.
“Not we…” Dean stumbles, “I mean, this is where I’ll film you.”
“It’s…hostile.” Castiel observes. “I might have a few things we can use…pillows and such.”
“Great, bring ‘em next time.” Dean taps the camera lightly with one hand. “I’ll be shooting on this first off, get some pictures to my buddy on the underground adult circuit.” Ok, so he’s the guy who used to run Dean’s second favourite porn site. But, there’s no need to tell Castiel that. “Then he’ll decide if he can use your uh…material.”
“Clever.”
Castiel it seems, is a man of few words.
Dean can work with that.
“So, how about you take your shirt off, let me see what we’re working with?”
Castiel’s brow pinches into a frown for about a tenth of a second, then he reaches up and starts to unbutton his shirt. He’s casual, not sexy, clumsy - like he’s undressing for bed in an unfamiliar hotel. He slides the shirt off of his shoulders, folds it in half and lays it on the mattress.
Dean nips at his lip as he adjusts the camera, takes the lens cap off and looks at Castiel through it. He whistles softly. “Gotta say, you’ve got something.”
Castiel cocks his head to one side. “I was just tested. I don’t have anything.”
Dean grins, and Castiel looks at him, knowing there’s a joke here somewhere, and sure that it’s on him.
“Pants off when you’re ready.”
Castiel stands up, loosens his belt and steps carefully out of his pants, folding them and putting them with his shirt. Underneath he’s wearing black boxer briefs. Dean sees him through the black bordered viewfinder. Castiel looks up at him, one soft clump of dark hair falling into his eyes, making his expression switch from unsure to irritated.
“Shall I take these off too?”
Dean nods, forgetting that the camera is right in front of his face. “Yeah, that’d be great.”
Castiel loses the underwear, and Dean looks at him, first through the camera, then with his eyes only. There’s nothing of his preconceived notions about what his porn-star should look like left. But Castiel definitely isn’t in the enormous category. He’s average, maybe a little longer than that. Comparatively Dean would say that they’re about the same size, though he’s thicker than Castiel.
Castiel seems to be thinking along the same lines as he glances down at himself. “Is this, adequate?”
“You’re fine.” Dean assures him quickly. “How are you when…you know?”
Castiel just looks at him.
Dean is forced to say it, “When you’re hard, how big does it get?”
Castiel shrugs. “How would I know?”
He must be the only guy in the world who doesn’t, but Dean believes him. “Ok, well, you’ll just have to…” he waves a hand.
Castiel frowns at him.
“Get hard, and we’ll see.” Dean elaborates, slapping film into the camera and kneeling down so he can take some shots.
Castiel tentatively runs his fingers over his dick. “Do you have to be watching me?”
Dean looks up at him. Their eyes meet, and just for a second, Dean thinks about saying no, that he doesn’t have to be in the room, he can just set the camera for ten second timed shots and go have a cup of coffee.
Instead he says “Yes.”
And Castiel just accepts it.
“Do you have lubricant?”
Dean drags a cardboard box out from under an old desk, in it he’s dumped everything he could find in the house that could be used in porn. Including a bottle of liquid silk.
He rolls it over to Castiel, who uncaps it, and draws a neat line of pearly fluid across his palm. He reaches down and starts to stroke, fist wet and loose.
Dean starts to snap pictures, pushing the button to close the shutter gently, considering Castiel through the lens. He’s most definitely not gay - he’s been watching porn for years and never once has he felt anything for the tanned, muscular guys on film. And if he was going to be attracted to anyone, it would have to be those guys, fit and toned and looking like they spent hours running out on a track under the sun.
Still, Castiel is pretty gorgeous, he has to admit.
After twenty minutes, Dean figures he has enough shots of Castiel jerking off, at least in this position. He peers around the camera and clicks his tongue to get Castiel’s attention. “Hey, wanna move?”
Castiel stops what he’s doing and looks at him.
“Move where?”
