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Aesthetics in Autoerotica

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Dean sat on a stool in the middle of the bright studio, jiggling his leg and adjusting his bathrobe nervously.

It wasn't exactly a new scene for him, not really. His part-time mechanic's salary barely covered his bills while keeping his student loan debt at bay, and he'd been doing modeling to bring in some extra ever since his best friend and roommate had begged him to help her out late in their freshman year. He wasn't terribly shy to begin with, and he'd quickly grown comfortable with being naked in front of people, arranging his body to their instructions.

And, hell, he'd even done a few less than entirely academic sessions. Somehow he'd fallen in with the art student crowd, despite being in mechanical engineering -- he blamed Charlie for it, really -- and more than once a night of drinking games had devolved into Dean wondering when he'd ended up naked on the couch, surrounded by sketching fingers and appreciative eyes, and Charlie grumbling about how if I wanted to see so much dick I'd be straight, not a painter.

Plus Lisa had liked to sketch him sometimes, when they were dating, which Dean had found almost uncomfortably intimate (if more than a little sexy). And once in awhile, a little too much whiskey had turned an innocent guys' night with Benny into a late-night photography session that was slightly more hands-on than strictly necessary.

But Cas Novak was a whole different ballgame, both in content and caliber. He was a PhD student in photography, and Dean had been to enough exhibitions with his friends to be familiar with his work. And despite loudly ignoring anyone's attempts to teach him about technique or quality -- "Other side of the camera, dudes. I just gotta be pretty, don't gotta know what I'm talkin' about" -- something about the photographs, which were black and white across the board, usually relatively minimal, he found intimidatingly powerful -- and unquestionably erotic.

Which was not helped by the fact that the guy himself was intimidatingly, unquestionably gorgeous, with his stupidly blue eyes and dark messy hair, and the suggestion of a body that Dean privately thought it shouldn't be legal for a fucking art student to have.

The guy seemed nice enough, though, if a little spacy, from the handful of conversations they'd had. The girls all swooned over him, of course -- even Charlie, though she constantly pointed out how her lack of interest in men -- or raging gayness, dude, as she put it -- had no effect on her artistic appreciation. And Benny had actually posed for him once a while back, in the unofficial kind of model exchange system that seemed endemic to art programs, and Benny'd said he'd been good to work with, professional but relaxed, and considerate of his subjects' comfort, both physical and emotional, which Dean knew from experience wasn't always the case.

However, Dean was relatively sure than Cas' style had gotten a little more… experimental since then.


Cas had sent him an email -- he wasn't even sure how he'd gotten his address, though he guessed he wasn't hard to find -- outlining his proposal. Dean almost nixed the idea as soon as he saw the working title, Aesthetics in Autoerotica -- he might be cool letting a bunch of nerdy art students draw his ass, and yeah, maybe now and then his private sessions pushed the boundaries of propriety a little bit, but that at least was a two-way street -- but he was pretty sure he drew the line at jerking himself off on camera in front of essentially a stranger.

He'd actually already started typing out a polite reply declining the offer when the compensation caught his eye. It was about three times his usual average hourly rate, and while he didn't technically need the extra money at the moment, it gave him enough pause to read the rest of the email.

And, whoa, Cas did not beat around the bush describing his ideas.

I apologize if offering this proposal is excessively forward or rude, and for the bluntness of my descriptions, it concluded. I realize this type of project is unconventional, and more than pushes the boundaries of what many models would be comfortable doing. Charlie suggested that I ask you, and while I am a bit nervous about sending this unsolicited, I did not wish to waste your time pretending it's anything that it isn't. Please let me know if it's something you would consider discussing, but if not I will be in no way offended.

Dean snorted at the formal tone, but the awkwardness of it made the content somehow a bit less intimidating. He read over the whole thing again, chewing on his lip.

Because really, he figured, most of the things Cas described were things he'd at least thought about now and then -- and in some cases, more than thought about, as he considered the tiny collection of silk panties stuffed in the back of his dresser. Though, admittedly, he'd definitely not thought about those things in the context of a sterile photography studio with a near-stranger.

But Cas assured him several times over the course of the email that they'd be discussing the limits of what Dean was or was not comfortable with, or at least willing to try, and that the final decision of what he'd be doing would be Dean's alone. So after rereading again, and then another time, worrying at his nails, he finally deleted the text of his initial refusal.

hey, cas. uh, wow, i uhh… wasnt expecting that in my email today. not sure whether to thank charlie or kill her in her sleep. though thats about the usual for charlie, i guess.

anyway, umm… its definitely not my usual line of work, yeah. but i gotta admit, im a little intrigued. and not gonna lie, the money's fuckin sweet, the hell you manage to pay that much on a grad students budget?

so, yeah, wanna maybe meet up and talk about it? preferably somewhere my friends are NOT gonna be? text me if you want, my # is 785 842 9772

- dean

He bit his lip again, then shrugged and hit send. A few minutes later his phone buzzed in his hand, making him jump.

From: (785) 979-1341
May I buy you dinner? It's the least I can do for your willingness to consider this.

Dean shook his head, swiping it open to reply. What the hell, at least he'd get a free dinner.


And so here he was, sitting in a bathrobe on an old bar stool in Cas' attic studio, empty but for mysterious camera equipment and a large bed between a mirror and a window, fidgeting with nerves like he hadn't had since the first time he shed his clothes for an audience.

