All the Boys knew that they were fucking.
The wives did, too, and the boys who actually worked in the church did, and even most of the kids knew, or at least the ones who were old enough to know about that sort of thing. But they all knew that the younger Winchester was fucking the second son of the head pastor of their church.
And probably vice versa, but only a handful of people knew if that rumor was actually true.
Anyway, the point is that everyone knew, but no one ever did anything about it. Honestly, most of the real Boys thought that the Winchesters were lucky that Castiel had taken a liking to them, lucky that Michael, out of the goodness of his heart, welcomed them with open arms and good scotch like his father would have done, lucky that they were even alive. The Winchesters weren't blood family, they weren't actually Boys, when it came down to it. They were just lucky kids who hung around the church.
So it wasn't right that this Sam Winchester kid was sleeping with Lucifer Shurley, one of the Boys. It wasn't right that Lucifer spoiled Winchester, either; that he gave the kid the best wine and cognac and all the Prada they could afford. It definitely wasn't right that they would sneak off while it was their week to work in the church to kiss in the confession room, or that Lucifer would take the kid to dinner, then bring him home to silk sheets and, honestly, leather and lingerie, or a long, hot shower, or some other manner of-
Anyways.
Everyone knew that they were fucking. But no one ever did anything about it.
You don't just screw with a guy named Lucifer and expect nothing bad to happen, after all
