The tall, slender, but powerfully built dirty-blonde shifts on the balls of his feet, nervously twisting his fingers deep in the insides of his pockets and looking down at the stained carpet. He makes a half-hearted attempt to breathe normally, but can't quite remember how. Instead, it's a jagged inhale, his lungs not filling nearly enough to soothe the spinning and his head and slow the furious pounding of his heart in his chest. If he thought he was scared before, that was nothing compared to how he feels now – completely and totally terrified.
It hadn't taken long to land the job, though he hadn't expected it to. He sent in his resume, which consisted of next to nothing, but did include a picture, and he picked a good one that he knew would have them drooling, tripping over themselves to get a hold of him. He cringes thinking of all the times he had been told that he has the perfect 'blowjob lips'. Definitely not something he's fond of. But he guesses they did come in handy – just this once.
This isn't something he is proud of, and it is in no way something that he has any desire to do. But it's necessary, for Sam's sake. His brother wants to go to college, maybe even law school after that, and his daytime job as a mechanic just isn't going to cut it. He barely makes enough to get them by, much less to put a decent amount into savings, and he only has four more years to get enough money together before it's time for Sam to go. He's not about to crush his little brother's spirits by telling him that he can't afford to follow his dreams.
Glancing up at the ceiling, he sucks in a sharp breath and holds it in, feeling the musty air swirl around and settle into his lungs. He notices the violent beating in his chest becoming dangerously erratic. God forbid he have a heart attack and die of fear before it even starts.
Pull yourself together, man, he scolds himself, finally releasing the breath he had trapped inside. Don't screw this up. Sammy needs you.
One time. One time, and that's it. No long-term contracts, no open-ended agreements, no future plans, period. That was what the guy on the phone had promised him, and he clings to it like it's a life preserver and he's drowning. It means that if he doesn't like it, he doesn't have to come back. He can get it over with, forget it, and move on. And that is exactly what he wants to do.
The pay is good. Actually, it's great. And they said if they were impressed, he would get a small bonus, because it's his first time in the business. So he plans on putting his everything into this, making the most of the situation and getting the most he can out of it. He had hoped never to resort to something like this for money. Once his dad was gone, he promised himself to make an honest, respectable living and be a good example for Sam. But now, he has no choice, and the only way he's even gotten this far is by constantly reminding himself that this is all for his little brother's future.
He hears footsteps approaching through the thin walls and straightens himself up, taking in a deep breath to steady himself before the interview. "It's just a formality," they had said. "Right after the interview we'll probably go ahead and get on with it. Arrive on time, and be prepared, with what we told you and whatever else you need."
Whatever else he needs. Right. He needs a break, he needs a good night's sleep, he needs to stop worrying incessantly about his younger brother and how this will reflect on the only family he has left if anyone finds out. But all of that is hopelessly out of his price range right now, so instead he just has a bottle of cheap lube and a couple condoms stowed away in his pocket.
Shifting again to get comfortable in the rough material of his jeans, he wishes he had been allowed to wear underwear. He rolls his shoulders to relax the muscles, thankful for the oversized sweatshirt he is wearing. The office is freezing cold, and he'd be an icicle if he was only covered by the thin wifebeater they had requested he wear. They told him that it would be the easiest thing for the other boy to tug off.
The other boy. They haven't met yet – he doesn't even know his name. Isn't sure he wants to. He doesn't want to be personally invested in this in any way. Doesn't want to have any connections, any lingering memories, anything to tie him back to this. Just wants to get it over with and forget about it.
There's another thing, too: he's not all that experienced with guys. He doesn't have any particular qualms about being with another boy – hell, he's gotten into bed with more than one in the past – it's just that he's not sure a couple mediocre blow-jobs make him all that qualified for this. "That's fine," they told him, "we'll coach you through it. It'll be easy."
He almost laughed out loud at that. Easy? Nothing about this is easy for him. He's terrified, ashamed, breathless with anxiety, and he hates himself for it. But this is for Sam. Anything for Sammy.