The lacy pink panties clinging to his hips didn't faze him too much, really. He'd never blatantly shown them off like this before, but it certainly wasn't the first time he'd worn the pair; it wasn't even the first time he'd worn them in front of someone else. He'd more or less gotten over being ashamed of that particular kink.

The small silicone plug underneath those panties, however, was definitely outside of his comfort zone.

He jumped as the door opened and Cas came back into the room, carrying a few bottles of water and a beer, which he handed to Dean, and Dean took it gratefully, downing half of it in one gulp.

"Are you nervous?" Cas asked, leaning against the wall, and Dean snorted.

"The hell d'you think?" he asked weakly. "Not exactly my usual Tuesday afternoon here."

Cas put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure you're willing to continue? If you wish to stop, I'll still pay you for today's session. We could renegotiate the planned shots, if you like…"

For a moment Dean considered it, getting a small chunk of money just for showing up, but he shook his head.

"Nah. 'm okay. Nervous, yeah, but I'm okay."

And he was, somewhat to his surprise. He hadn't known what to expect when they'd met up for burgers and drinks, but outside of campus, Cas turned out to be -- pretty cool, actually. He was professional about his work, matter-of-fact about his forays into erotica, but he was also laid-back and funny, and not above poking fun at himself for his subject matter.

A few beers probably hadn't hurt Dean's hesitant agreement, but he was determined to at least give it a shot.

And he still wasn't sure whether his nascent little crush on the photographer was going to make it easier or much, much worse.

Finally he drained his beer, and Cas took the empty bottle, dropping it into a bin in the corner. Dean stood up, fiddling with the belt of his robe.

"You want me to…?"

Cas shook his head. His eyes dropped, lingering where Dean had pulled the robe open enough to expose glimpses of pink at his waist. For a second something unreadable flashed across his face, but he quickly shifted back into consummate professionalism.

"I like to capture the transition, from the everyday life to the erotic," Cas explained. He picked up his camera. "May I?"

"Uh -- yeah, go for it." Dean shifted his weight from foot to foot. "You're gonna have to tell me what you want, though -- usually I'm kinda just a breathing still life, but you said you wanted me more, uh, participating…"

"I do. I'd like for you to act as natural as you can, but I'll tell you what to do. Or, well, ask."

The corner of Dean's mouth quirked up, and Cas snapped a couple of shots, catching his hand on the back of his neck as he looked down shyly.

"Good," Cas said, not lowering his camera. "Go to the bed, please? Undo your robe, but leave it on."

Dean obeyed, sitting down carefully on the bed, picking at the sheets. "How should I --?"

"However is comfortable. Feel free to move, or to talk. I'll give you more specific requests later, but for right now I'm just trying to get my camera comfortable with your body."

"Uh -- 'kay." Dean lay back, trying to squash the self-consciousness. He picked at his nails. "Hey, Cas?"


"Why, uh -- why me? I mean -- I've seen a lot of your work, seems like you already got some awesome models -- unless they weren't crazy enough to agree, and y'had to trawl the bottom-feeders…"

"You were actually the first person I asked," Cas said, and now there was definitely a slight blush staining his cheeks.

"I -- really? But… why?"

Cas sighed, finally lowering his camera. "May I be blunt?"

"I… guess…?" Dean said with a hint of anxiousness.

Cas looked down, fiddling with a dial. "Dean, you are a beautiful man, by anyone's standards. And as I thought about this project in particular, I kept… imagining you in the images. I realize we're not close friends -- possibly not friends at all, though I hope I'm not alone in hoping we could be -- and I realize it's slightly, well, creepy -- but this is my dissertation, Dean, I couldn't not at least ask…"

Dean blinked at him in surprise, then broke out into a slow grin. "You think I'm cute," he teased, suddenly feeling much more at ease.

Cas rolled his eyes. "Dean, you are, quite literally, a model. You know you're attractive."

Dean half-shrugged. He sort of did, objectively, he'd been told so all his life, but could never quite believe it himself. But somehow it felt different, hearing it as he's sprawled out in scraps of pink lace with a plug shifting in his ass every time he moved.

And it didn't hurt, he supposed, that the person he was hearing it from was a brilliant photographer, who also happened to be achingly gorgeous.

"Take off the robe," Cas said, raising his camera again. He snapped a few pics as Dean shrugged it off, tossing it to the side. "Lay back however you like."

Dean obeyed, settling back against the pillows with his left knee bent. He was half-hard, as he'd been since he picked up the panties, plug and bottle of lube and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom; it had flagged a bit from nerves, but was stirring again under Cas' stare.

He couldn't help blushing a bit at the outline of his dick under the silk, but he figured it would be difficult to do an erotic photoshoot without arousal.

Cas seemed to agree, dropping to his knees and clearly focusing on his groin.

"Like what you see?" Dean drawled, trying to mask his self-consciousness.

Cas ignored him. "Frame yourself, please?"

"I -- what?"

"Your cock," Cas clarified, lowering the camera slightly to look up at him. "With your hands. But don't touch it."

Dean bit his lip and nodded. He reached down, fitting his hands into a loose triangle, with his thumbs on his hipbones and fingers splayed down his thighs, pulling the fabric even tighter. The head of his cock pressed against the waistband, leaving a small wet smear.

"Good," Cas murmured, snapping away. "Very good. Pull them down a bit, about halfway."

