ficlet: all on the cover of newsweek (pg-13)
For brokentoy, who understands that incest and teenage boys make everything better. ;) This is Not A Proper Fic.
Title: all on the cover of newsweek
Pairing: Dean/Cas/Jimmy
Summary/Warnings/Notes: 600 words of high school AU locker room twincest activity, ages unspecified. I am not sorry.
Later, Dean wonders whether Jimmy would ever have spoken up at all if Cas hadn't come in and found them like that, Dean's hands fisted in the front of Jimmy's shirt and their breath short and ragged against each other's mouths. Dean had been caught up in -- someone -- for weeks, fever blue eyes and mussed dark hair he longed to card his fingers through, but he'd been thinking Cas, Cas, Cas who sat behind him in English class and hummed to himself while they worked. Now, he had the dreamed-of figure pinioned between his own weight and the locker-room wall, and he was leaning in, ready to take, to claim, when --
"Dean?"
They both jerked and turned at the sound, Cas's low, gravelled voice as familiar as his slender figure poised behind them by the discarded football boots and baseballs. The pit seemed to drop out of Dean's stomach.
"Cas?" he ventured. When he glanced back to the boy under his hands, he expected to find a mirror of his own discomfort in his face, Jimmy's face, Cas's twin, and when there was only a quiet look of contemplation there, it made Dean's gut twist in a different way, confused. "I --"
"Are you making out with my brother, Dean?" And that's Cas's voice, closer now as he steps towards them. Dean's head is thudding dully, confused and thrown and the low pulse of arousal still scudding through him to complicate matters, but Cas doesn't sound confused when he sets a hand on Dean's back, low at the base of it. "Dean?"
Dean blinks. "No," he gets out, hurriedly. "I mean --"
"We were waiting for you," Jimmy throws out, easy as you please, and Dean's heart stills at the cockiness of it and, more than that, at the way Cas smiles, free hand lifting to pet his brother's hair back from his face.
"Jimmy," he says, soft, and then he's leaning in, the two mirrored profiles inching closer together until -- God -- until their mouths slant softly over each other, Jesus Christ.
"Jesus," Dean breathes, low, because it should be horrifying but somehow all he's conscious of is a fierce spike of want, of ohshityes. "You guys --"
"Mm?" When Cas pulls back, there's a sheen of spit shimmering on his lower lip, teeth glinting white beyond. "You don't mind sharing, do you, Dean?"
Dean means to make words, he really does. But then Cas is pressing that soft pink mouth to his, spitslick with the taste of his brother, and Dean is powerless to do anything but curl a hand around Cas's waist and hold on. Cas kisses him deep and slow, tongue mapping the inside of Dean's mouth, the ridges of his soft palate, until another hand snakes into Dean's hair and fists there, another mouth latches on to the soft place behind his ear and sucks.
Dean means to make words, but his mouth is otherwise occupied and he doesn't feel much like breaking away just to say Godfuckplease.
Later, Dean wonders whether Jimmy would ever have spoken up at all if Cas hadn't come in. But by this time, he's caught between the brothers on their narrow bed, a tangle of fucked-out arms and legs, and he figures the question is immaterial.
eta: I suppose I had better add a trigger warning for the fact that we now seem to be discussing weecest in the comments. :)
Title: all on the cover of newsweek
Pairing: Dean/Cas/Jimmy
Summary/Warnings/Notes: 600 words of high school AU locker room twincest activity, ages unspecified. I am not sorry.
Later, Dean wonders whether Jimmy would ever have spoken up at all if Cas hadn't come in and found them like that, Dean's hands fisted in the front of Jimmy's shirt and their breath short and ragged against each other's mouths. Dean had been caught up in -- someone -- for weeks, fever blue eyes and mussed dark hair he longed to card his fingers through, but he'd been thinking Cas, Cas, Cas who sat behind him in English class and hummed to himself while they worked. Now, he had the dreamed-of figure pinioned between his own weight and the locker-room wall, and he was leaning in, ready to take, to claim, when --
"Dean?"
They both jerked and turned at the sound, Cas's low, gravelled voice as familiar as his slender figure poised behind them by the discarded football boots and baseballs. The pit seemed to drop out of Dean's stomach.
"Cas?" he ventured. When he glanced back to the boy under his hands, he expected to find a mirror of his own discomfort in his face, Jimmy's face, Cas's twin, and when there was only a quiet look of contemplation there, it made Dean's gut twist in a different way, confused. "I --"
"Are you making out with my brother, Dean?" And that's Cas's voice, closer now as he steps towards them. Dean's head is thudding dully, confused and thrown and the low pulse of arousal still scudding through him to complicate matters, but Cas doesn't sound confused when he sets a hand on Dean's back, low at the base of it. "Dean?"
Dean blinks. "No," he gets out, hurriedly. "I mean --"
"We were waiting for you," Jimmy throws out, easy as you please, and Dean's heart stills at the cockiness of it and, more than that, at the way Cas smiles, free hand lifting to pet his brother's hair back from his face.
"Jimmy," he says, soft, and then he's leaning in, the two mirrored profiles inching closer together until -- God -- until their mouths slant softly over each other, Jesus Christ.
"Jesus," Dean breathes, low, because it should be horrifying but somehow all he's conscious of is a fierce spike of want, of ohshityes. "You guys --"
"Mm?" When Cas pulls back, there's a sheen of spit shimmering on his lower lip, teeth glinting white beyond. "You don't mind sharing, do you, Dean?"
Dean means to make words, he really does. But then Cas is pressing that soft pink mouth to his, spitslick with the taste of his brother, and Dean is powerless to do anything but curl a hand around Cas's waist and hold on. Cas kisses him deep and slow, tongue mapping the inside of Dean's mouth, the ridges of his soft palate, until another hand snakes into Dean's hair and fists there, another mouth latches on to the soft place behind his ear and sucks.
Dean means to make words, but his mouth is otherwise occupied and he doesn't feel much like breaking away just to say Godfuckplease.
Later, Dean wonders whether Jimmy would ever have spoken up at all if Cas hadn't come in. But by this time, he's caught between the brothers on their narrow bed, a tangle of fucked-out arms and legs, and he figures the question is immaterial.
eta: I suppose I had better add a trigger warning for the fact that we now seem to be discussing weecest in the comments. :)