“You’re not telling me you do it like that at home, just sitting there?”
Castiel bites his lip, then shakes his head.
“Ok, so do whatever you do at home.”
Castiel pauses for a second, then slides back on the mattress and turns onto his knees, kneeling and resting his weight on one hand, the other going back to his cock, which is a pretty respectable size now that it’s hard. Bigger than Dean’s, he notices with some resentment.
“Guess this means you’re a bottom huh?” He says conversationally.
Castiel hums in the affirmative.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” Dean asks, not really knowing why, as he clicks a few more pictures.
“Sometimes.”
“Then why do you do it?…why not just, be on top?”
“I like it.”
“You like pain?”
Castiel looks up at him, a small, wicked smile playing on his lips. “Sometimes.”
Dean swallows. Takes more pictures. Keeps his fool mouth shut.
After a while he says, “You can come now.”
Castiel rolls his shoulders irritably. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do?”
“I thought you were holding off.”
“I don’t hold off.” Castiel’s face twists with frustration, “I’m just finding it a little difficult to get there.”
“Anything you’re missing?”
“Like?”
“I don’t know, why can’t you come?”
“I keep getting close but…” Castiel licks his lips.
“Can’t quite…shuffle over?”
“It’s the sound of the camera, the way you’re just sitting there…keeps putting me off.”
Dean fishes in his pocket and tosses over his iPod. “Listen to that.”
“Why?”
“Well then you won’t hear the camera.” He smirks, “besides, I find it gives me a pretty good rhythm.”
Castiel leans up and puts the buds into his ears. It only takes him a few seconds to turn it on and get it to start playing a track, then he lays it to one side and puts his hand back on himself.
Dean should not be able to tell that he’s listening toHighway to Hell, but he can. It’s in the arch of Castiel’s back, the soft cant of his hips, the way his hand starts to move, slow and easy, as he thrusts into it, doing most of the work with his whole body. Dean wets his lips, self-conscious in his position as a watcher - he’s not touching Castiel, not really interacting with him, but he still feels involved.
He taps out the remembered rhythm of the song on his thigh, watching Castiel get closer and closer to the peak, breath stuttering, hand slipping up every few seconds to focus on rubbing the squeezing the head of his cock, which looks pinker and pinker with each passing moment.
With a final burst of motion, revving up to the second chorus of the song, Castiel starts to lose it, and, with a thin cry, the head of his dick pops out of his fist, his foreskin drawing back as the angry flesh lets loose a sudden spurt of come.
Dean clicks the shutter, catches images of Castiel’s beautiful body in the motions of orgasm. For his part, Castiel milks it for all it’s worth, not letting up on the head of his cock until he’s a shuddery, sweating wreak.
Castiel shifts back onto his knees and stretches with a sigh, and turns to Dean, his hair falling damply into his eyes, pupils still huge and dark with lust, lips parted in a gasp.
Dean snaps one last picture.
“Was that enough?” Castiel asks.
“For now.” Dean says, and tries to ignore the way his dick had twitched as he’d watched Castiel come. He’s going to get his money, and stick it to the man, without actually…sticking it to a man.
So here it is, the begining of the story. I'll be reposting it all in parts today.
So, funny story, I promised BHJ a porn prohibition AU, and then I started writing this, and then I stopped :P and for some reason, now I have a ton of work to do…I want to write more of it. So, I guess we’ll see how it goes.
“Baby, look at me.”
“Don’t call me baby.” Castiel says softly, looking up from the floor.
“Why?” Dean feeds another roll of film into the hungry camera. Its black eye stares down on Castiel, where he’s sitting awkwardly on the cushions and mattress that Dean had placed on the scrap of carpet lining the garage floor.
Castiel looks down to one side, blinking.
“You don’t like it?” Dean snaps the camera back into place.“Ok…well, I can call you whatever you want, whatever…just put your head up.”
Castiel does so, elegant neck arching.