Dean took a deep breath and obeyed, pushing them down over the head of his cock until the silk nudged against wiry hair.

"I didn't -- I'm sorry, should I have shaved? I --"

"No," Cas assured him. "You're -- it's perfect." He circled around until he was kneeling on the mattress between Dean's legs, nudging them further apart. "Bend your other knee, please."

He leaned in to shoot from above, and distantly Dean wondered what he'd done in his life to wind up here, staring down at a gorgeous man taking pictures of his hard, panty-clad cock.

Finally Cas stood up, fiddling with something on his camera for a moment. Dean waited, keeping the panties in place, but he couldn't resist rubbing the fabric against his dick, and failed to entirely suppress a moan.

Cas' eyes flicked up to his face, then trailed down his body.

"S-sorry," Dean said, blushing again. "I didn't mean --"

"You can keep doing that," Cas said. He returned his attention to his camera, but his voice had undeniably dropped even lower.

Dean snorted weakly. "Dunno if that's a great idea, man, if you want this session to last more than thirty seconds."

Cas smiled without looking up. "I like it that you're responsive," he said. "Nothing's worse for me than trying to shoot a totally passive model." He lifted his camera again. "Are your nipples sensitive?"

"What? Uh -- yeah, kinda…"

"Reach up and play with one, please. With your left hand, however you enjoy."

Dean slowly brought his hand up to his chest. He rolled his nipple between his fingers, tentatively at first, then harder, as the camera clicked away. He pinched hard and tugged, his back arching off the bed, and he thought he heard a faint intake of breath from Cas.

"Do you like it rough?" Cas asked, his face obscured by his camera and hands.

"I -- jeez, Cas, straight to the point."

Cas half-shrugged. "The photographs will turn out better if you're enjoying it. It helps me to know how to direct you."

"Uh -- well, yeah, sometimes. More with dudes than chicks, I guess. Pretty vanilla with women, really, but with guys, s'easier to relax, feel like I'm not gonna accidentally push any limits."

"What do you think about when you masturbate?"

"I sure don't think about callin' it masturbate," Dean retorted with a small laugh.

"I'm sorry. What do you think about when you jerk off?"

"Jesus, Cas, you talkin' dirty like that ain't gonna help me not come in these panties."

"Well, I intend for you to," Cas pointed out. "But not just yet. Now answer the question, please."

"Jesus," Dean said again, blush deepening. "I -- um. Jeez, I dunno. I mean, there's all kinds of crap in my spank bank. Some days, yeah, s'gettin' thrown against the wall by some hot dude in an alley. Other days, I dunno, it's triplets."

"What are you thinking about right now?"

Dean turned an incredulous look on him. "Uh, there's a hot photographer takin' pictures of my dick in pink panties right now, you think I need any more material?"

"Pretend I'm not here, that you're alone in your room. Don't touch your cock yet, though," he added as Dean's hand twitched.


"Shh. You can touch yourself anywhere else you like."

"This how you talk to all your models?" he said, trying for levity.

"No," Cas said simply. "Now tell me, please."

"Um. Well. You talkin' to me like that, tellin' me what to do and shit, makes me think about bein' manhandled, I guess, y'know -- bein' thrown down on the bed, you havin' your way with me --"

He froze as he realized exactly what he just said. "Shit -- sorry, I didn't mean --"

"Please continue," Cas said, but stirrings of arousal were clear in his gravelly voice, bolstering Dean's courage.

"I mean, you're already fuckin' teasing me, you know you're drivin' me crazy," Dean said. He stretched slowly, one hand reaching over his head as the other toyed with the hem of the panties, still trapping his cock. He tugged lightly, arching against the pressure, and half-expected a reprimand, but Cas just moved down his body, clicking away.

"Thinkin' of you mouthing over these panties, holdin' my hips down, not quite lettin' me have your mouth…" He twisted a nipple roughly and gasped, unable to keep his free hand from reaching down to squeeze at his cock.

Immediately a hand shot out, grasping his wrist, and his eyes flew open.

"I told you not to touch yourself," Cas murmured. His eyes were wide and dilated, breathing slightly unsteady, but he just pressed Dean's hand to the bed before stepping away. "Roll over onto your stomach, please."

Dean whined, but obeyed, shifting onto his hands and knees. "You're a terrible person," he groaned.

"But a good photographer," Cas pointed out. "Rest your head on your arms and arch your back, however is most comfortable."

"Think we're past the line of me being comfortable," Dean muttered, shifting forward.

Immediately Cas lowered the camera. "Dean, are you okay with this? I realize this is a little more… intense… than I quite had planned, but I'm not trying to manipulate you into anything you don't want to do."

Dean just snorted, wiggling his hips. "Long as I'm allowed to jerk off to this for about the next fuckin' century, I'm fine." He pulled at the panties, now caught uncomfortably around the base of his cock. "How d'you want these? Kinda awkward like this..."

Cas tilted his head, snapping a few more shots. "Pull them back up for now."

Dean obeyed, then settled his head onto his forearms. "This good?"

"Perfect," Cas breathed. He reached out and tugged gently at the back of the waistband. "May I?"

"Um." Dean swallowed. "Yeah, go for it."

Cas slowly drew the panties down until they stretched against the crease of his thighs, exposing the base of the plug. He just stared for a moment without raising his camera, at the pale freckled cheeks with the silver plug nestled between them, underscored by the shiny pink silk bunched underneath.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Dean managed to throw over his shoulder, and was rewarded with an eye-roll.

