Santorum will pry my porn from my cold dead hands REPOST 3
Castiel arrives in a button down shirt and black pants, which Dean is starting to suspect is all he owns. In his hands are two boxes, each slightly bigger than a shoebox, and stacked on top of each other.
“Good morning.” Castiel says, though it’s just gone noon.
“Hey Cas,” Dean says, letting him into his house and taking him through to the kitchen, “what’s in the boxes?”
Castiel sets a box down on the kitchen counter while Dean busies himself with the coffee pot. When he turns round, he nearly drops the pot, water and all, onto the floor.
The box is open, displaying a wide array of coloured plastic and silicone, even some polished glass. Thick rubbery shafts, small, sculpted bungs…other things Dean can’t even imagine a use for, and something that looks like a prop from a terrible Scifi movie.
Castiel frowns down at the contents, “Perhaps I should have brought more, but…”
“There’s more?” Dean says incredulously, “do you get out much or…?”
Castiel glares, “I have a varied and large sexual appetite, and my discomfiture with dating and people in general is not about to impinge on that.”
Well, that shut Dean up.
“What’s in the other box then?”
Castiel opens it, looking up at him guilessly. “Cupcakes.”
Dean eyes the blue cupcakes with interest. They do look damn good.
“I’ll trade you for a Krispy Kreme,” he says, offering his own, slightly dented box of pastries (yes, he’d bought donuts for this meeting with Cas, Dean was always hungry after sex - for all he knew Castiel might be the same.)
Castiel takes a donut, and Dean takes a cupcake, which turns out to be filled with cinnamon apple butter. Castiel bites into the donut, and whipped cream splodges out and falls onto his hand. Castiel frowns and licks it off, his eyebrows almost meeting in concentration.
Dean coughs and then pulls a sheet of paper out from under the donut box. “Anyway, your uh…brother, got back to me with some suggestions.”
“I received a list as well.” Castiel tells him, eyeing the remains of his donut as if deciding how best to attack. “And I have heeded some of them, though, I chose to forgo the…waxing, he suggested. As it seemed painful, and unnecessary.”
Dean winces.
“Besides,” Castiel continues, “I myself have never been opposed to a healthy amount of hair on my lovers, particularly in the scrotal or anal regions. It can be quite erotic.” He lifts the donut and quickly sucks the cream from its centre (reminding Dean of a rimming video he’d much rather forget - seriously, why didn’t people put disclaimers on porn? ‘Not suitable for straight guys who are just researching porn for black market ventures” or something like that.)
Dean chooses not to comment on scrotal hair, and goes back to the list instead.
“Well, he thinks we need some more creative angles, and…clearly you have toys covered, so that’s good. And…eventually we might have to get you a partner. And by eventually…I mean soon.” He looks up, “that ok?”
Castiel looks thoughtful, “Will I have a say in who it is?”
“Dude, obviously, I wouldn’t get you all naked with some guy you didn’t like.” Dean assures him, “I’ll find a few, get them in for like…an audition, you can sit and talk to them, find someone right for you.”
Castiel seems satisfied with this.
Dean fills his mouth with delicious, pie-flavoured cupcake.
“So, would you like me to prepare myself now?” Castiel asks, “I brought an enema kit - that is, if you’re planning on filming me using these,” he gestures to the toys.
Dean swallows his cake with difficulty.
“Please don’t say enema in my kitchen.”
“Douche then.”
“Not better Cas.”
Castiel sighs.
“Why do you need to…” Dean makes a spurting motion with one hand.
“To prevent fecal matter…”
“Never mind,” Dean cuts in, “that’s just…you can just keep that to yourself.”
Castiel sighs, “It is not my fault that you find the particulars of this business so offensive.”
“I know, I’ll…try not to get all girly on you.” Dean says,“the bathroom is yours - please tidy up and never, ever tell me what you did in there.”
Castiel gets up, collects some reeled up tubing and a plastic bag from the bottom of the ‘toy box’ and leaves the kitchen.