He is however, still biting his lip.
“Stop doing that.” Dean murmurs, “At least not until I tell you.”
“I’m just…very aware that, I’m going to…do things.”
Dean sighs. “You’re not under contract. You can leave.”
“I want to do it.”
“Good, okay…but we’ll go slow, alright? It’s just me here.”
Castiel nods, and looks up.
(-*-)
Dean had stepped into that cafe expecting…what he wasn’t sure. A regulation porn star he supposed, muscles, fake tanned all over (or with some odd white patches) tattoos, and a dick down to his knees.
What he saw, was a medium height dude with messy dark hair, china white skin, and the bluest, widest eyes that Dean had ever seen.
The fact that he was wearing an oversized trench inside, and had a shadow of stubble creeping over his face, didn’t ruin the appeal of him. He was…perfect for what Dean had in mind.
The idea, of course, was suicidal.
Sam had already called him crazy.
“Where the hell are you going to find some girl, willing to take her clothes off for you?” Sam had asked, with his feet up on his coffee table, a football game forgotten on TV, a beer unopened in front of him.
“It’s not exactly hard.”
“Yeah, to get them to sleep with you. This is a little different.” Sam had pointed out. “Naked pictures, illegal porn…Dean, this could get you in a lot of trouble.”
“Well, porn’s been good to me. About time I give something back.” Dean had smirked.
“Yeah well, when you get arrested, don’t expect me to defend you, those NPB guys are crazy.” Sam had muttered, pouting.
It was true, the National Pornography Ban had a lot of people spooked, they’d shut down every dirty magazine, film company, even the book stores and websites that sold the stuff. A porn blackout that covered the entirety of North America. People were actually taking trips to Europe or Mexico to get porn and bring it home.
But, why smuggle black market porn in - when you could make your own, and ship it all over?
This was the idea that had occurred to Dean about a week and half of porn-less days into the ban, when he started to notice how much he missed it. Not like he really needed it, just like ice-cream doesn’t NEED whipped cream, and sprinkles and, hot fudge- but the experience is better with a little variety, something extra to get your taste buds working.
He’d found someone almost straight away. A model, a guy -for some reason it felt like it should be a guy - after all, it was far less likely to get personal. He was running a black and white print add in a crappy little circular, looking for work. He’d been out of it for a couple of months. Dean had thought it was some ex-porn star covertly looking for work. What he got was a gravelly voiced, angel faced ex-artists model - more used to being wrapped in a sheet on a chilly pedestal than splayed out naked on the floor.
But it was all he had. Like the drafty garage and the crappy video camera and analogue camera that he was working with. One for film, one for pictures.
“Castiel, right?” Dean had said, approaching the guy at the cafe table. When Castiel looked at him, Dean knew he had the right guy, and that he was in luck. There was something about Castiel that screamed ‘quality’ like a porcelain cup in a box of yard sale crap.
“Mr Winchester?”
“Dean.” Dean said, sitting down.
Castiel looked relieved. “I’m afraid I’ve been waiting a while, I was here far too early.”
“Eager.” Dean smiled, looked up as a waitress came over, and ordered a filter coffee.
Castiel fiddled with a brown sugar packet, holding it between his slim fingers, tapping it on the table. Dean smirked.
“You smoke?”
Castiel dropped the packet and smiled a small smile. “I used to. I quit.”
Dean nodded, the piece of information floating away from him as soon as it was acquired, not important. He looked Castiel over again, trying to work out if he’d found the right kind of man, someone who’d be up to what he was suggesting. Castiel gave away no hints, but met his stare as if it were perfectly normal to stare at someone in a cafe, having only known them for a few seconds, and one short phone call.
“So, what kind of work have you done?” Dean asked, finally.
“I was a model, for life drawing seminars at the university.”Castiel told him, one hand cupping the side of his demitasse.
“You realise this is different right?” Dean asks him.
“I was aware it was perhaps…a little on the shady side.”