Cas knelt down, taking close-ups of Dean's ass from several angles, trying to catch the way the sunlight played across the freckles and reflected off the silicone. Then he shuffled back, slowly zooming out and panning up Dean's body until he could capture the flush on his cheeks and haze of arousal in his eyes.

"Sit up slightly, leaning on your hands." He hummed appreciatively as Dean straightened up, bowing his head and closing his eyes. Cas zoomed in again, focusing on the tiny spiky shadows Dean's lashes threw onto his cheeks, then stood back up.

"Open your eyes, please. Look up at me." Dean obeyed, but his eyes lingered on Cas' mouth. Cas snapped a few shots of Dean's eyes dropped to his own lips before clarifying. "At the camera."

Dean's eyes shot up, staring up into the lens with open want, and the now-everpresent flush deepened again. "Sorry."

Cas shook his head slightly, moving around until he found an angle from which the light shone perfectly in his leaf-green eyes and highlighted the freckles underneath.

He hesitated, biting his lip. "Take it out, please," he finally said.

Dean's eyes widened, because this was teetering on the edges of the things they'd discussed, but his hand was already reaching behind himself before he could overthink it. He bent forward, pulling the plug out carefully and tossing it to the side.

He looked up at Cas slightly hopefully, but Cas just moved around again, then slowly pulled Dean's panties back up. He snapped a few more, trying to catch the disappointment that flitted across Dean's face.

"Put your hand on your ass."

Dean slid his hand back until it was resting on the curve, then looked over his shoulder. Cas hesitated again, then reached up and took his hand, nudging it over until his fingers were pressed between his cheeks.

"Finger yourself." The command was direct, but he lowered his camera, letting Dean see the obvious question in his eyes.

"You mean -- through the --"

"Yes. If you're willing."

Dean swallowed. "Kinky bastard," he said, aiming for a smirk. "I mean, I guess I should've pegged you for it, but…"


"Always say, I'll try anythin' once," he said with a crooked grin, then slowly pushed a silk-covered fingertip inside.

This time Cas' gasp was audible, watching the material stretch and pull as Dean worked his finger deeper.

"Fuck," Cas murmured, the first bit of profanity Dean had ever heard from him.

"Better not -- miss your shot," Dean breathed, his head tipping forward. "You want me to -- to try another?"

"Only if you're ready." Cas lifted his camera almost dazedly, moving back until Dean's entire body was in the viewframe, biting his lip in concentration as he pushed a second finger in alongside the first.

"God, you're perfect," he said without quite meaning to. He circled around again, focusing in on the fabric disappearing into the stretched hole. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah…" Dean reached down to shift his cock, where it was trapped against the ever-tightening material, and Cas followed with his camera.

He put a hand out to adjust the angle, then froze, looking up at Dean. "Uh -- may I?"

Dean nodded, but he didn't move his hand, so Cas wound up wrapping his fingers half around Dean's hand and half around his cock. He stared down, and to his own surprise he brought up his camera to snap a picture of their hands interlinked over Dean's dick.

Dean blinked at him, eyes going half-lidded as his cock twitched under the added pressure. "Thought you never put yourself in your pictures…"

"I don't," Cas agreed without lowering his camera. He rubbed his thumb against the panties, then pulled down the waistband until just the head was visible. He hooked his index finger in the elastic, twisting the already-taut fabric tighter still, camera still clicking. Dean couldn't bite back a moan, and Cas raised his focus, capturing Dean's mouth, wet and pink and parted.

Finally Cas moved back. Dean stayed stock-still, but his eyes followed Cas' motions.

He picked the plug back up from the bed and held it out, and Dean's eyes went wide.

"You want me to --?"

"Yes," Cas said simply. He shifted over to focus on Dean's fingers again, still pushing the fabric inside almost absently. "Like that."

"I don't know if I can…"

"Would you try? Please don't feel pressured to. You just look… incredible."

Dean reached out slowly, taking the plug. He twisted his fingers experimentally, and his whole body shuddered.

"Do you need more lube?" Cas asked without lowering his camera.

"Um. Probably." Dean choked out a slightly hysterical laugh. "Think these panties are done for anyway, so might as well."

"I'm sorry," Cas murmured. "I'll buy you another pair."

"You wanna photograph me in those too?"

Cas raised his eyes from the viewfinder. "In anything you'll let me," he said honestly.

Dean flushed again, but he finally withdrew his fingers. Cas scrounged around for a moment until he found the bottle of lube and handed it over.

Coating the plug liberally, Dean reached behind himself again. He tugged at the stretched-out fabric until it was spread out over his hole again, then took a deep breath and began pressing it inside.

"Be careful," Cas whispered. He kept shifting his camera between Dean's ass and his face, occasionally falling to the play of muscles in his back or his fingers twisting in the sheets.

He managed to get it partway in, his face contorted in concentration, but it kept slipping back out before he could get the base snug inside.

"I don't know if I can," he said, frustrated, his eyes screwed shut.

Cas touched his shoulder. "It's okay, Dean. It was just an idea. I don't want you to hurt yourself."

Dean huffed. "S'not that -- doesn't hurt, not exactly. It's just -- my fingers are so slippery, I can't get a grip on it, keep catchin' on the material. You could -- if maybe you could -- help?"

His cheeks were bright red, flush spreading down his neck and over his back.