The footsteps get closer and then the door swings open, creaking on its crooked hinges. A dark-haired man steps inside the office, angular body clad in a pair of skinny jeans and a black t-shirt. His hair is slicked back with grease and the smile he flashes at his interviewee reveals a set of straight, albeit rather yellow, teeth. With a confident stride accentuated by the slight squeak of his shiny boots, he marches up and takes the boy's hand in a firm shake.
"You must be Dean," he greets him. "I'm Al, head director around here. Good to meet you. Here, take a seat," he adds, nodding at the rickety folding chair set up in front of the wooden desk he tucks himself behind. Dean sits down on the chair and watches with wide, nervous eyes as Al rummages through the mess of papers littering the desk, clicking his tongue when he pulls out the file he's looking for.
"Dean Winchester," he states, scanning the resumé quickly. "My oh my, aren't you something. Just turned eighteen, eh?" At Dean's small nod he continues, "It's our lucky day, then. Mechanic, I see... Bet you would look good covered in grease, eh? Unfortunately that's not what we had planned for you today, but we could always keep it as an option for later. It's your first time, wouldn't want to put too much pressure on you. We've got a great setup for today, just you wait." He clicks his tongue again, "But first – anything you want us to know? Special accommodations? We're very concerned about our actors here, you know. Just say the word and we'll do our best to keep you comfy. No? Alright then, on to the good stuff. Show me what you've got."
Dean digs into his pocket, producing the bottle of lube and the condoms and setting them down on the edge of the desk.
Al laughs, a throaty sound that for some reason sends a chill down the boy's spine. "No, no, sweetcheeks, I mean the real goods. Get up and strip."
"Now?" Dean asks, voice trembling with undisguised terror.
The strange laugh makes him shiver again, and Al quirks up an amused eyebrow. "Yes, now. Gotta make sure you won't disappoint before we send you out on set, gorgeous."
With a loud swallow, Dean stands on shaking legs and fumbles with his hoodie, tugging it off clumsily and placing it over the back of the chair before peeling off the wifebeater as well. He toes out of his work boots, avoiding Al's intense gaze, then finally shucks off the denim that had been the final barrier between him and complete exposure.
An approving purring sound, almost a low growl, escapes from Al's throat. "That's quite a package you got there."
Dean blushes furiously, holding his arms tight to his sides, feeling awkward and unsure of what to do or say. The cool air between his legs is an unrelenting reminder of how utterly naked he is in front of this man he barely knows. Yeah, his size is impressive – he doesn't have a reputation as a killer ladies' man for nothing. But standing before Al, this unfamiliar face enjoying the view far too much for his comfort, he feels nothing like he usually does when showing off to his latest conquest. Right now, he feels completely and totally violated. And the camera isn't even rolling yet.
"Well," Al says, somewhat reluctantly, "guess that's settled. You can get dressed again, if you want."
Dean lets out a sigh of relief and scrambles to cover himself, yanking the jeans over his hips and pulling the shirt over his head so hastily, he doesn't even notice that it's inside out. He lets out a shallow cough and asks, "Is there, uh, anything else?"
"A quick brief on the scene, and what we expect from you. And you have to meet your partner, of course. I think I know just the one for you. Oh, you'll love him." Despite the reassurance, Dean is more terrified than ever. He watches with green eyes as big as saucers while Al brings the phone on the desk to his ear and speaks into it cheerily. "He's perfect, Naomi, he's just what we thought... Yes, I think... Excellent. Send him in, then." Flashing another cigarette-stained smile, he looks up at Dean and hangs up the phone before standing and moving over to the door. A loud knock sounds just as he closes his bent fingers around the doorknob. "Dean, I'd like you to meet your scene partner, Castiel."
