Title – Investigating Dean (crack)
Verse – The –ING Dean 'Verse
Rating – M
Pairing – Dean/Castiel
Word Count – 2,300
Disclaimer – I own nothing but a dance studio… and a dream!
Spoiler – See, there's this angel called Cas.
Warnings – Crack. And a blowjob.
Summary- Dean and Cas head out to question the local 5.0 about a possible vampire nest in Winchester, VA. They get stuck in a storm… Cas is impatient.
A/N—While it is not necessary to read the others in the –Ing Dean 'Verse, you'd probably enjoy it a bit more. Last week, I begged for a nice visual to get me through my workday. Gwennie3579 took the task to hand, so blame her for this. Also, for those of you not in the know, Special Agent Oso is a Playhouse Disney character. You can see him (and his startling resemblance to Cas) with a quick google search.
"I'm Agent Plant," Dean flipped his ID case open to show his perfectly forged FBI badge. He jerked his head toward his partner. "This is my partner, Special Agent Oso."
Castiel mimicked Dean's cool flick of the wrist and yes the badge was right side up. After dozens of masquerades like this one, Cas' success rate at badge flipping still hovered around fifty percent. His eyes slid to Dean's face, but his boyfriend kept his expression neutral… save one twitch of his right eyebrow. Cas used his angelic self-control to contain his satisfied grin.
They were there, in Winchester, Virginia, population 2,300, to investigate a possible vampire nest. It amused Dean to no end that they landed in a place where every restaurant and store was named after him. Their duffels were currently parked in Room 6 at The Winchester Family Inn. Sam was ensconced in the Winchester City Library doing research on the founding Winchester fathers. Yep, Dean hadn't stopped grinning since they crossed the city limits sign.
Except for now, when he had his Super Serious FBI Face on.
"We need to see the body of Rupert Jorgensen," Dean said in his most authoritative voice. He tucked his badge back into his suit jacket and took a step forward, never doubting for a moment that the officer in front of him would fail to lead the way. "And the autopsy report."
"Sure thing," Officer Whatever His Name Was said and waved Agents Plant and Oso down a dimly lit hall. Three out of eight fluorescent bulbs had gone black, casting an uglier tint to the sea foam green walls. "I'll hook you up with the body and then fetch the report, that all right?"
"Peachy," Cas said. He didn't need any help in making his voice sound official. It just always did, what with him being the official felon of the Lord. Dean cast him a quick glare because FBI agents didn't say things like peachy.
"The body was dry when we found it," the officer remarked, pulling the slab with the very dead, very dehydrated Rupert Jorgensen on it. "Looked like a piece of homemade beef jerky, just like momma used to make."
Dean made a face and figured he'd never again choose a Slim Jim as his cross-country road trip snack. Thanks for that. Cas leaned down close to the body and inhaled deeply. God, Dean hated when he did that; it was creepy.
"The blood is gone," Cas said.
"Did you just sniff the body?" Officer Too Damn Observant asked.
"Special technique," Dean said and tucked his hands in his pockets. "Now, about that report?"
When they were alone, Dean slugged Cas in shoulder. "Dude," Dean sighed. "You have to wait until the humans are gone before you start bloodhounding a corpse. I've told you that."
"We need to finish this quickly," Cas said instead of apologizing. He pulled the sheet back over Rupert Jorgensen's face and tucked him cozily back in the body fridge. "I want to go back to the motel. Very soon."
"Oh yeah?" Dean grinned and shagged his eyebrows. "Any particular reason?"
"I need to check in on the Big Brother live feed," Cas said with the sarcastic deadpanned serious that Dean would never admit he found adorable as all fuck.
"Here's that report," Officer Cockblock said as he came through the swinging doors to the morgue. He handed it to Dean and stood back to watch the agents survey the dry medical lingo. The blond one made grunting sounds as he flipped through the pages while the clueless one leaned in close for a look. "The bridge is out, by the way. Just got word from the scanner. The gully's flooded from the storm."
Dean groaned and dropped his head back to shoot Heaven a scowl. Cas pressed his index fingers into his temples and rubbed angry circles, as if a perdition-sized headache had suddenly attacked him. So much for their quick getaway.
"You can use our interrogation room," Officer Sympathetic said by way of apology. "We have a couple of cots in the back you can use. It'll take a while for the water to recede."
