twentysomething

Title: In The Closet

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean/Cas, Shortskirts 'Verse (David/HGH)

Summary: ""Oh shit, oh shit," David moans, soft and despairing, and Trey doesn't have a smart ass comeback for that, because they're hiding inside Cas's bedroom closet, the downward-slanted blind of it giving them a narrow view of the neatly made bed and a pile of books and medical journals and a window with fluttering white linen curtains and if Dean finds them hiding in his boyfriend's fucking closet, they're dead."

Length: 2k- OR MORE.

Warnings: Sex, the ongoing cruelty of rageprufrock, terribly carried-out voyeurism

Notes: So, first things first- I DIDN'T WRITE THIS. rageprufrock did- I was cross at the office and what's some filthy pornography between friends, right? Well, everyone loved the guys on Dean's team. And so did she-- however, FYI, this was written before I wrote "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner," so it's not "canon-compliant" (WHAT THE FUCK AM I SAYING). And this is what happened. Before you even read it, I warn you- IT'S UNFINISHED. SHE IS FICKLE AND CAPRICIOUS AND A DICK. So, INSTEAD- I invite you to write your own ending in the comments- I'll probs give it a swing, too. (I especially encourage big rocks falling, everyone dying.) But it's pretty hilarious, so, go for it, kids. (As an apology, I wrote regicidaldwarf a comment ficlet here.)




Trey thinks that they could have avoided all of this shit if only Dean Winchester wasn't so goddamn psycho overprotective about his boyfriend.

"Trey, your elbow's in my nuts," David hisses, and then they make a bunch of shirts -- meticulously ironed and still inside their ecologically friendly dry cleaning bags -- rustle, and they freeze in total paranoia until the sudden silence, and then the faint murmur of voices from downstairs, through the opened door makes it evident that nobody's noticed.

Trey moves his elbow, but he says, "Oh, I thought it was some ball bearings, sorry dude," because he's obligated, and then before David can hit him or pitch a shitfit or say, pre-emptive, that he's not juicing, seriously, guys, he's not, really, the voices from downstairs start getting louder. And closer.

"Oh shit, oh shit," David moans, soft and despairing, and Trey doesn't have a smart ass comeback for that, because they're hiding inside Cas's bedroom closet, the downward-slanted blind of it giving them a narrow view of the neatly made bed and a pile of books and medical journals and a window with fluttering white linen curtains and if Dean finds them hiding in his boyfriend's fucking closet, they're dead.

"...not even what that was," Dean's saying, his voice gruff and embarrassed and still coming closer. Trey tries not to think about the major league scouts that have been circling LSU recently looking at Dean like David looks at HGH, or the way Dean is a terrifying fucking force of nature when he quits pitching for real and starts lobbing fastballs at people who've spent practice pissing him off.

There's a huffing noise neither of them recognize, and then Cas's voice, saying, "Dean, that girl was staring at you."

"Lots of people stare at me," Dean pleads, and Trey sort of wants to punch the guy in the balls.

"Not like that," Cas protests, and after a beat, says, "Well, okay, yes, like that, but I don't have to like it."

"Baby," Dean says, and it's his, Cas Why You Gotta Be Like That I'm Not Even That Sick Stop Sending Me Vitamin C And Shit It's Fucking Embarrassing voice, "I don't even know what you're talking about."

And then Trey can see their shadows in the doorway, then Cas's dark, sleepy tufts of hair and Dean's blond tips come into view, and Trey starts thinking up excuses, bullshit. Maybe if he takes off all his clothes and bursts outta there screaming and clawing at himself they'll think he's on a really fucking terrible acid trip; if it was just Dean, that might actually work. On the other hand, Cas will just freak out and make Dean stuff him into the Audi and take him to the ER and care for him until Trey's conscience climbs through his throat and punches him to death in the face.

Cas is wearing jeans and neat gray Chucks and a t-shirt that obviously doesn't belong to him -- unless the kid somehow and miraculously decided that he was all about the Ramones -- and flops down on the edge of his bed, folding his hands over his lap and turning his face up to frown at Dean.

"I've mostly come to terms with it," Cas declares, sounding martyred. "I'm working on being more mature, and zenlike, but it's a work in progress."

If Trey didn't know how often Dean got hit in the head during batting practice and shit, he'd think the guy was faking this level of stupidity, because Dean just looks perplexed as shit and says, "Baby, seriously -- she was asking me for directions."

"Oh, you mean the girl who works at the restaurant in New Orleans was asking you directions because your LSU t-shirt meant you probably knew," Cas says, serenely catty, and holy shit, Trey didn't even know people could do that. That's a level of skillz Tina had better never learn; she and Cas must never meet.

Dean looks tall and dumb and quiet for a long time. "Okay, so maybe she didn't need directions," he mutters, and then he sits down next to Cas on the bed, all sprawling arms and legs kicking out and instantly messy, and Trey seriously doesn't know why Cas can't do better for himself. Winchester's pretty and all -- like, if you like that sort of thing, which Trey thinks that David sort of does, from the way he's panting frantically against Trey's neck like a whore -- but Cas is a nice Jewish doctor who can make brownies. Like, there have to be better options for the guy other than white trash Impala-owning baseball players.

"It's okay," Cas tells him, sounding long-suffering. "You can't help being beautiful."

"Ugh, Cas, Jesus Christ," Dean moans, and flops onto his back, throwing an arm over his face. Trey's embarrassed on his fucking behalf. There's like, Dean being a homosexual who has homosexual sex with another homosexual but then there's just gay. "Come on."

And Cas just leans over him, so that all Trey can see is his back and his shoulder when Cas says, "You don't have to believe it -- I'll believe it enough for both of us," and Dean's face, shadowed over, and his voice a hush when he reaches up and touch's Castiel's cheek and says, "You do that, Cas."