The door swings open to reveal a tan, rosy-cheeked boy with a dark mop of unruly hair and a chest and stomach that look as if they're carved out of marble, unblemished skin showing through the unbuttoned shirt that hangs off his shoulders. The waistband of a pair of bleached-white boxer briefs peeks out over the top of the threadbare jeans slung low over his hips. His feet are bare – like Dean's, seeing as he hasn't had the chance to put his boots back on yet – and the defined line where biscuit-brown skin turns into the pale underside of his foot is clearly visible. Dean wonders if the tan is fake for a brief moment, until he gets distracted by a flash of electric blue, the color of sea glass reflecting a cloudless sky on a sunny day. Those sparkling eyes are mesmerizing, piercing through him, giving him a quick once-over before locking onto his own, staring so deeply it feels as though he can see into Dean's very soul. Castiel. He decides that the exotic name is fitting for this gorgeous, raw creature standing before him.
After what feels like an eternity of the two boys just studying one another in silence, Castiel steps forward confidently and offers his hand. "Nice to meet you," he rumbles, in a voice unusually low for a boy who looks so young.
It takes Dean's brain a second to process the words, but he finally jerks into motion and grips the hand outstretched toward him, shaking it firmly and somehow managing to speak without stuttering. "Same to you. I'm Dean." He drags his eyes away from the cerulean orbs still gazing not at, but through him, and notices the plump, pink lips glistening with what he suspects is chapstick. They look soft and inviting, and Dean is beginning to think that this may not be completely terrible after all.
Al interrupts the silent conversation going on between the two boys – their body language speaking volumes and filling the room with palpable tension – by clearing his throat and clapping his hands together. "Now that we know one another, let's get down to business, shall we?" He settles back behind the desk and unearths another page from the tangled mess of paperwork.
As Al briefs them on the scene, Dean finds himself just a little distracted by the handsome older boy flitting in and out of his peripheral vision. Castiel's thumbs are tucked into the back pockets of his jeans, and even though they are loose and sagging, there is no mistaking the full, rounded ass hiding beneath that faded denim. A small, pink tongue darts out from between those sinful lips and licks an arc over the lower one – and Dean realizes that maybe that slight shine isn't chapstick, but saliva, and he finds it maybe a little hotter than he should.
That's also when he notices that his dick is twitching with interest between his legs. He had worried about being too nervous or self-conscious to get it up for the scene. However, that seems to have been a needless concern; this Castiel boy is getting him excited without even doing anything, and that's saying something, because Dean Winchester is no easy lay. Despite his reputation as something of a manwhore, he's picky. It just happens that pretty much everywhere he goes he can find pretty girls and handsome guys eager to please him – and really, who can blame them?
Dean knows he's an attractive guy, uses it to his advantage a little too often to be fair, and he can see that his stellar genes aren't failing him now. Castiel seems just as on edge as he is, and the interest was plain as day on that cherubic face as soon as they laid eyes on one another. It isn't that they had an 'instant spark' or anything – Dean would be the first to admit that he doesn't believe in that stupid rom-com crap – it's just that they're both good looking guys, and there's a mutual attraction. Which is good, considering that Al is currently describing how they're going to fuck in graphic detail.
"Just remember to follow Castiel's lead and it'll be perfect," the director is saying when Dean finally tunes back in.
"I'll guide you through it," the older boy agrees. "It'll be easier than you think. You might even have a good time," he adds with a wink.
Dean nods lamely, hardly reassured by Castiel's words, but at the same time he does feel a sort of mindless trust with this guy he's known for all of five minutes. Just the way he speaks, and the way he extends a comforting arm to rest on his shoulder, and the way the corners of his perfect, sensual lips turn up in a sincere smile. It's not how he expected a pornstar to act at all.
Al clicks his tongue again – a sound quickly starting to grate on Dean's nerves – and stands to usher them out of the room. "Down the hall to the left, Castiel will show you. Go on in, get comfortable, I'll be there with tech in just a moment."
Heart starting to pick up pace again, Dean follows the sway of Castiel's hips out of the office, down the cramped, dim hallway with a low ceiling, and into a small rectangular room with a tan couch – one of the only pieces of furniture in the whole place lacking those suspicious discolored stains, surprisingly – and a small side table. Castiel marches over and sprawls out on the couch, tucking his arms behind his head and nodding for Dean to come sit as well, which he does after setting the lube and condoms down on the table. He had grabbed his boots and sweatshirt off the floor of the office before he left and he starts to put them on but Castiel reaches over and snatches them out of his hands, chucking them across the room.