"Great," Dean said with the enthusiasm of bag of kittens thrown in a lake. "Did you say a gully? You know what, whatever. Of course there's a gully."
The interrogation room was little more than a storage closet with a desk straight from the set of Mad Men. It was too large for the room, and paneled with wood on three sides. There were two chairs, one pushed under the desk and the other off to the side. Both were creaky and suspect. Dean took the sturdier of the two, the one on casters behind the desk.
"Well, sit tight," the officer said. "I'll send the detective in to talk to you soon as he gets back from lunch."
"Man," Dean laced his hands behind his head and stretched his legs. "This sucks."
"I agree," Cas sighed and dropped forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I wanted nothing more than to whammy you naked and enumerate sins in your flesh."
Dean choked on a laugh, his scalp bristling with a blush he fought hard to control. "Angel Express?"
"No," Cas shook his head. "That would take most of my strength. If I couldn't enumerate the si—"
"Yeah, yeah," Dean scowled. "They ever going to give you back your full mojo?"
"Only if I leave this earth forever," the angel said, leaving the and you implied and silent.
"Don't even think about it," Dean growled.
"As if I would," was the prompt reply, with an equally as prompt roll of the eyes.
They sat in silence for few minutes. Wind beat against exterior walls of the station and the reason for the flooded gully became apparent. A virtual monsoon was wailing around them. The wood panel of the interior walls shuddered and resettled. Dean looked over his shoulder to inspect the wavering—son of a bitch! He startled at the proximity of Cas who appeared a fingers width away.
"I think I know a good hold-you-over technique," Cas said, pulling the chair and Dean out from under the desk. Without no nevermind a'tall, he sank to his knees and spread his palms across the stunned blond's thighs.
"Whoa, there, cowboy," Dean scooted the wheely chair back, away from his damned tempting boyfriend. "Do you get that we're in a police station in a one horse town?"
"I do," Cas shimmied between the legs he loved. "The door is shut."
"And there's a two way mirror," Dean pointed out with a jerk of his head toward the offending piece of glass. "They're probably watching us right now, wondering if you lost your damn contact or something."
Cas sucked his lower lip into his mouth to ponder that bit of information. His wide blue eyes flickered back and forth between the mirror and Dean's tented pants. Then, with a grin that had been outlawed in thirty-two states, he shuffled backward, pulling Dean and his chair with him. He maneuvered until his body and the chair fit snugly under the Don Draper desk.
"Christ on toast," Dean chuckled as Cas' hands busied themselves with his fly. "You are a determined little angel, aren't you?"
"Mm-hmm," came the reply, along with the sharp tick-tick-tick of a zipper breaking open. It was the work of ten seconds to free Dean from the cheap suit pants and soft cotton boxers. It only took point-three seconds after that for Cas to wrap his lips firmly around Dean's cock.
"Ahhh!" Dean said with as much eloquence as he could muster.
Cas swiped his tongue under the ridge of the head, his signature move, a sure sign that he was preparing to swallow Dean down completely. Dean grabbed the arms of his chair and gritted his teeth to keep a loud, very un-FBI-like groan from escaping. He breathed through his nose and—
"Agent Plant," Officer Why The Fuck Was He There opened the door and ushered in Detective Worst Timing Ever. "This is Detective Dayes. He's blah blah blah blah."
Cas sucked hard and laughed silently, the vibrations hitting Dean in all the wrong places—given the situation he was in. He snuck his hand under the desk and tried to dislodge Cas.
"Where's your partner?"
"Uh…" Dean's eyes fluttered momentarily. His dick of a boyfriend was scraping his teeth gently along his length, setting his arm hairs on end. "Bathroom?"
"Well," Detective No He Was Not About To Sit In Cas' Chair said as he sat in Cas' chair. "We can get started without him. Here's the case file."
Dean retained enough presence of mind to take the manila folder and open it, even as his hands shook. He made a mental note, in mental Sharpie, to kick Cas' ass later.
"So does the FBI have a theory?"
"Christ," Dean said vehemently, slapping his palm on top of the file. Cas held Dean's hips steady and lowered himself until Dean's cock hit the back of his throat, and then swallowed him down.
"Christ?" Detective Startled jumped and gave him a strange look.