Dean goes down to the garage. He’s tried to make it a little less serial killer and a little more ‘Better Homes and Gardens’but, his interior design qualifications are dubious at best. He’d taken Sam to Target, and then on to WallMart, and questioned him on the look and feel of cushions, throws and various decorations. They’d agreed on soft, buttery suede feel cushions in a range of deep blue and turquoise, and a few throws in chocolate and beige. Dean had wanted a pillow with tangly black hair on it, which looked illegally comfortable - but he’d been overruled as Sam had said, blushing fiercy that it would ‘stain really easily’.
Castiel came down the bare concrete steps, his feet unclothed, his legs likewise, all the way up to…
“Hey, that’s my robe!” Dean says indignantly.
“I don’t have one here.” Castiel says.
He’s bundled up in the green terrycloth robe, looking all together too comfortable.
Dean glares. “Keep it, I’ll buy a new one.”
Castiel looks pleased.
He sits down on the ‘performance area’ and looks around him at the new pillows and blankets. “This is very nice.”
Dean actually feels proud. “I got you this too,” he says, flicking the switch on a small space heater, and feeling warm air rush into the room.
Castiel hums appreciatively. “So,” he asks, “how do you want me?”
Dean frowns at the arrangement of pillows, “over there I guess…maybe…like, face down with a…” he makes a gesture.
“I have no idea what you’re saying.” Castiel says.
Dean shakes his head, embarrassment taking over. “Don’t make me say it.”
Castiel looks thoughtful. “Show me.”
“What?”
“Pose me. I’m used to being posed for the modelling…pose me.”
Dean takes an uncertain step forwards, away from the safety of the camera. With the heater on, he’s too hot, even in his jeans and thin t-shirt.
“Ok…uh…get on your hands and knees I guess.”
Castiel sits up, then frowns. “With the robe or…without?”
Dean shifts his weight from foot to foot. Why was this so awkward? He’d seen naked guys before - he’d never really looked, but he’d seen, at the gym, on the beach, hell, college had been loco with drunk idiots who seemed to have an on-again-off-again relationship with their pants. But this still felt weird.
“With.”
He goes over to Castiel and rearranges some pillows before pushing him a little, his hand in the dip of Castiel’s spine, to make him bow his back a little. Then he takes one of Castiel’s hands (limp and trusting in his) and brings it back, between his legs.
“I saw…I mean, when I was looking into this…it might be a good shot if we get you, you know…playing with yourself a little, with your fingers, to get a good look on camera.”
“Ok,” Castiel says quietly.
Dean placed his hands on the tops of Castiel’s thighs, feeling nothing but the softness of the cloth. He widens Castiel’s stance.
“Great,” he mutters, moving away and looking into the cardboard box of toys. “Which…uh…would be best for you…?”
Castiel looks back at him, “something…big.”
Dean looks down at the various things, all of which look big to him, at least in terms of stuff to put up your ass.
“Little stuck here Cas,”
“The blue one.”
Dean plucks it up gingerly - a five inch long blue dildo that kind of flops as he picks it up, being made of jelly stuff. It’s about as thick as what he’d consider to be an average dick (a little smaller than his own) and thankfully it’s spotlessly clean.
He puts in down next to Castiel’s knee, and watches as the other guy picks it up, familiar with the weight and movement of it.
“I’m ready.” Castiel tells him.
“OK,” Dean goes to sit behind the camera, turns off the overhead lights, leaving only the small lamps around the room to add glow to Castiel’s skin.
Castiel slides the robe off and tosses it to one side. Then he’s totally naked, and when he bends back over, Dean notices a slight shininess to the crease of his ass. Lube, and lots of it folks.
He turns the camera on.
“You’re good to go.”
He tries not to watch, because…this isn’t really a show for him, Cas isn’t a hot chick, and he’s not doing anything that Dean would fork over credit card details to see. Still, he finds that he can’t quite examine the cracked plaster of the walls when Castiel is using his elegant fingers to toy with his own slick and well prepared ass, his breathing hitching with every touch.
As Dean is starting to work out, a hole is a hole, and a body is a body - certain things are just hard to look away from.
When Castiel picks up the blue dildo, squeezing it gently before reaching around and rubbing the smooth, bulbous head against himself, whimpering at the gentle touch, the promise of more to come, of being filled…Dean can’t stop staring.