"You won't need those," he explains with a twinkle in his eye. "I'll just rip 'em off again."
"Oh," Dean murmurs. He takes a deep breath and clasps his hands over his lap.
"Don't be so nervous," Castiel chuckles. "I mean, you've been with guys before, right?"
"Uh, yeah," Dean says sheepishly, "but not like... you know..." he gestures vaguely with his hands, "everything."
The blue-eyed boy nods in understanding. "It's cool, I'm bottoming anyway. It's a lot like being with a girl. Well, so I've heard," he adds with a smirk. "I wouldn't know."
"You've never...?" Dean finally looks up and makes eye contact with his scene partner.
"Nah," Castiel grins. "I prefer dick."
In spite of himself, Dean laughs – almost more of a giggle, but it's something. He can tell that the ice is breaking, that Castiel is making him more comfortable, and he's immensely grateful for that. His shoulders relax the tiniest bit, and he knows Castiel sees it, because those electric blue eyes light up a little more. He opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it is, it gets cut off by the arrival of the camera guys and Al.
"Over there," the director says to the two men holding heavy, expensive looking cameras. They make their way over to the far corner of the room while Al messes with the lighting, brightening the set up so much that Dean squints and blinks rapidly until his eyes adjust.
"Ready, boys?" Al claps his hands again. He shuts the door and flicks the switch that turns on the little red light outside of the room – the signal for 'Do Not Disturb'. "We're all set, on your cue, guys."
Dean glances nervously at the cameras trained on the two boys from different angles. His breath goes back to being uneven and his palms start to sweat.
Castiel slides closer, getting right up in his personal space. "Don't worry about the cameras," he whispers. "Just focus on me, okay?"
Dean nods, shifting to accommodate Castiel, who spins around to lay on his back with his dark-haired head on Dean's lap. One gentle hand reaches up to caress the back of his neck and the other pulls Dean's own hand over to rest on Castiel's chest, laid bare by the shirt that has fallen open in his new horizontal position.
"Just focus on me," Castiel repeats, staring up into Dean's golden-green eyes.
"And... we're rolling," Al tells them, but to Dean, it sounds far away, like he's underwater. He may be taking the 'just focus on me' thing a little too far, but he doesn't care, because it's helping. When the light pressure on the back of his neck guides him down to hover over Castiel's waiting lips, he offers no resistance, and closes the remaining distance of his own accord.
Keeping pace with the soft, sensual slide of Castiel's lips, he almost lets a wanton moan escape at the feel of that tiniest bit of skin against skin for the first time. He manages to catch it and hold it back, but is way too concentrated to feel embarrassed about it anyway. Instead, he just leans into it more, parting his lips to accept Castiel's questing tongue.
From his position resting on Dean's lap, the blue-eyed boy has to notice Dean's growing erection – and he does, pulling away from the kiss to roll toward the camera and rub at the bulge in the younger boy's jeans. Dean watches, captivated, as Castiel's pink tongue emerges and licks at the shape of his cock through the denim. He turns his head and locks eyes with Dean for a split second before he pulls back to pop the button of the jeans and tug down the zipper, setting Dean's trapped erection free and immediately lapping at the underside, dragging his lips and teeth across the overly sensitive skin. While one hand grips the base of Dean's cock, the other alternates between grabbing at Dean's shirt and rubbing soothing circles into his chest.
Dean's own hands are clenched by his sides, trying to find purchase in the upholstery of the couch, but failing. When Castiel surrounds his crown in the wet heat of his perfect mouth, he instinctively reaches out to thread his fingers through the dark, messy hair bobbing slowly up and down over his crotch, trying to remember if this is allowed but not really caring either way. Head thrown back in pleasure, he becomes aware of his balls being gently tugged and squeezed, and then feels the tip of his cock graze the back of Castiel's throat. It's almost too good, and he knows he has to last, so he pulls gently at the collar of Castiel's button down, urging him up onto his knees on the couch where he then slides the wrinkled fabric off Castiel's shoulders and tosses it onto the floor. He goes for his own shirt, barely managing to yank it over his head before the older boy is on him again, sucking down his erection, muscles of his decidedly-naturally-tanned back rippling as he arches and puts his ass up in the air.