"Christ-i-ans," Dean clarified, drawing the word out, sounding like Christ-eee-ans. His vision blurred and the file crumpled in his fist. "We think the perp—Jesus Cas—perpetrator is a Christ-i-an."
"The perp is a Christian… a Christ-i-an named Jesus Cass?"
"That's the theory," Dean gasped. Stupid Cas and his stupid Hooveresque suction.
"And a Christ-i-an is…?" Officer Unhelpful asked from across the room.
Dean threaded his fingers through Cas' thick hair and tugged. Cas growled, making Dean's eyes roll out of focus.
"Get this man a sandwich," the detective snapped his fingers at the lowly uniformed officer. "His stomach is growling to beat the band."
Cas worked his nimble fingers up and wrapped around the base of Dean's cock, adding a new stimulant to Dean's already spinning head.
"Cas, Jesus," Dean said.
"Got it," Detective Oh Who Cares said, scribbling the name into his notepad. "Cass comma Jesus. Let me go run this, see if we get any hits. Sit tight."
"Oh yes," Dean moaned and bucked his hips up as far as Cas' firm grip allowed. "Soon… coming."
"Yeah," the detective said, scratching at his neck with a confused look at the twitchy FBI agent. "I'll come back soon."
"You little bitch," Dean said as soon as the door clicked shut, but it lost something in translation when followed by a breathy sigh. He pushed with his feet, rolling the chair and his dick attachment from under the desk. "Hurry up."
"Mm-hmm," Cas nodded his head and added a twist to his pumping hand. His tongue made lazy circles around the head of Dean's cock, alternating between feather light and firm strokes. Dean let his head fall back and his hands twist in Cas' hair, keeping him firmly in place. Just a few more… he could feel it building… pooling…
Cas inched back under the desk, pulling Dean and the chair along by the back of Dean's calves.
"We got a hit," Detective You've Got To Be Fucking Kidding Me said as the door opened.
It was too late. Dean couldn't stop it.
"Jesus Fucking… Cas!" Dean yelled, trying to keep his face from screwing up as he came down Cas' throat.
"Um," the detective cleared his throat and tapped a finger against the papers in his hand. "Right. There's a Jesus F. Cass—Frederick, not Fucking, by the way—that has a rap sheet a mile long. Lives about an hour outside of town. Soon as the flood passes, we'll head out to pick him up."
"Mm-hmm," Dean agreed dumbly. His eyes blinked with post-orgasmic lethargy. Cas licked him lazily, cleaning away any traces of dribbled come. "Sounds great. Can I get a coffee?"
"Sure," Detective… was it Dayes?... backed out of the room.
Cas crawled from under the desk, a satisfied smirk splashed across his face. He plopped into the chair next to the desk and brushed at the dirt on his knees.
"Here you go," Detective Coffee Mate said, coming back into the room with two cups of coffee. He pushed one toward Dean, the other he turned to hand to Cas. His eyes took in the smaller man's swollen lips and gestured at his own lips. "You, uh, have something… there."
Dean's eyes darted to Cas' face. Oh. My. God. Cas had a small bead of come—obvious as a monkey in a tutu playing the freakin' accordion in Church—on his chin. He pressed the pad of his thumb in between his eyes, just over his nose, hoping against hope that he would not blush.
"Thanks," Cas said without missing a beat. He wiped the back of his hand over his chin and grinned at the detective, surprisingly unrepentant considering he was an angel that'd just delivered one hell of a blow job in a god damn police station.
The detective looked from Dean's pink cheeks to Cas' lips to Cas' smudged knees. His eyes rounded, pulling his heavy eyebrows to his receding hairline.
"You know," Detective Suddenly Clued In stammered and backed out of the room. "Let me check on those sandwiches."
As the door shut, Cas got to his feet and tugged Dean out of the wheely chair. "That was fun," he said. "My turn."
"Hell no," Dean protested. It wasn't his strongest argument, because he said it as he climbed under the desk.
From behind the two-way mirror, there was a sharp knock, then a heated whispered exchange. Cas glanced down at Dean, but he seemed too focused on Cas' belt to hear anything beyond the slip-swish of leather.
Cas grinned and winked at his reflection.
~~End~~
A/N: Reviews are made of Cas' blue eyes and Dean's winks.