"You're sure?"

Dean nodded, still not opening his eyes.

"Can I -- keep shooting?"

Dean's breathing hitched, but he nodded again.

Cas shifted behind him, stroking his hand down Dean's arm. "And you'll tell me if you're uncomfortable at any time -- for any reason?"

"Yes, Cas," Dean hissed. "But I'm gonna lose my fuckin' mind if you don't do something."

Finally Cas let his free hand drift down Dean's spine, following its progress with his camera. The plug had fallen back to the bed, and Cas snapped a picture of it bracketed by Dean's ass and his own hand before picking it up. He pressed his thumb against Dean's cloth-covered hole, listening to Dean's breathing go erratic, then nudged the head of the plug against it.

"Fuck," Dean breathed. He reached back, latching onto Cas' leg, and Cas froze for a second, before tilting his camera down to capture Dean's hand grasping his denim-covered thigh.

"Lean forward a little," Cas whispered, close enough that Dean could feel his breath tickling his back, and Dean obeyed, his hand tightening. "Good." He pushed the plug in further, still not quite touching Dean, just the tip of his thumb applying pressure to the base.

"Oh, fuck me," Dean gasped. He rocked back and forth for a moment before stilling himself. "S-sorry."

"You can move." Cas trailed his index finger down the cleft of Dean's ass, and he angled the camera the catch the way the plug slid against his fingertip, drawing in the fabric. "Whatever feels good to you. But don't come yet."

Dean groaned, pushing himself back, until all Cas had to do was hold the plug steady while Dean fucked himself back onto it, and keep his camera hand from shaking.

Finally, after several agonizingly slow minutes, it was fully seated in Dean's ass again. Cas allowed himself to take a photograph of his hand covering it, palm down and flush against the skin, before drawing away.

Dean whined, protesting the loss of contact, but Cas just stroked his thumb down Dean's thigh.

"Just a little bit longer," he promised. He sat back, camera lowered, admiring the way the shiny silver silicone contrasted with the puckered silk disappearing into Dean's ass. "So beautiful," he murmured. "You have no idea." He paused, then pushed gently at Dean's flank. "Would you -- you mind turning away from the mirror? So you can look back and see how beautiful you are?"

Dean stilled. "No, please," he whispered, dropping his head.

"Of course," Cas said, withdrawing his hand immediately.

"I'm sorry, I just --"

"Dean." He stroked down Dean's back, over his ass, grazing over the plug, and the tense muscles relaxed again. "You aren't my plaything. You must be comfortable telling me what you don't want."

"Okay." Dean leaned forward, bracing himself. "Maybe -- maybe another time, if you want, but right now --"

"We don't need to discuss another time yet," Cas said gently. "Not right now is good enough." Dean's hand came up to rub at the back of his neck, and Cas moved to the side to capture the way it highlighted his bowed head.

"How would you like to come?" he asked, zooming in on the tiny droplets of sweat dripping down his chest, and Dean's head jerked up.

"What? I get to, y'know, decide?"

"It would be ideal if you could come without your hand covering your cock," Cas said, tilting his head down. "I would love that shot. But I've put you through more than you expected today -- than either of us expected. I won't try to force that out of you."

"Oh," Dean murmured, looking back to the floor. "So you don't, you know, actually wanna…"

Without lowering his camera, Cas reached out and grabbed Dean's hand, placing it on his own crotch, where his cock strained against his jeans.

"I want to," he said, snapping a picture straight down. "But I will regret it to my dying day if I don't try to get these last photographs."

"Oh," Dean said again, but his eyes had lost their drawn-in look and gone back dark with arousal. He rolled his hips experimentally, so that the silk rubbed against his cock, and he groaned.

He squeezed his hand once, drawing out a gasp from Cas, before pulling it away. Trailing his hand over his chest, he paused to tug at one nipple, then the other. Slowly, he reached behind himself again, until his fingers were resting on the base of the plug. He looked up at Cas, and nudged it further inside.

Cas stared at his hand, tilting his camera down again. "Like that," he breathed. "Perfect."

"Cas," Dean growled. His hips jerked forward, and his other hand gripped the fabric around his cock, pulling it tight. The wet spot grew on the panties, and Dean bit his lip.

"I'm," he said breathlessly. "Please, Cas --"

Cas knelt down on the floor, angling his camera up.

"Yes," he said, clicking away as Dean's breathing grew heavier. "Pull them tighter, like you want --"

Dean keened, pressing his thumb hard against the plug as he yanked the panties tight over his cock. He opened his eyes, staring down at Cas, and then he was coming, crying out loud. It smeared against his belly and dripped down over the panties, staining the silk.

Cas just followed with his camera, capturing the thick ropes on Dean's skin. On a whim, he stretched out his hand, swiping it onto his fingers, and snapped a picture of that.

"So gorgeous," he murmured, focusing on Dean's flushed chest sucking in breaths, and then his face, half-lidded and wet-lipped. "Relax however you like."

He kept shooting nonstop as Dean sank slowly to the bed, zooming erratically between Dean's face, the streaks of sweat and come on his body, and his cock softening in the ruined panties.

Finally he lowered the camera, his own breathing notably unsteady. "I -- I think I have the shots I need," he said, looking down.

Dean flinched, sitting up. "Oh," he said, fumbling for the robe as Cas took the camera from around his neck. "Uh -- great. I'll just --"

He shut up as Cas handed him the camera. "What --?"