Dean reaches over and splays his fingers out on Castiel's round asscheek, massaging it tenderly with the heel of his palm, glancing sideways at the camera trained on his crotch. The wet sucking noises Castiel is making should be illegal because they're doing unimaginable things to his libido, despite the camera that is slowly encroaching on his space, getting a better view of the swollen lips sealed around the head of his cock.
The lithe body kneeling beside him slowly climbs down onto the ground, never once relinquishing the hold he has on Dean's dick. From his new position, crouched between the V of Dean's muscled thighs, Castiel can look up into those bright green eyes and see the effects his ministrations are having on Dean without blocking anything from the cameras. Their eye contact seems to slow time down to a standstill, to drown out everything outside of their self-contained world. Dean finds himself entranced by Castiel's lust-dilated pupils and is shocked by the raw, animalistic hunger he sees clawing its way up and out of the older boy through those jet-black circles.
Even as Castiel crawls up onto Dean's lap, peppering kisses on his bare abdomen as he goes, even as he captures Dean's lips in a fiery kiss, grinding down roughly onto his thigh, Castiel is taking things slowly, maintaining his composure – though whether this is for the audience's benefit or his own, Dean doesn't know. He also doesn't know when Castiel's jeans were undone; wouldn't even notice it except for the fact that the hard length rubbing up against his own is only clad in a thin layer of white cotton. But even that thought is pushed to somewhere in the back of his mind, because all he can focus on at the moment is the tongue tracing the contours of his lips, his jaw, his earlobe, the teeth nipping at his neck, the hands trailing up and down his chest and holding tight to the short spiky hair on his head. Castiel is all over him, everywhere at once. It's overwhelmingly hot, and Dean gets so caught up in it that he forgets he's supposed to be performing, too.
However, Castiel's hands circling around his wrists and pulling them around to his ass is a more-than-sufficient reminder and he starts to consciously react to the older boy's attention, giving back as good as he gets. He curls his fingers and slips them underneath Castiel's underwear, loving the bare skin hot on his palm, pushing the older boy down as he rolls his hips upward, and he gets a sort of satisfaction when he notices Castiel's breathing getting a little heavier. Feeling bolder, Dean tries to roll Castiel's jeans and underwear down his legs, and when they get stuck over his thighs he hurries to flip the other boy over onto his back and drag the denim past his ankles, dropping it carelessly to the floor. When he looks back up, there is a twinkle in Castiel's eyes, and his lips quirk up in a smile as he beckons Dean in for another kiss, confidently twining their tongues together.
Dean's awareness of the cameras has been fading in and out, but suddenly it hits full force. A black lens pushes its way into his peripheral vision and the younger boy stops his fingers where they were dragging along the skin between Castiel's leg and hip, too self-conscious to go further, even though he knows he has unspoken permission. Hell, he's getting paid to touch, but Castiel is the one who has to take the initiative and press Dean's hand firmly down on his erection. The dirty-blonde settles hesitantly in between Castiel's legs, which wrap loosely around his waist as he begins to plant soft kisses on the browned neck and chest stretched out beneath him. He can see faint sun-spots – not a fake tan, then, he thinks to himself, brushing his lips over a nipple.
Dean's heart starts to pick up pace again as he remembers what he's supposed to do next. Not that he isn't looking forward to it, because he can't think of a time where he was more eager to get his mouth on someone else's cock – but Castiel looked like such a pro on his knees and Dean highly doubts that he'll look as good. It's for Sam, he reminds himself, before quickly trying to push all thoughts of his brother out of his head. That's the last person he should be thinking about right now, in the middle of all this.