“I’m shooting…” He mouths the word ‘porn’.
Castiel blinks, but otherwise does not react.
“Wow, I thought you’d have more of a problem with that.” Dean sits back. “Unless you’re going to report me as soon as you leave.”
“Perhaps there’s a better place for us to talk.” Castiel says.
“My place.”
Dean gets up, and Castiel follows.
(-*-)
And that’s it. That’s how they got here. Castiel sitting on the spare mattress that Dean had dragged out to the garage and covered with a white sheet. There’s another sheet tacked up on the wall, serving as backdrop, and under the mattress is a swatch of dark blue carpet that he’d dug out of a skip. Not exactly the ritziest setting for a porno. But Dean’s seen worse.
“So…yeah, this is where I was thinking we’d do it.”
Castiel glances at him.
“Not we…” Dean stumbles, “I mean, this is where I’ll film you.”
“It’s…hostile.” Castiel observes. “I might have a few things we can use…pillows and such.”
“Great, bring ‘em next time.” Dean taps the camera lightly with one hand. “I’ll be shooting on this first off, get some pictures to my buddy on the underground adult circuit.” Ok, so he’s the guy who used to run Dean’s second favourite porn site. But, there’s no need to tell Castiel that. “Then he’ll decide if he can use your uh…material.”
“Clever.”
Castiel it seems, is a man of few words.
Dean can work with that.
“So, how about you take your shirt off, let me see what we’re working with?”
Castiel’s brow pinches into a frown for about a tenth of a second, then he reaches up and starts to unbutton his shirt. He’s casual, not sexy, clumsy - like he’s undressing for bed in an unfamiliar hotel. He slides the shirt off of his shoulders, folds it in half and lays it on the mattress.
Dean nips at his lip as he adjusts the camera, takes the lens cap off and looks at Castiel through it. He whistles softly. “Gotta say, you’ve got something.”
Castiel cocks his head to one side. “I was just tested. I don’t have anything.”
Dean grins, and Castiel looks at him, knowing there’s a joke here somewhere, and sure that it’s on him.
“Pants off when you’re ready.”
Castiel stands up, loosens his belt and steps carefully out of his pants, folding them and putting them with his shirt. Underneath he’s wearing black boxer briefs. Dean sees him through the black bordered viewfinder. Castiel looks up at him, one soft clump of dark hair falling into his eyes, making his expression switch from unsure to irritated.
“Shall I take these off too?”
Dean nods, forgetting that the camera is right in front of his face. “Yeah, that’d be great.”
Castiel loses the underwear, and Dean looks at him, first through the camera, then with his eyes only. There’s nothing of his preconceived notions about what his porn-star should look like left. But Castiel definitely isn’t in the enormous category. He’s average, maybe a little longer than that. Comparatively Dean would say that they’re about the same size, though he’s thicker than Castiel.
Castiel seems to be thinking along the same lines as he glances down at himself. “Is this, adequate?”
“You’re fine.” Dean assures him quickly. “How are you when…you know?”
Castiel just looks at him.
Dean is forced to say it, “When you’re hard, how big does it get?”
Castiel shrugs. “How would I know?”
He must be the only guy in the world who doesn’t, but Dean believes him. “Ok, well, you’ll just have to…” he waves a hand.
Castiel frowns at him.
“Get hard, and we’ll see.” Dean elaborates, slapping film into the camera and kneeling down so he can take some shots.
Castiel tentatively runs his fingers over his dick. “Do you have to be watching me?”
Dean looks up at him. Their eyes meet, and just for a second, Dean thinks about saying no, that he doesn’t have to be in the room, he can just set the camera for ten second timed shots and go have a cup of coffee.
Instead he says “Yes.”
And Castiel just accepts it.
“Do you have lubricant?”
Dean drags a cardboard box out from under an old desk, in it he’s dumped everything he could find in the house that could be used in porn. Including a bottle of liquid silk.