Cas just gave him an unreadable look, then bent his head and licked a slow, careful stripe over Dean's come-covered belly.

Dean stared down at him, wide-eyed. Dazedly, he raised the camera to his face, staring down at Cas' pink mouth and dark hair, and automatically pressed the shutter button.

"You're a natural," Cas whispered, lips moving against Dean's skin. He tugged the camera out of Dean's hands and set it carefully on the bed, then moved up to straddle his hips, fingertips trailing up his torso, lingering on his nipples, and finally landing on his shoulders. He leaned in, then stopped.

"Dean, I -- you must know, I truly don't do this with my subjects -- I never want to, to manipulate anything, or anyone, or -- or use the… erotically-charged atmosphere for my own -- oh." He swallowed the rest of his words as Dean yanked his mouth to his.

"Yeah," Dean agreed when they finally broke apart, gasping. He absently swiped his thumb over his lips. "Not gonna lie, that, uh… wasn't what I was expecting."

Cas flushed, looking down. "I'm so sorry, Dean. That was -- this is so unprofessional, I just -- mrrph," he concluded as Dean unceremoniously yanked his t-shirt over his head, then brought their mouths back together.

He wrapped one hand in Cas' hair and stroked the other down Cas' chest. He paused to tug at a nipple, drawing out a groan, and grinned.

"Pot, kettle, black, hmm?" he whispered, rubbing over it with the pad of his thumb.

"I never said mine weren't also sensitive," Cas pointed out breathlessly. "It just… wasn't relevant."

"I think it's relevant," Dean retorted.

Cas stared at him for a moment, and then abruptly Dean found himself flat on his back with a hot wet mouth traveling down his stomach, licking at errant strings of drying come.

"Oh, shit, Cas," Dean groaned, bucking his hips, but Cas forced them back to the bed.

"You wanted me to tease you, if I remember correctly," he reminded Dean, who scowled down at him.

"Think y've done -- enough of -- oh, fuck." Cas had dipped his head, brushing his lips over the wet material of the panties, already slightly tented again. "Are you trying -- t'kill me?"

Cas hummed, and Dean sucked in a sharp breath. He reached down, settling his hand in the soft dark hair. "Jesus, Cas," he ground out. "Make me feel like a fuckin' teenager."

"That would be highly inappropriate," Cas said. He traced the hardening length of Dean's cock with his tongue, then pulled back slightly, and Dean whined.

"Shh," Cas chided. He reached for his camera again, propping himself on his elbows between Dean's legs. The obvious stains on the silk stretching over Dean's dick were in the foreground, leading up along the lines of his body, with Dean's face just out of view.

"Can't be a good view," Dean rasped with a small smirk, but Cas just raised one eyebrow.

"On the contrary," he murmured, tilting his head so that his cheek rested on Dean's thigh, snapping another picture, "it's very appealing."

"Cas," Dean hissed. "Can I -- can you --" He gestured at the waistband of his panties, still pulled tight inside him. "Please…"

Cas blinked up at him for a moment, before sliding his hands under Dean's ass. He found the slippery base of the plug and pulled it out, but replaced it with two fingers, pushing them deep inside as he rubbed his thumb over Dean's perineum.

"Cas," Dean cried out, arching as the wet fabric dragged even tighter over his sensitive cock. The seams pinched cruelly at his balls, but he made no move to push Cas away.

"You wanted to be manhandled," Cas reminded him. He nudged Dean's thighs farther apart, angling the camera down towards his hand disappearing between Dean's legs.

He crooked his fingers as he raised the camera again, watching the pain and pleasure play over Dean's face as Cas' silk-covered fingertips rubbed over his prostate.

"Cas," Dean finally gasped out, propping himself up on his elbows, "if you don't put that fuckin' camera down and get your dick inside me, I swear to God --"

Cas ignored him for a moment, his eyes on the ripple of muscle on Dean's chest, shiny with sweat, but finally he set the camera aside. He twisted his fingers one last time, drawing out a shudder, then pulled them out carefully. Hooking his fingers in the waistband of the panties, he began peeling them slowly down Dean's hips.

Dean groaned as Cas tugged the fabric out of his body, but when Cas pulled them free and tossed the ruined panties to the side, he exhaled in relief.

"Thank fuck," he breathed. "Thought you were gonna kill me -- oh shit -- oh fuck --"

He dissolved into soft gasps as Cas sucked him down, finally coaxing him back to full hardness with his tongue.

"So you are tryin' to kill me," he managed, watching the dark hair bobbing up and down on his cock. "Worse -- ways t'go, I guess…"

Cas hummed in agreement, sending Dean's head back to the pillow as pleasure rippled up his spine. He sucked Dean down once to the root, then pulled off with a wet pop and crawled back up Dean's body.

Dean wrapped one hand around Cas' neck, tugging him closer until their mouths were sliding together, wet and messy. With his other hand he reached down and yanked at the button of Cas' jeans.

"The fuck aren't you naked yet," he muttered against Cas' lips. "Should've been naked fuckin' years ago."

"Technically, you've only been naked for a minute or two," Cas pointed out. The gravelly heat in his voice went to directly to Dean's dick, and he redoubled his attack on Cas' jeans.

Finally Cas batted Dean's hand away, rolling over and yanking them off in one smooth motion.