Trey has a really terrible, horrible, nauseating sinking feeling this is shit's about to get real.

"But," Cas says back, "only I get to have you."

David lets out a weak groan, and Trey would punch him in the fucking stomach except that would probably give them away -- or, hey, maybe not, because fuck fuck fuck, Cas, who has always seemed so sweet and nice and easygoing and shit is going to town on Winchester's mouth.

Abstractly, ever since Dean one day off the cuff said, "What? Oh -- Cas is short for Castiel, not Cassandra, he's a -- " at which point nobody ever heard the rest of that sentence because all of their brains were melting in between their ears, they've known that Dean hits it with dudes. Well, a dude. But there's knowing that Dean Winchester makes it with the blue-eyed, sweet-faced kid who drives down from Tulane for all of their home games, and then there's fucking watching them gay paw at each other all over Castiel's white-sheeted bed. Trey feels like a fucking pervert.

"It's not like I was even interested in her," Dean tries to say, sliding his hands up the back of his own fucking Ramones t-shirt, and when Trey realizes how huge Winchester's hands look in the dip of Cas's back, he seriously wants to kill himself.

Cas -- oh my God, Trey thinks -- bites Winchester's lower lip.

"Dean," he suggests, and oh God oh God he slides his fingers under the waist of Winchester's jeans. "Stop talking."

"I'm just going to stop talking," Dean says, and Cas grins this totally filthy and terrifying and super filthy grin and says:

"Good."

Trey shuts his eyes in a fucking hurry, and he's glad for it, because the next thing he hears is the wet sound of kissing, the rustle of clothes, the soft groan of the bed. He hears Dean say, quiet and private and abso-fucking-lutely awful, "You know you're it for me, baby, right?" and Cas murmur back, "Sorry -- I don't know how not to be jealous over you."

And then Winchester laughs, and it's a dirty, dirty old man laugh, and like an absolute idiot, Trey opens his eyes to peek, and just in time, sees Cas, hovering low over Winchester's naked belly, Dean's hands in his hair. It's the most terrible thing that Trey has ever seen, and once, he watched an entire fucking movie about baby penguins being killed by seals.

"I'm not going to lie, Cas," Dean tells him, voice rough, "I like it when you're jealous over me."

It's a pretty fucking impressive blush if Trey can see it from here, and he can definitely see it, which is cute for all of the 14 seconds before hear hears the buttons of Winchester's fucking button-fly jeans being undone and -- fuck Trey's motherfucking life -- Cas pulls Dean's dick out of his pants and sucks it down like a French prostitute.

"Fuck," Dean moans, and it comes out like a plea, hands tightening in Castiel's dark hair, head tipped back. "Cas -- I -- " and then he chokes off when Cas's cheeks hollow, when opens his blue eyes slow and sinks down another two inches on Winchester's dick, humming around it like a God damn whore.

"Baby," Dean tries again, and then Cas pulls up, pulls his mouth away with a wet and dirty pop, and he says, lips brushing against the head of Winchester's dick, "Just say it -- I love it," and Trey starts wondering if there's like a tie in this closet he can hang himself with. Behind him, he can hear David making whimpering, trapped-animal noises.

"God," Winchester exhales, shaky and groaning, and Cas dives right the fuck back in, mouth spit-wet and sloppy red already and pursed sweet and tight, opening like a bud around the head of Dean's dick as he slides down slowly, eyes still wide-open and staring up and Trey pops a stiffie so fast he almost hears his fucking jeans snap. "I love fucking your mouth, Cas."

And then Trey feels really sorry for Dean, because even though he's getting the blowjob and Trey is the one stuck in the fucking closet torn between terror and super fucking uncomfortable arousal, Cas is the one that pulls off Dean's cock -- again -- and asks, husky and inviting, "Yeah?"

Dean groans. "You -- yes, Jesus, I love fucking your mouth," he babbles, and Cas goes down on him again, and oh my God. This is so nasty, Trey thinks in blind horror, because Dean just keeps talking, and every time he drops like, "whore mouth" and "so God damn wet" and "yeah, take it, suck it," Cas rewards him by sinking half an inch lower, until his lips are fucking vacuum sealed around the base, nosing the dark hair down there and moaning.

And then Dean is tugging at Cas's hair, saying, "Baby, baby," and Cas pulls off with a slick, filthy-wet pop, lips spit-shiny and bruised, and even from the fucking closet Trey can see how glazed and fucked-out Castiel already looks.

"I don't want you to come in my mouth," Cas says, and after pause, adds, "This time."

Behind him, David makes a sobbing noise that Trey mentally echoes, but at this point he's kind of scared to breath. If he thinks about it, he really doubts that Winchester's looking for intruders in his boyfriend's apartment. Anyway -- Trey would not be looking for intruders in his girlfriend's apartment if said girlfriend's fingers were all slicked up with lube and he was wrapping a fist around Trey's dick, perching on Trey's hips and sliding the other behind herself.

Because that's totally what Castiel's doing. Sweet, blue-eyed, brownie-making Castiel who everybody thought was probably making Winchester save it for their fucking wedding night and would keep his bloody towel in his hope chest .

Instead he makes some whining, illegal noise in the back of his throat, fucking himself open on three fingers while Winchester's got his hands on Castiel's hips, gripping hard enough to leave bruises, probably, and mesmerized. Trey doesn't really blame him, except that he does, and he hates them, because he is stuck in the fucking closet watching their pitcher, well, pitch, and it's fucking awful, and so violently, graphically gay, and oh my God, Trey doesn't want to see Castiel -- he's never going to be able to eat this kid's brownies again, because now all his desserts have this whole other assfucky connotation that Trey doesn't need in his life -- slide down on Dean's dick moaning like he's been dying for it.