As it slides into Castiel’s prepared body, Dean isn’t aware that his hips have twitched up from his seat, he’s not present in himself anymore - he’s living entirely through his eyes.
Castiel fucks himself effortlessly, not that he isn’t putting a lot of physical exertion, but it doesn’t look like a chore, or a performance. He’s lost in himself, in the needs of his body, and he doesn’t even seem to register the camera, or Dean for that matter.
Gradually, he becomes more vocal, his breathy sighs and whimpers becoming tight little groans, and frustrated grunts. His hips rock back, he twists the jelly shaft, thrusting long and deep, then quick and shallow. Still it doesn’t seem to be enough. Dean knows that feeling all too well, when you’re quite capable of getting yourself off but…the feel of a body clutching you, of hands on your sweating skin and muscles gripping you, and lips and breath…without all that, the act is harder to finish.
Castiel surprises him when he rolls over, arranging himself in a half sitting, half squatting position, the base of the fake cock pressed against the mattress beneath him, so he can lift himself and push down on it.
Dean realises that one of his hands has slipped from the camera, and has made its way from his knee to the inside of his thigh, creeping closer and closer to his crotch. He returns it to the tripod quickly, jolting the camera a little.
He clears his throat. “Nearly…uh…there?”
Castiel rolls his head back and lets out a sound of pure frustration, followed by a word. One word that makes Dean swallow unconsciously and wet his top lip.
“More.”
Castiel arches, one hand stroking his cock, the other supporting him as he rides the slippery blue dildo. Again he says, louder this time - “More…” moving faster, harder, but unable to reach the high point he’s chasing.
Dean has no idea what he’s meant to do.
Castiel mews desperately, falling forwards onto his front, fucking backwards onto where the dildo is pressed against a cushion, one hand working furiously under him as the other closes into a fist on the bare concrete at the end of the mattress. His whole body undulates, his eyes flutter closed and he rests his head on his extended forearm, sweaty hair clinging to his pale skin in black, silken strands.
“I can’t…” he bites his lip and shakes his head, opening his eyes to look pleadingly up from the floor, “please.” He asks, and Dean has no idea what he’s asking for, only that Castiel is desperate, and on the edge, and shaking with need.
And that his own palms are sweating.
Dean kneels down beside the camera, using one hand to keep it trained on Castiel. With the other, he reaches out, and cups Cas’s face, thumb pressing against his lips.
Castiel closes his eyes and whimpers, rolling over onto his back easily, limp and pliant, exposing the fist that’s still working his flushed cock, and the rubber shaft that’s buried in him to the hilt.
Dean reaches his hand down, leaning over Castiel, brushing his fingers over the other man’s skin clumsily, not sure what the hell he’s doing, or why.
Castiel leans up and, thanks to Dean’s position over him, is able to press his face, and his panting mouth, to the slip of skin exposed by Dean’s t-shirt as he stretches.
His body jerks, and he’s coming as Dean pulls away from him, startled.
By the time Castiel has pumped the last of his release out over his stomach, Dean is safely tucked away behind the camera, with the burning brush of Castiel’s mouth still evident on his stomach.
Castiel lies, supine and senseless on the makeshift bed, and Dean gets up, reluctantly picking up the discarded robe to cover the other man with. He’s a little freaked out by the part he played in those last seconds of crisis, and he pads up to the kitchen to collect himself.
He did not sign on for gay guys - let alone gay guys who touched him like that right before they came all over themselves. Some firm ground rules were definitely needed.
Still, when he was done worrying and picking restlessly at his shirt front in the kitchen, he made himself and Castiel a cup of coffee, and took them down into the basement, where Castiel was sound asleep.
Dean put the cup down next to the sleeping man, and nudged him.
Castiel blinked awake and looked up at him, tousled and bewildered.
“Coffee for you, Miss Anderson.”
“Who?” Castiel asked, throat scratchy from moaning.
“Pamela…know what? Never mind. Drink your coffee.”
Castiel obediently picked up the cup, then frowned, reached beneath the robe that covered him, and winced as he removed the blue dildo from himself, dropping it onto the bed beside him.
“Classy,” Dean said.
Castiel looked up at him, “You didn’t hire me to be classy.” He reminded him.
And Dean had to agree he had a point.