Without looking up at those blue eyes that he just knows are staring at the top of his skull, Dean tentatively licks the head of Castiel's dick. He didn't notice that Castiel was completely smooth and hairless until now, and god, it feels like silk against his lips. The muscles of the other boy's body tense up in surprise as he tongues the leaking slit and hears a soft gasp of pleasure, feels gentle fingers wind into his short hair and then release, as if trying to resist the urge to pull on it, although Dean wouldn't mind if he did. He finds it easy to get lost in the feeling of sucking another guy off, and strangely feels more in his element now than before, because with his eyes closed, hearing the muffled groans above him, he can pretend that he's anywhere but here, anywhere but surrounded by these cameras filming his every move.
He doesn't know how long he's been at it before he sucks especially hard on the crown of Castiel's cock and is rewarded with a quiet, "Fuck!" Strong hands grip his shoulders and yank him up, barely allowing him to breathe before lips are crashing against his, demanding his air.
"You want to fuck me?" Castiel breathes almost silently into the ear hidden from the cameras, and Dean's eyes snap open. Of course he does, he shouldn't even dignify that stupid question with an answer, but he nods nervously and then the older boy is suddenly turned around, bracing himself on all fours, rounded ass lifted into the air.
Dean looks around frantically at Al, the cameramen, and back to Castiel, blinking in the harsh lighting, struggling to maintain his control. "Do you... do I need..."
"Just a condom," Al says from somewhere back in the corner of the room.
"I'm ready," Castiel reassures him, shaking his hips as if to emphasize his words.
It's all moving too quickly, but Dean isn't complaining, because he wants this to be over as fast as possible. Struggling for control of his shaking hands, he swallows and nods again, reaching for one of the foil packets from the side table and ripping it open carefully, rolling the latex onto his cock. Just to be safe, he grabs the bottle of lube that he brought with him and pours some onto his erection before settling his hands on Castiel's hips, fighting his most recent bout of nerves. This is a boy he's about to push into – this is his first time being inside another guy, and it's overwhelming. Deep breath. Remember, this is for Sam. Shit – bad idea. Don't think about Sam.
"C'mon, Dean," the blue-eyed boy whispers, glancing up over his shoulder.
Dean is powerless to resist. He steadies himself and begins to push in to the tight hole being presented to him. Castiel's head immediately drops to hang low between his arms, and Dean can feel his partner's muscles pulsing, but not seizing up in pain like he'd worried about. He relaxes slightly and pushes further, biting back a hearty moan as the hot pressure grows around his dick. It's tighter than anything he's felt before – being inside a girl can't even compare to how he feels right now. He doesn't go all the way, stopping with about an inch separating the smooth skin of Castiel's cheeks from his hips, resting for a moment and waiting for the go-ahead, which he receives after only a few agonizing seconds. It's just an almost imperceptible nod of dark hair, but it's all he needs, and he's off, creating delicious friction with the grind of his hips, using the muscles in his thighs and tightening his gluts in a moment of self-consciousness when he notices a camera moving around to capture the view from behind.
When he manages to open his eyes, watching the mechanical pistoning of his dick in and out of Castiel's hole, he catches sight of the older boy stroking himself in time with his thrusts and he gets the urge to wrap himself around Castiel's back, kiss at his neck, tilt his head to press their lips together, watch those blue eyes fall closed in pleasure – but he's not allowed. He's not allowed to obscure anything from the camera – in fact, he's got to arch backward so that an intrusive lens can get a good shot of their physical connection, something that should be private, something that should be intimate, but no, he can't let himself think like that because this isn't two people having sex, this is two people making porn, for other people to watch –
"Dean," Castiel gasps, effectively bringing him out of his thoughts. "Dean, wait, let me –"
He knows what comes next, so he slips out briefly to allow the older boy to push him down on his back, straddle his thighs, and he's not the one being filled but without that perfect friction he just feels so empty – but then Castiel is kissing him, sinking down onto his cock and he can't think at all anymore because Castiel is fucking riding him, rolling his hips sinfully, throwing his head back so that he's looking up at the ceiling and his veins are standing out, twitching as he breathes, and it's the most god-like thing Dean has ever seen, he might just have to rethink his whole 'church is for suckers' attitude.
