okay! more warnings... Small smut bit, homophobic language/behavior, obnoxious juvenile rape jokes.
I headed to my sixth period class. Yeah, I think that's right. I felt a little dazed from being in such close proximity to Dean Winchester. Okay, that came out wrong—I felt dizzy from being so annoyed of him. Yeah, better.
I sat down in the same seat from yesterday and this time saw when Sam entered the classroom and held a hand up as a greeting. I nodded in response and pulled out my cell phone to update my Tiny Tower. Okay, so my life isn't that interesting these days.
A soft hand on my shoulder broke me out of my serious gaze on the screen. I already had sixty-four floors in less than two days—perks of being able to use an unknowing and uncaring brother's credit card without hesitation. I looked up and saw a pale face, dark green eyes and long, dark lashes. Thick red hair framed her angelic face and then she smiled at me.
"Hello," she said with a matching angelic voice.
"Hey," I said, trying my best to sound smooth but feeling at loss for words.
Her brows popped up and she smiled at me. "I'm Anna Milton, it's nice to finally meet you, Castiel," she said, a small strawberry hued blush spreading over her cheeks. I smirked.
"A pleasure," I added for consistency.
The bell rang and the class began. She stayed there next to me. Noticing this, the boy that sat there yesterday stalked off toward the back to take a seat there instead. It made me wonder what kind of character she was—whether she was to be feared or loved around here.
She started off with some icebreaker questions like why did I move—possibly the most redundant one in the book—and I answered with short and very careful answers, telling almost straight lies at different points.
"Yeah, my brother got custody of me after my parents died years ago," I told her.
"I'm so sorry to hear that," she responded almost immediately. She had a convinced concerned look in her eyes and I shrugged.
This conversation was starting out the usual way. This was the part where I say, "No, it's fine. Really. It was ages ago." Instead I didn't reply. The teacher gave us the rest of the period off to work on a worksheet with a partner. Sam approached me to ask if I wanted to be his partner, but when he looked past me, he looked a little shocked.
"Oh."
I turned and saw Anna smiling kindly at Sam. "I though I would be partners with him so I could get to know him a little better," she said and Sam made a strangled noise before turning away.
Awkward.
I didn't ask about it. My name was called for roll call and I hurried raised my hand before he could finish saying my name.
Unfortunately, Anna must've caught it and I blushed.
"Your real name is James?"
I shrugged the question off. "Yeah. But I," I shrugged again, "don't prefer to be called by it. My parents had named both my brothers and I after Angels, so I go by my middle name. It's also an Angel name, but it's nothing that anyone would know right off the bat—nothing from the bible or anything. It's different and I like it," I explained.
"Wow, that's kind of…" she sucked her lower lip into her mouth and I watched with unhitched attraction, "hot."
I blushed again, but this time I felt my lower stomach tighten which gave me the telltale revelation that my cock was waking up. I scoffed, shaking my leg. "It's, uh, it's what it is."
Glancing back at Sam now who was paired up with a short brunette boy, I caught his gaze, which he quickly lowered. Okay, weird. Anna looked down at her paper with a pleasant smile and I couldn't exactly decipher what was going on here.
Thankfully, class ended without too much flirting and I made eyes at Sam to meet him outside the classroom.
As I was getting up, Anna slipped me a small piece of paper before she suspended her expensive looking purse over her shoulder and winked at me as she walked out the door with a brunette girl. I grabbed my notebook and textbook (I get participation credit for bringing it I guess) and left the class to see Sam waiting for me outside.
"Hey," he said gruffly. His arms were crossed and he didn't have that light, puppy air of him like usual. It made me realize that it was something I must have done in class to piss him off.
"Why were you glaring at the back of my head earlier?" I asked bluntly.
Sam looked a little out of sorts but shrugged finally and directed me towards the exit of the building. "Like, dude, Anna's weird. I don't know how I feel about her," he said vaguely, rubbing the back of his shaggy head.
Anna? What did she do?
I pressed my lips together in a tight line as we were emerged in sunlight and on the main road. Students were getting picked up from parents or grabbing their bikes from the bike racks and heading home. It was kind of weird, as I never really had anyone there waiting for me directly after school to pick me up and take me home and have a snack waiting for me. Well, not since fourth grade in Russia where my dad would bring me my favourite blanket and hold me in his arms as he walked the three blocks it took to get to our home. Both parents were usually at work so even then things were extremely occasional.
Sam stopped walking and pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket. "Hey. My brother's going to take me home; you need a ride?" he asked, breaking the silence.
I hummed as I thought about it. "Your brother? Big, black Chevy Impala, around '67?"