"'Bout fuckin' time," Dean growled. He reached out and dragged his hand down Cas' torso and over his stomach, finally wrapping his fingers around Cas' cock, rock-hard and already slick with precome.

"Jesus, your cock is as gorgeous as the rest of you," Dean muttered. He stroked it slowly, drinking in Cas' moans. "Since when do fuckin' art nerds get a body like this?"

Cas blushed. "I run daily. It helps to clear my head." He arched into Dean's touch, then paused. "Um -- I don't have -- I didn't think --"

Dean stared at him in disbelief, then broke into a ragged laugh. "You kiddin' me? You spend all day takin' pictures of naked people and you don't keep condoms around?"

"I've never thought I'd need one before," Cas said, flush deepening.

Dean blinked. "Wait, really? I mean, not that I thought you were lyin', but you're never, y'know, tempted?"

Cas shrugged, looking away. "I wouldn't be able to work with this subject matter if I weren't able to separate my work and my desires." He glanced down at Dean's fingers still wrapped around his dick. "At least, I used to be able to, apparently."

"Ooh, I'm special," Dean teased, but he couldn't deny the warmth coiling in his belly.

"Yes," Cas said simply. "I already thought so. But I didn't think…" he trailed off with a shrug, gesturing vaguely between them.

"Yeah, I wasn't exactly expectin' this either. Can't say it's never crossed my mind, though." Dean flashed him a crooked grin. "Good thing I'm responsible anyway. Should have some in my wallet. But you gotta get up and get it."

"Fair. But you'll have to take your hand off my dick first," Cas said reasonably.

Dean gave him an exaggerated pout, but he rolled away, settling back against the pillows. He watched appreciatively as Cas slid sinuously to his feet, padding to the corner where Dean's clothes were folded in a neat pile.

"Should be in my jeans, check the back pocket," Dean called, ogling Cas' ass as he bent over. "Feel free to rummage around like that for a minute though."

Cas lifted his middle finger over his head without looking up, then plucked out the wallet. "Really, Dean? Buffy?"

"Shut up," Dean informed him. "Left flap."

Cas flipped it open, extricating the shiny plastic wrapper and tossing the wallet back down. He turned around, then paused for a moment, taking in the sight of Dean sprawled across the rumpled sheets, palming himself lazily.

"Not that I don't appreciate the view from here," Dean drawled, eyeing Cas up and down, "but I'm pretty sure I like it even better up close."

Cas snorted, but he crossed back over the studio floor.

Dean stopped him before he could drop to the bed, rising to his knees to press his hand against Cas' hip.

"Dean, what -- oh," Cas groaned as Dean leaned forward, wrapping his lips around the head of Cas' cock.

"Dean -- you can't --" Cas managed, but his hand instinctively came up to settle in Dean's hair. Dean stared up at him, a smirk dancing in his brilliant green eyes, then tugged at Cas' hip, pushing him deeper down his throat.

"Fuck." Cas twisted Dean's hair hard, and a low moan reverberated around his cock. "Dean." He forced himself to pull Dean off, ignoring his whine of disapproval. "Unlike you, I did not have an orgasm five minutes ago to mitigate being hard for several hours. If you want me to fuck you, you need to stop now."

Dean sighed dramatically, but he flopped back against the pillows. "Fi-ine. But I'd been dyin' to know what your cock tastes like since before I even saw it. Figured it was only fair."

"And far it be for me to deny you," Cas said dryly. "But I've been thinking of my cock in your gorgeous ass since you walked in the door. If I'm deprived of it now I think I might die."

"Can't have that," Dean agreed. He spread his legs, wiggling his hips enticingly. "So how d'you wanna do this? You're the choreographer here."

"I confess, I'm not particularly concerned with lighting and composition at this particular moment." His fingers twitched, though, and Dean raised his eyebrow.

"You sure about that, mister photographer man?" He stretched languidly, flexing purposefully, and Cas grabbed for his camera automatically.

"You are a monster," Cas said, dropping to his knees to capture the play of muscles. He lingered on Dean's face, focusing on the playful smirk juxtaposed with the lust darkening Dean's eyes.

Finally he set the camera down again, crawling onto the bed to settle between Dean's legs. He leaned in to kiss Dean again, tongues sliding together, then broke away to fumble for the condom.

"Where the fuck did the lube end up?" he muttered, tearing open the wrapper with his teeth.

"God, I don't know why it's so fuckin' hot when you curse," Dean grumbled. "Not fuckin' fair." He flung his arm out, patting over the sheets until he came up with the bottle, tossing it in Cas' direction.

Cas rolled the condom on, then clicked open the bottle, drizzling lube over his cock and slicking up his fingers. He pressed his hand between Dean's legs, but Dean batted it away.

"B'lieve me, 'm ready," he said, bending his legs further. "Fuckin' plug did its job."

Cas paused, frowning. "Dean, it wasn't --"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean interrupted. "I know it wasn't on purpose. I'm pretty okay with the happy accident, though. Now will you -- fucking -- fuck me --"

Cas growled. He wrapped one arm around Dean's thigh, and with his other hand he guided his cock into Dean's body. True to Dean's word, his hole was still slick and and open, and Cas slid inside with almost no resistance.

"Oh, fuck," Dean cried as Cas went for it immediately, setting up a pounding rhythm. Dean braced one hand on the wall behind him, reaching down with the other to pull his right knee back, spreading himself open even further.