He rolls it over to Castiel, who uncaps it, and draws a neat line of pearly fluid across his palm. He reaches down and starts to stroke, fist wet and loose.
Dean starts to snap pictures, pushing the button to close the shutter gently, considering Castiel through the lens. He’s most definitely not gay - he’s been watching porn for years and never once has he felt anything for the tanned, muscular guys on film. And if he was going to be attracted to anyone, it would have to be those guys, fit and toned and looking like they spent hours running out on a track under the sun.
Still, Castiel is pretty gorgeous, he has to admit.
After twenty minutes, Dean figures he has enough shots of Castiel jerking off, at least in this position. He peers around the camera and clicks his tongue to get Castiel’s attention. “Hey, wanna move?”
Castiel stops what he’s doing and looks at him.
“Move where?”
“You’re not telling me you do it like that at home, just sitting there?”
Castiel bites his lip, then shakes his head.
“Ok, so do whatever you do at home.”
Castiel pauses for a second, then slides back on the mattress and turns onto his knees, kneeling and resting his weight on one hand, the other going back to his cock, which is a pretty respectable size now that it’s hard. Bigger than Dean’s, he notices with some resentment.
“Guess this means you’re a bottom huh?” He says conversationally.
Castiel hums in the affirmative.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” Dean asks, not really knowing why, as he clicks a few more pictures.
“Sometimes.”
“Then why do you do it?…why not just, be on top?”
“I like it.”
“You like pain?”
Castiel looks up at him, a small, wicked smile playing on his lips. “Sometimes.”
Dean swallows. Takes more pictures. Keeps his fool mouth shut.
After a while he says, “You can come now.”
Castiel rolls his shoulders irritably. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do?”
“I thought you were holding off.”
“I don’t hold off.” Castiel’s face twists with frustration, “I’m just finding it a little difficult to get there.”
“Anything you’re missing?”
“Like?”
“I don’t know, why can’t you come?”
“I keep getting close but…” Castiel licks his lips.
“Can’t quite…shuffle over?”
“It’s the sound of the camera, the way you’re just sitting there…keeps putting me off.”
Dean fishes in his pocket and tosses over his iPod. “Listen to that.”
“Why?”
“Well then you won’t hear the camera.” He smirks, “besides, I find it gives me a pretty good rhythm.”
Castiel leans up and puts the buds into his ears. It only takes him a few seconds to turn it on and get it to start playing a track, then he lays it to one side and puts his hand back on himself.
Dean should not be able to tell that he’s listening toHighway to Hell, but he can. It’s in the arch of Castiel’s back, the soft cant of his hips, the way his hand starts to move, slow and easy, as he thrusts into it, doing most of the work with his whole body. Dean wets his lips, self-conscious in his position as a watcher - he’s not touching Castiel, not really interacting with him, but he still feels involved.
He taps out the remembered rhythm of the song on his thigh, watching Castiel get closer and closer to the peak, breath stuttering, hand slipping up every few seconds to focus on rubbing the squeezing the head of his cock, which looks pinker and pinker with each passing moment.
With a final burst of motion, revving up to the second chorus of the song, Castiel starts to lose it, and, with a thin cry, the head of his dick pops out of his fist, his foreskin drawing back as the angry flesh lets loose a sudden spurt of come.
Dean clicks the shutter, catches images of Castiel’s beautiful body in the motions of orgasm. For his part, Castiel milks it for all it’s worth, not letting up on the head of his cock until he’s a shuddery, sweating wreak.
Castiel shifts back onto his knees and stretches with a sigh, and turns to Dean, his hair falling damply into his eyes, pupils still huge and dark with lust, lips parted in a gasp.
Dean snaps one last picture.
“Was that enough?” Castiel asks.
“For now.” Dean says, and tries to ignore the way his dick had twitched as he’d watched Castiel come. He’s going to get his money, and stick it to the man, without actually…sticking it to a man.