"Yeah… You've got a good eye, Cas," Sam said kindly and smiled at me in surprise.
"My brother had a similar car;" I said immediately but it was a flat out lie. Crowley had a similar car and he had spent a bunch of time explaining to me about the nooks and crannies of it. I hadn't understood very well last year (nor was I interested) but I listened because his face used to light up in excitement when he went on about his Mustang. "But to answer your question—no. I'd rather not."
Sam laughed and leaned back against the fence. We were walking in the direction of my house but Sam stopped, explaining this spot was usually where Dean usually comes around to pick him up.
Standing in silence wasn't the most foreign thing to me. In fact, I really liked it, especially with Sam. My thoughts were directed back to Gabriel's words earlier at lunch when he asked me—causing me to breathe in my Dr. Pepper and successfully choke—if I wanted in Sam's pants.
I didn't, did I?
A low engine purred close enough where I thought we were about to get run over, but instead it was Sam's older brother in his black beauty of a car. Dean nodded to Sam as he pulled the latch open and slid in, both boys looking expectantly at me before Dean shot me one last glare and pressed the gas pedal.
I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. It wasn't extremely hot and my shirt was still rather airy, I supposed thinking about the pros rather than cons of walking home.
xXx
"You're late."
"I know that," I responded, setting my notebook down and walking into the foyer.
"Do you have any manners, little brother?" Michael demanded and then Hester entered the room.
I glared at him, shooting him an expert bitchface at that comment. "Don't call me that you douche bag," I growled. Michael set his jaw and turned to see Hester standing in the doorframe with her thin arms crossed and a hard look on her face as if encouraging my brother to punish me.
"Castiel," he cocks his head to the side, trying to keep his calm it seemed. I inhaled deeply and wondered to myself if I wanted to go down this alley. What more could I lose? "What did I tell you about swearing in front of Hester?" he said.
Yep, I'm not doing this. I decided to ignore this bullshit all together and leave the room. However, the second I turned on my heel and went towards the door to the foyer, Michael slammed his newspaper down.
"Castiel!" he called after me but I ignored him. What privileges did I even have anymore?
I entered my room seeing as it was expertly cleaned from earlier this morning when I purposefully spilled shaving cream on the floor and hid pillows in different parts of the room.
Well. What do we have here?
On my bed and also on the floor were some boxes. My eyes widened when I saw some things poking out of the top of one of them. My jaw dropped—a metal picture frame with the corner of a photo showing caught my eye and I rushed over to the box and threw it open, yanking the frame out.
It was a picture of Lucifer and I on my first day of school. It was an amateur shot that I took by stretching my arm out in front of us and wrapping my arm around his neck and pulling him close, exclaiming "Say cheeseburgers!" before I snapped the shot. It had turned out well; my blue eyes gleaming and a surprised but happy, off guard look on Luce's face.
I pulled out another; someone must have gone through my stuff and sent it to me by now. My heart beat rapidly when I wondered if it was Lucifer. The next frame was a picture of Crowley, Meg Masters, and me; me in the center being half squeezed to death by a very blonde Meg—a look that didn't look particularly good on her but she loved the flamboyancy.
I stared at Crowley's face. He looked young as hell in this photo, his raven black hair spiky in areas but looking generally messy. The corners of his eyes crinkled in pleasure, his face increasingly close to mine.
Under the lot of the frames and random items I had used to decorate my old room, my old shitty cell phone was wrapped up in the charger and earphones. I gasped and unwind it, plugging it into the outlet near my bed and waited patiently for it to come alive once again.
The rest of the evening I spent looking through my old messages with my friends from Orlando, replying to the significant amount of text messages exclaiming 'Where are you?' Or 'Why aren't you in class?' And 'Dude I saw ur brother on tv what the fuck happened?'
I answered them all truthfully, letting them know that I was okay, safe and sound in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I didn't tell them not to tell others, but I trusted that my story wouldn't get too broadcasted overnight. Sure, I was locked up and unhappy, but I had an odd sense of attachment to the people I've met in the last forty-eight hours.
I hung up the rest of my clothes that didn't fit in my tiny cameo suitcase I brought over just two nights ago in my closet. Although I doubted Michael would let me wear them to school, it was comforting seeing them hanging up in there. The photos I would look at another time, but not keep up in my room.
I didn't come down for dinner, and my brother didn't bug me about it. I put on a pair of gray cargo pants and an old band tee that I had cut the sleeves off of along with an old flannel that I assumed was Lucifer's and curled up in a ball in my bed, falling asleep to the lulling of the missed messages on my old phone.