Cas grabbed his leg, hooking it over his shoulder. He drove in deeper and Dean moaned, arching his back, and reached for his cock.

Cas grabbed his hand and pulled it away. He forced himself to slow down his brutal pace, just rocking his hips shallowly, holding Dean still when he tried to push back down.

"Cas," Dean whined, squirming shamelessly. "C'mon, y'gotta -- harder, please, c'mon…"

"Dean," Cas breathed, putting a hand on Dean's chest. "I would very much like for this to last more than thirty seconds."

"Nghh," Dean protested. "Can do it again later."

Cas snorted weakly, turning his head to press a kiss to the inside of Dean's knee. "I fully intend to." He ground in deep, cock dragging over Dean's prostate, then pulled out slowly, until just the head was nudging inside. He paused, staring down at Dean's hole clenching around him, then reached for his camera.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me," Dean groaned, throwing a hand of his eyes.

"Well, you're asking for it," Cas said. "Lying there all gorgeous and debauched." He paused again, camera halfway to his eyes. "I mean -- is it okay?"

Dean stared at him, eyes narrowed. "Only if once you're done, you fucking fuck me, an' no more of this makin' it last bullshit."

"You drive a hard bargain," Cas murmured. He aimed straight down, zooming in on his own cock teasing Dean's rim.

"I want you to be drivin' a hard… something," Dean retorted, but he tried to still himself for the camera.

"So perfect…" Cas breathed. He leaned back, angling the camera up Dean's body, from the flushed head of his dick dripping onto his belly to his shadows pooling in his collarbones. "You've ruined me for other models."

"Yeah, well, 'm waiting for you to ruin me already," Dean mumbled.

Cas smiled slightly. He rocked his hips back and forth, capturing the way Dean's eyes fluttered closed. Finally he braced his hand on Dean's waist, focused the camera on his face, and slammed himself back down hard.

Dean's eyes flew open and he let out a howl, fingers scrabbling in the sheets. Cas could only click the shutter blindly, his own vision going white at the edges, before Dean grabbed for the camera and threw it to the bed.

"My turn," Dean demanded. He bent his knees again, this time settling both legs on Cas' shoulders, and wrapped his hand determinedly around his cock.

Cas gave up trying to hold back. He grabbed Dean's thighs and began driving in, hard and relentless.

"Oh, fuck, yeah." Dean braced his arm on the wall again, shoving himself down to meet each of Cas' thrusts. "Just like that, baby -- Jesus, don't stop --"

"I'm going to have to stop if you don't -- stop -- talking --"

Dean just moaned, throwing his head back. He tightened his fist around his cock, fucking up into it every time Cas slammed home.

"Cas, Cas, c'mon," he chanted. His eyes were only half-open, but they were locked on Cas'. "C'mon, c'mon, so close, baby, please..."

Cas choked out something between a groan and a snarl. He gripped Dean's hips, hard enough to leave fingertip-shaped bruises, and yanked him further into his lap.

With the shift in angle Cas' cock ground mercilessly against Dean's prostate with every thrust. Dean's mouth dropped open in a silent oh, his back bowing up off the bed. His eyes finally fell shut again, and then he was coming with a long, guttural moan, spilling over his fingers and dripping onto his stomach.

Cas fucked Dean through his orgasm, staring down at him, so in awe of the way Dean's face looked when he came that his camera didn't even occur to him, and he barely registered his own orgasm before it hit him.

Gasping, he doubled over, his forehead pressed into Dean's chest as he rode it out. Dean dropped his free hand from the wall to Cas' hair, stroking softly as their breathing settled.

"Holy shit," Dean said, cracking an eyelid open. "That was… holy shit."

"Mmph," Cas agreed. He stretched awkwardly, then made a face, finally noticing the smears of come he'd landed in. "I think I'm stuck to your stomach."

"Works for me," Dean said, and Cas snorted.

Cas pulled out slowly and rolled to the side, yanking off the condom. He tied it up and flung it somewhere across the room.

"Don't wanna get up," he mumbled, "but a washcloth sounds really fucking good right now."

Dean grunted, holding out his hand. "Water bottle." Cas flung an arm over the bed, fumbling around until he came up with one, and handed it over. "Now bathrobe." A pile of soft fleece landed on his face.

Dean opened the water bottle, pouring some onto a corner of the bathrobe, then presented it victoriously. "See? Washcloth." He wiped at Cas' stomach and then his own, before reaching down between his legs. "Think I'm a lost cause without a shower, though."

"Disgusting," Cas agreed, rolling over to press against Dean's side. "Absolutely repellent."

"I can tell." They lay together in contented quiet, just gently curious hands and soft sighs.

"So you think you got the shots you needed?" Dean asked, only half-joking.

Cas hummed, kissing Dean's chest. "Yes, Dean. I'm quite sure I got the shots I needed. And many more than no one else need see at all."

Dean let out a slow exhale, tension he hadn't even registered draining out of him. "So you're not gonna show -- y'know -- those pictures? The ones that --?"

Cas shook his head, stifling a yawn. "Those photographs are only for me. And for you, if you want."

"Yeah, I think I want," Dean said with a small smile. He pulled Cas closer, breathing into his disheveled hair. "Hey, Cas?"


"Think you might need to rename your dissertation. Branchin' out a little beyond autoerotica here."

Cas groaned, and Dean grinned, dodging the pillow Cas aimed at his head.