He reaches out with one arm to touch, to make sure it's real – not just one thing in particular but anywhere, everything – but Castiel grabs his wrists and pins them down over his head in one smooth move, knocking the breath out of the younger boy and staring down at him with a feral fierceness. He pounces, trailing over Dean's lips with his tongue, slipping in and out of his mouth in a type of dance that leaves Dean's mind reeling when he suddenly disappears, arching his back and holding onto Dean's thighs with both hands as he rocks back and forth.
"Gonna... fuck, Dean, gonna come..." he gasps, and Dean feels himself getting dangerously close to the edge as well. "Just... yeah, fuck, like that... don't stop, don't stop, gonna make me –"
Castiel's body seizes up, all the muscles going taut at once, and he's splayed out in the air like an ancient Greek sculpture, hips jerking only slightly as he spills onto Dean's stomach, thick streams of white that Dean watches in amazement because Castiel is coming untouched, from only Dean's cock in his ass, and if that's not the single hottest thing he's ever witnessed then he doesn't know what is.
When Castiel is done, trembling, he gingerly lifts himself off of Dean's cock and settles between his thighs, clouded blue eyes looking up at his partner with determination. He yanks the condom off unceremoniously and wraps his long fingers around the base of Dean's dick, jerking him quick and hard.
"Come on, Dean," he whispers, barely audible. And that's all it takes – Dean empties out on his own belly, legs curled around Castiel, fists tight in the couch upholstery, mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy.
It feels like hours that he's riding the high, and when he finally gets his bearings its to the sound of Al calling out "Cut!" and a whistle from one of the cameramen. He blinks back into the world and Castiel comes into focus, those blue orbs twinkling in his direction.
"Not bad," he murmurs quietly and with a smile, still sounding breathless. "You sure you've never done this before?"
"That was something else, boys," Al interrupts with a click of his tongue. "Really, what a show. I can't imagine the profit we'll be making off of this one. Some of your best work, Castiel."
"Thanks, Al," the older boy replies, still smiling slightly at Dean. He stands and makes quick work of pulling on his clothes, which sends a pang of disappointment through Dean's chest.
"Dean," the director says in a sickly sweet voice, ignoring his scene partner and standing right over him, still splayed out on the couch like something to be had for dessert, "you're sure you don't want to make this a regular thing? I'm telling you, sweetcheeks, with work like that, there could be quite a lot of hot cash in your future."
It's all happening so fast, and the Winchester's mind might still be a little fogged and distracted by Castiel pulling his arms through his shirt, but he is quick to answer, "No, sir. Thank you."
Al clicks his tongue, which is really starting to grate on Dean's nerves, and turns away. "Suit yourself. Alright boys, we're done in here. Let's get that footage where it needs to be, shall we?"
As he and the cameramen exit the room, Castiel approaches Dean with clothes in hand. "Here. Figured you'd want these."
"Thanks," Dean breathes, sitting up to grab his jeans and pull them on before he remembers the mess on his stomach. "Hey, is there anything I can –"
"Yeah," Castiel cuts him off, kneeling down, still with that glint in his eyes, "I got it."
And Dean doesn't even have time to say anything in return before he's being pushed backwards and that pink tongue is on him again, licking up and down his chest, lips suckling gently beneath his pecs and along his abs. His cock twitches bravely, but it's no use – he's more spent than he's been in years. Castiel surges up to kiss him once again before sitting back on his heels and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Shit," Dean whispers. There weren't even any cameras in the room this time. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to," the older boy says with a wink, deep voice even scratchier than Dean remembers it. "Since I guess we won't be seeing each other around anytime soon. It was nice meeting you, though." A strong hand gently squeezes Dean's knee, and then Castiel stands and turns for the door. "Goodbye, Dean."
"B-bye," Dean stammers, but Castiel is already gone.