"Yeah, I'm going to hit the sack, man."
Sam's tired voice rang out in the small house. Dean nodded absentmindedly but when he realized that Sam couldn't see him, he called back, "All right. Night then, Sammy."
He heard his little brother's heavy footsteps padding up the stairs and down the hall into his room. Dean was laying on his bed feeling strung out and tired after the long day. He had work at the garage that Bobby partly owned with his old friend Rufus Turner. Dean really just came in when he felt like it—sometimes he wouldn't even show up but other times he would ditch periods at school to be there and just work under a car for hours and hours.
Dean rolled to the side and stretched, not sure what he felt like doing. No homework, no plans. He had an odd sense of freedom in that moment.
Finally Dean pulled out his cell phone and his dick made a twinge of interest at the aspect of making a booty call at this hour. It was only nine thirty anyway. Dean tapped the screen, finding tons of names. Most of them were repeats like Christina, which had four different spellings, six Allison's, and eleven Alex's—Dean wasn't entirely sure if they belonged to girls or boys.
But then again, there was just about an equal ratio of boy to girl names. He sighed, thumbing the screen so that the list would go back to the top to give it another glance over, hoping one name would spark his curiosity.
Part of Dean was mad because that blue-eyed boy had made him like this. Castiel, yeah? He'd made him all flustered practically all day. His tight pants made his ass look so delectable—Dean can't count how many times he had walked behind the guy, totally unknowing that he had been walking the same way. That ass was made to be pounded, Dean thought to himself, pressing his thumb to the tip of his cockhead as a bit of precum pearled there. And fuck did he smell good, Dean acknowledged, stroking himself more. He wished they could have done more than just sit next to each other on those beachers.
Stop it. Right Now.
He opened his eyes, clearing his mind of Castiel, and finally, under the B's, one name caught his attention.
Brotha, AKA, Benny.
Dean smirked as he slid his hand that was resting on his toned stomach and made its way under his jeans and boxers. He pressed the name and it began to dial right as Dean palmed himself, emitting a loud moan.
Benny picked up on the second ring. "Yo, Brotha." He certainly lived up to his contact list name.
"Hey Benny. What's up?" Dean inquired, wrapping a warm hand around his half hard cock.
The familiar sound of Call of Duty playing in the background made Dean smirk. He was doing nothing important. "Just playing some video games. Eating ice cream. How about you, man?"
"Bored," Dean answered with a slow drawl.
He could pretty much hear Benny smirking now. "Want to come over? I just got onto this new level and I have more controllers, although you're going to have to use my sister's pink one," he said with a chuckle.
Dean pressed his lips together. "Actually, I was thinking more like you came over here." He paused and the background gun shooting sound stopped too. "Bobby's at the Roadhouse. I was wondering if you wanted to do something."
Subtly was Dean's strong point. "Yeah, I'll be right over."
The call ended and Dean tossed his phone on his bedside table, not forgetting to set an alarm so he didn't get shit from Bobby in the morning. And God, the old coot better not come home. Only once has Dean almost been caught with another dude with their pants down before. Dean made a lame although nonchalant excuse that the guy had lost a bet to him and Dean made him clean his room (all the while Dean deviously pulled up his zipper).
The sound of the sliding door to the backyard brought Dean out of that terrifying memory. It was Benny clearly since Bobby would have came through the front door loudly banging around in his drunken state. He was away trying to swoon Ellen into marrying him or something cheesy. Everyone knew he had the hots for her but Ellen was strong willed and ignored him mostly.
Dean's door opened and Benny snuck in, in the process of taking off his tight dark tee. He had on only a loose pair of jeans with the waistline of his tight boxers visible.
"Hey," Benny said, dipping into the bed and crawling over Dean. It occurred to him that they had actually been doing this more often recently. The first time they tried it out with each other had been almost a year ago, the two of them totally and utterly drunk and horny.
Their lips met and the kiss turned hungry. Dean's hand was still in his jeans but he pulled it out when Benny manually grabbed his wrists and held them above his head to keep him in place. A low whine erupted from Dean's parted lips and Benny lowered down to press their lips together, their tongues swirling in each other's mouth, all the while the bulkier boy tightened his grip on Dean's squirming wrists.
Dean lifted his hips off of the softness of the mattress to create friction against Benny's crotch. The stockier man above him groaned into their intense kiss and pushed his hips against Dean's, applying the most delicious pressure to keep them grinding on each other.
"Benny," Dean moaned on the other boy's lips. "I'm so hard."
The kiss ended but Benny kept his lips on Dean's body, tracing kisses so light that Dean could hardly feel them go down his neck, chest, and stop right before the waistband of his pants.
The button to Dean's jeans popped almost too easily, and hastily Benny was unzipping the blond boy's pants and yanking down tight boxers to allow a hard cock to bounce free.
When Benny's hands wrapped around Dean's length, he couldn't help the long throaty moan that escaped his mouth. He didn't feel anything for Benny, and honestly it didn't bother him so much. Not feeling particularly empathetic for any reason, Dean knotting his fingers into Benny's short but wavy hair and tugged his head closer so that he could feel the brunette boy's breath on his throbbing cock.
After all, this was just a booty call—this night was one of hundreds, there was nothing different. But he'd do anything for a release, right? Dean wouldn't exactly call himself desperate—if he were truly desperate, he would have jerked himself off and be asleep by now.
Benny worked his tight lips around Dean's cock, bobbing his head back and forth as if he possessed some kind of experience, which the brunette boy couldn't help but find annoying. He didn't like it when his partners had others. He was possessive, definitely, and he couldn't explain why. Sure, he'd fucked many girls practically blindly and hadn't given it a second thought, but it bugged him when the people he was fucking had back up plans.
Double standards. Dean had many of those.
"Oh, fuck," Dean groaned audibly this time, feeling that rush building up in his lower abdomen. He had started thrusting his hips into Benny's awaiting mouth and fucking hell it felt amazing. A small annoying thudding noise caught Dean's attention and he turned, actually opening his eyes now to look at the door. If he had heard correctly, it sounded like footsteps.
Both boys were too wrapped up to take a break and check if it was Sam, because so help him God he would murder that kid for sneaking around—
But it wasn't Sam. No, it was much worse.
Bobby appeared in the doorway, his face flushed from no doubt drinking too much and jacket half off but, fuck, that didn't matter. He looked absolutely enraged.
The aging man stood in Dean's now open doorway and stared slack-jawed at the two boys before him, one on his knees on the bed hovering over the over. The man could vaguely recognize him have coming over to the house before, unfortunately, the other one was his adopted son, Dean.
The one receiving the oral sex, the one with his hands held together as the bigger male dominated him. And it made Bobby sick.
A few small words of total and utter surprise left Bobby's lips and slowly his face contorted to one of anger and humiliation.
"You've got about two seconds to explain what the hell's going on here!" he screamed. Dean didn't think his face could get any more red.
Benny jumped at the sound of Dean's surrogate father and stood up. He picked his shirt up off the floor and pulled it on. As soon as he escaped the lust haze, he shot one terrified look at Dean before squirming past a fuming Bobby standing at Dean's doorframe and running like a bat out of fucking hell out the front door.
Dean couldn't think to feel betrayed, but he knew distantly that there wasn't anything that Benny could have done. Dean was in the pit. Thrown to the dogs.
The scariest part of the whole situation was that when he looked at Bobby—at the man who had taken him in on a whim, fed him, loved him, gave him all sorts of opportunities—all he could see was the anger flushed face of his father when he drank. It was a remote memory, but certain things like that stay with you.
Cringing, Dean stuffed himself back into his pants and a hot blush swept across his face.
"Bobby," he tried out really slow, "look I know this looks bad. Real bad, man, but—"
"You are one sick son of a bitch," Bobby cursed under his breath. Dean looked up, totally and utterly taken aback, and he contracted his eyes to glare at the old man.
"Excuse me?" Dean asked, feeling a little offended but didn't say anything.
"Get out," Bobby said in a dangerously low tone.
"Can you guys shut up?" the two men heard from down the hall. Great, Dean thought, they had woken up Sammy. It was only moments before the curious teen would sneak out of his bedroom to try and eavesdrop on the conversation.
Bobby turns back to Dean with an incredulous look on his face. He furrows his brows. "Your ears fuckin' broken, son?" Bobby hollered, and what with Dean's bedroom window open now, he was sure that Bobby had probably just woken up half the neighborhood with that shout. "I said get the fuck out!"
"Bobby—!" Dean persisted, running a stressed hand through his hair. "I'm not… Gay!" he shouted. Fuck it, he absolutely was and both men knew it. Although, if it would help with his current situation, he didn't give a damn what he had to say to get Bobby to understand that Dean wasn't like that—or rather he was willing to change. To portray to the man that: I'm not a homo.
I'm your son.
"Goddamn it, Dean!" he cried, his face enraged. "I never knew you were one of them cock-suckers. Jesus H Christ boy, I can't even look at you! Leave my house and don't you ever, never, come back!"
A small face was now visible behind Bobby down the hall, and Dean—still completely shell shocked—did nothing. Didn't move, just stared past his surrogate father.
"Bobby?" Sam's tired but probing voice asked. "What are you saying, Bobby?" He looked like a child then, rubbing at the corners of his eyes and he had a mixed look of disbelief and confusion. As if, there was something that he just heard but refused to accept that it came out of someone he knows and loves mouth. Dean felt sorry for him.
Bobby turned around and shot Sam the dirtiest glare he could muster. "Go to bed, Sam."
"No," Sam spoke in a determined voice, his face forming one of his infamous bitchfaces. In normal circumstances, Dean would have snorted at how cute he looked with his mouth all scrunched up and his eyes glaring daggers. "What the hell did you just tell Dean?"
Dean was feeling a whirlpool of emotions and he didn't know exactly what he was doing or even the look he was portraying on his face. For fucks sake, he had just been caught by the biggest homophobe in Baton Rouge with his pants down and another guy sucking his cock.
"Sam, I said go to your damn room!" Bobby yelled now, his voice gruff and face red and seething.
"Sammy, just go," Dean said, deflated. He honestly didn't want to argue anymore. He didn't want to be told anything by Bobby at this point. No you're a faggot or get the fuck out of my home. Because he didn't want to be told it wasn't his home as well any more. Over all, he felt deflated and naturally unnerved.
Sam's eyebrows knitted together and he looked at his older brother in—what even was that—surprise? Anger? The confusion was still there for sure.
"Dean? You're going to let him kick you out of here? Are you—are you serious? And for what, because your preferences are different?" he scoffed.
"Sam, goddamn it—!"
"No, Bobby!" Sam screamed, equaling his surrogate father's tone and pitch. "Fuck that." Tears pricked at Dean's eyes. If he felt bad for humiliating Bobby by fucking around with a guy, seeing his brother hurt and furious with distrust for Bobby made Dean's heart ache. It was one of those precious times in Dean's life where things slowed down and he could recognize what family was.
Bobby was not family.
But Sam was gold.
"If you're kicking Dean out, I'm leaving too." He said, pushing past Bobby and walking over to stand by his older brother's side.
Bobby's face fell almost immediately. A pang of jealousy shot white hot inside of Dean at the realization that Bobby felt regret for indirectly kicking out his youngest son.
Not because he realized what he'd said or done to the older brother.
xXx
It took over four days to completely move out of the house.
Oh, you didn't think Bobby was serious?
Dean could recite every single rule that Bobby Singer had created upon the boys' first entrance to their new home. Of course, mainly because the older mischievous brunette boy had broken every single one of them at least three times. However, the very, very first one that was said very clearly and strictly—as the late teen recalled, Bobby had grabbed an increasingly smaller young aged Dean Winchester and squeezed, looking at Sam too as he spoke—"I don't fuck around, boys," in a tired, gruff voice.
It started almost immediately. Bobby had a friend who was living in an apartment complex a couple miles further away from school with two rooms, one bathroom, and kitchen apartment. It was small, that much was true, but it was homey and fully renovated and thankfully not a complete dump.
Bobby had made many different tries to get Sam to change his mind and stay with him, but the younger Winchester would shake his head and say, "We're not talking, Bobby, until you accept who Dean is." And goddamn him because Dean had to turn around so that Sam or Bobby didn't see the sheen of wetness in his eyes when his little brother stood up for him like that.
The days went by in a blur as the brothers settled in to the new apartment. Dean had the fridge stocked with beer and beef jerky and the TV on, distracting him from his depressed thoughts.
Truth be told, Dean was an excellent cook. He had generally been the sole chef for his little brother and Bobby. Sam had made a run to the grocery store—or just left to fuck one of his many new girlfriends—but promised to be back shortly.
The door banged open and the brothers met eyes.
"Hey," Dean acknowledged gruffly, turning his eyes back to the TV screen to watch more of the soccer or football game whatever sport was on. Honestly, he had had a little too much to drink today and he felt pretty hazy.
"Dean," Sam said in that exasperated tone that he always had accompanied by his annoyed bitchface.
"What is it, Sammy?" Dean asked sarcastically, giving his full attention to his brother who set the brown paper bags full of food on the table. Bobby had practically given Sam his credit card when he realized that his favourite son was actually moving out.
"Listen. You—you seriously need to go back to school. You've only shown up two days out of two and a half weeks," he explained, dispelling a long breath of tiredness as he filled the fridge with food. Dean got off the couch and went to help his little brother out in the kitchen.
"Sam, it's fine. You take care of you, and I'll take care of you and me," Dean said and pulled a pan out from the cupboard and set it on the electric stove. He decided a simple stir-fry would be fine for dinner.
Sam, realizing what Dean had in mind to make, pulled out the appropriate vegetables and noodles and meat. "Okay, if that's so, then if you're dropping out, I'm dropping out too."
"Oh my God!" Dean cried exasperatedly. He turned around and glared at his stubborn little brother. "Just because I'm taking some time off, doesn't mean you have to too! I'm not like you, Sammy—I'm a dumbass. You know it, I know it, hell— the entire school knows it. I'm not going anywhere. But you are and you still have the opportunity to try."
"Dean if you don't stop putting yourself down and acting like an idiot, I'm going to fight you—really fucking punch you. Right here in this kitchen," Sam said with a dangerous glint in his eyes. Already Sam was nearly two inches taller than his older brother and he was nothing if not solid. "I will knock your fucking teeth out, Dean."
This made Dean snort and turn around to turn his attention to the sizzling vegetables. "Alright, alright, you little prick. I'll go to fucking school." He smiled. Although his ways were pretty downright threatening, Dean knew Sam was coming from a good place and only wanted what was in Dean's best interest.
"Anyway. What do you think of Cas?" Sam asked out of the blue. Dean turned slightly to look at his brother. Sam showed no signs of laughter, but serious curiosity.
"Castiel?" Dean mused aloud.
"Yeah. He asked about you."
Dean rolled his eyes but Sam didn't see. He ignored the little jolt of excitement that burst through him at that comment. "He's a little pampered shit is what he is. Thinks he's better than Rubes and me, really pissing me off." Dean finished cooking and put the food onto plates.
"What class do you have with him?" Sam asked, picking up his fork and taking a bite.
Dean glared at his brother. "What makes you think I have a class with him?"
His little brother shrugged and played with a pen on the table. "Just seems like if you hated him so much, you wouldn't go out of your way normally to get to know that he looks down on you and Ruby," Sam answered logically.
"Okay." Dean held his hand up and paused, an extreme bitchface in the works. Sam tried hard not to laugh. He really got his brother started. "What even is his problem anyway? No one fucking talks back to me at this fucking school—not like I'm any fuckin' Mafia Boss or anything—but randomly some little asshole shows up at the beginning of my senior year and starts to fuck everything up? Seriously? I would honestly love to be enlightened about who the hell stuck a six inch thick metal rod up his asshole."
Over the past two weeks, Sam, knew everything of course. The whole getting caught up thing and then getting the boot out of his old life with one brother and new with his eldest brother. He said nothing, however, and let Dean continue to rant his diva ass.
"Okay? He transferred into my PE class earlier last week. Yeah, last time I saw him he was there. He fucking wears bullshit designer brand clothes, acts like a douchebag and all, but Gabe tells me I shouldn't talks shit about him because he's 'going through a hard time'. I'm sorry but what jackass in this world isn't going through a hard time? I refuse to be sympathetic for a prick like him."
"You haven't even had an intelligent conversation with him," Sam offers calmly.
"You're right, I know. But fuck, I just want to do some third grade shit and push him into a pile of mud and sit on him," Dean said stubbornly, glaring down at his food. He honestly didn't know what it was about Cas that riled him up so much. Maybe it was the fact that he got under his skin, the fact that he wasn't afraid like all the others to talk back to him.
Maybe it was because he was so fucking gorgeous that in the five days Dean had seen him at school, he's had a hard time pushing the thoughts of grinding down into the guy out of his head.
"More like you want to sit on his face," Sam muttered jokingly and then burst out laughing.
"Shut the fuck up, Sammy!" Dean cried, reaching over and smacking his brother's chin, completely missing his face. Sam squealed and punched Dean's hand to make him back off.
"Dude, it's true. Admit it. You want to bone him so hard he'll be walking funny for a month," Sam said, finishing up his food and taking his plate and fork to the sink to rinse it off.
"No, Sam. Just drop it," Dean grunted, crossing his arms.
"Nuh-uh, man! Dude I bet it turns you on so fucking much when there finally comes a guy that refuses to drop his gaze when you walk by. You've probably jerked off thinking about him at least five times."
"That's enough, Sam," Dean said, pushing his brother out of the way and washing his own plate now. "And if you keep fucking talking about fucking Cas, I'll masturbate in your bed next time," he threatened, although totally and completely sarcastic. Hell no, Dean didn't jerk off to the thought of Cas.
But fuck him; the idea was becoming more and more appetizing by the moment.
"Dean! Ah—Dean!" Sam mimicked in a high voice. Dean immediately blushed, because the visual of Castiel's pinks lips wide open, face flushed, and eyes squeezed shut as he screamed was just too much.
"Fuck off!" Dean practically sprinted to his room to get away from his laughing hyena-like brother.
I adjusted my belt. It was hot out today but I wasn't allowed to wear shorts to school. Fucking logic.
Instead, I had ransacked my closet and snuck on a white tank top under the plaid red button down that Michael or Pester had picked out for me that had three images of a girl's lips licking a blunt, smoking it, and then pouting her lips. When I entered the school, the button down was discarded and pushed into my locker (since I would need to return home with it on) and a pair of dark wash jeans that were rolled up at my ankles.
I had to walk to school now so my armpits were sweaty and my dark hair matted to the back of my neck. I prayed that my first period art class would have the AC on.
I was late. Not so bad, like maybe ten minutes. Charlie was waiting for me and we had a long chat about our bad trips in the past. She told me that once she had been in PE in freshman year and started crying because she hated herself so much and when the teacher tried to console her and take her to the nurse, Charlie had started chanting 'I am sorry Father for I have sinned' for at least twenty minutes.
We laughed pretty much the whole period and didn't do any of our project that had a lengthy due date.
It occurred to me a couple hours later though after I had finished eating lunch with Charlie and her really odd friend Garth that Dean had been MIA for almost a complete week now.
Sure, I had noticed his absence in PE, leaving Ruby usually alone and distancing herself from most of the class and occasionally taking a seat next to me but otherwise completely ignoring me. It wasn't so bad; she had good taste in music.
I guess I assumed he was just skipping. Maybe I had been a little annoyed because I selfishly thought he was doing it to get away from me, but of course it couldn't just be because of me. No. If Dean were anything like a man, he wouldn't let one person bug him enough to the point where he found the need to leave.
So when I was changing into my workout clothing for PE, a pair of Lucifer's old shorts that had come in the many boxes a couple days ago and a gray tee that didn't leave too much to the imagination, I looked up to see Dean Winchester gracing the locker room with his presence.
Dean cocked a brow when he stopped a few lockers down from mine and then proceeded to size me up (or perhaps just check out my shirtless torso before I pulled on my tee) and smirked.
"Cas," he acknowledged.
"Our king has returned!" I cried dramatically and a couple of the guys around us turned and began laughing at Dean. His face tinted a small shade of pink and he clenched his jaw.
"Fuck you, Cas," he muttered under his breath.
My shirt was now pulled over my chest and fitted to my torso. "Oh, that's right. I heard you do swing that way," I teased, putting on my deodorant and then tossing the Old Spice back into the locker and closing it.
Dean stripped down his pants and I almost fell into a trance as I watched the jeans slide down Dean's extremely toned olive coloured thighs and then calves. He shook them off and hung them in his locker before turning to me. "See something you like, Cas? Because I'm pretty sure I've heard you swing the exact same way," Dean snarked.
I leaned back against the locker behind me and glared at him, crossing my arms over my chest. I vaguely noticed most of the boys in the locker room begin to file out but my attention was on Dean. "Oh and where did you hear that?" I asked, my voice dropping.
"Bela Talbot," Dean answered directly and I felt suddenly taken aback.
"Who the fuck is she?" I demanded, my glare becoming harsher. I couldn't help but watch as Dean slid up his shorts over his (fuck I can't believe I'm admitting this) impressive package. Dean clearly noticed my stupid eyes staring at his crotch and he smirked.
"Bela? Just some dumb bitch I fucked this morning." I didn't doubt him, but hearing this news didn't lighten my view of Dean any. "She said you were some fag from Florida who changed custody in the family and ended up here. It was shitty information but damn is she a good lay," he said, smirking.
Scoffing in annoyance came as easily to me as breathing. I shot him a bitchface and intensified my glare. "You'll do anything to stick your dick in something, huh?" I asked uncrossing my arms and pushing off from the locker I was leaning on. "You are the biggest slut I know, Dean," I snarled.
To my surprise, the fuck actually barked out a laugh. "You know what? Blow me, Cas," Dean said sardonically, his eyes squinted in distaste at me.
"So fucking tempting, babe, but I'd rather not catch an STD," I spoke icily and pushed with all the force in my shoulder past the stocky man to go down the hall that led to the exit of the locker room. When I escaped the room, I inhaled a deep breath of air. Things felt much less tense out here in the open air. I walked in the direction of the line up yard which I was sure I was totally late for.
"Castiel, line up!" I looked up and saw my bald gym teacher with his clipboard in hand and looking at me like 'Come on man, my job sucks as it is'. " You're lucky I'm not marking you late!" Mr. Richards called and I hurried my pace to get in line. I felt a little weary after getting so pissed off at Dean. I rubbed a hand over my forehead and refused to turn around and acknowledge the fashionably late Dean Winchester exit the men's locker room with the loud slam of the door.
While everyone lined up to pick teams for soccer, out of the corner of my eye I glanced in Dean's direction. Ruby was standing next to him with her phone in her sleeve, sneakily texting. Dean, on the other hand, had his lips pursed and a far off look in his eyes. I had to tilt my head a little bit so I didn't hurt my head so I could watch him a little longer. My gaze lingered down his chest that slightly peaked through his thin tee, then his long legs. His light leg hair gleamed and I had to wet the inside of my mouth because fuck if hairy guys didn't turn me on. His arms, shit, were tined just as equally as his calves, and looked strong enough to pick Ruby and me up off the ground. Why was I itching to be held by him?
I rolled my shoulders as and suddenly noticed I was standing next to two other boys—we were the only ones not picked. Looking across from me, I saw Dean had a victorious grin on his lips. I sighed deeply and rolled my eyes as Mr. Richard started giving out directions.
"Since the girl team is lacking players, you three boys will go join them. Don't worry, it won't make you any less masculine," he joked.
"Yeah, because Castiel would sure hate that," a boy, Caleb I think, said sarcastically from the boy's team. Dean snorted and a tall African American boy punched his shoulder, also chuckling.
I shot them the iciest glare I could manage and then turned to Mr. Richard with pleading eyes. "Since when are we doing Boys vs Girls? Isn't that a little sexist?" I argued. Trip. Skin your knees. Please, do something stupid so that you can get out of this now, my inner wimp urged me.
Paul chuckled and pointed his clipboard towards the group of PE students heading onto the field. Sighing, I expected to just be a goalie or someone who didn't have to move around much so I dropped my hands to my sides and followed.
I tried not to skim through the players, searching for one specific boy on the other team. No, I thought. I'm not desperate. I'm being annoying.
Mr. Richard promised that if we played a good scrimmage, he would cut down our running times... The only problem was, each person was individually scored. Well fuck, if all I had to do was kick other people's shins and skip around to get out of the two mile running day tomorrow (or whenever that slimy bastard was going to surprise us with it), I sure as fuck will do my best.
"We're going to rape you guys," Dean says snarkily to Jo who smirks and shakes his head. A few girls roll their eyes and give Dean a hard time about rape jokes while he just flashes a cocky grin my way.
As it turned out, ignoring Dean was a harder task then I imagined.
The whistle was blown and the ball got thrown onto the field. The girls were fierce and I was more than shocked when a bunch of boys evidently tripped and fell flat onto the ground, eating mounds of dirt. I laughed, even, high-fiving a girl that I thought was called Pam.
I was backing up to get to the opposite side of the field, trying my damnest to get as far away from the ball as I possibly could when I bumped into a hard chest.
"Hey," he grunted.
I jumped away and turned around to glare at him, digging my nails into my elbow to keep myself from blushing. "What the fuck are you doing?" I exclaimed. I wanted to keep my voice down, however, so that the teacher didn't see either of us avoiding playing.
"You're such a prissy little bitch, you know that?" Dean said in annoyance. I scoffed and stepped back purposely on his foot. He didn't scream like I wanted him to, but he groaned deeply and I would be lying if I said I didn't want to hear that again in a very different context.
"You are a fucking cunt," Dean growled low in my ear. I bristled a little and mewled sarcastically.
"Baby, I like it when you talk dirty." I giggled deviously.
"You know what I'm fuckin' thinking about," Dean said darkly right back, "Your—"
"Winchester!" Mr. Richard shouted.
Both our heads flew up and my cheeks head up immensely. Holy shit—where was he going with that? I couldn't stand the fact that Dean didn't get to finish his sentence, and I felt strangely unsatisfied when the PE teacher called for Dean to come sit out for the rest of the game since he couldn't stay focused on the scrimmage. I tried to look unaffected, but every time my eyes skirted towards the sidelines, I saw Dean with his chin resting on his knuckles, watching.
I just wanted him out of my head.
allow the sexual tension to commence.
so updates might start to slow down, i'm busy this weekend and i'm also grounded so all typing will be from the 'family computer' so bare with me guys. i will try my best but in the meantime, make sure to check out my ao3 and my tumblr ficlets—both linked on my profile!
please leave a review to let me know how i'm doing! i'm free ballin' this right now and i would die from happiness if i got some support! c:
