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Service Call

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Dean parks his work truck outside the address of his first appointment for the morning at seven fifty-one, and it would be a nice bungalow house if it weren’t for the color. Stepping out to stare from the curb, Dean marvels at the truly outrageous pink that the house is painted, its shutters a deep magenta. The thing is like a big ‘fuck you’ to the neighbors.

It’s well maintained. It would be a model house of neighborly good will, with it’s close cut grass and weed-free flower gardens, hell the porch has wicker furniture and there’s a long row of wind chimes sounding merrily in the light morning breeze.

It’s a cute house, but god, that pink is horrible.

Okay, maybe Dean’s a little judgmental in the morning when he’s cranky and the coffee hasn’t kicked in yet. He’s early by a few minutes, but it is his first stop. He had given a courtesy call when he was five minutes away, and didn’t receive an answer. If someone doesn’t answer the door, then he’ll probably mill around outside until the appointment time.

Walking up the neat stone-paver path to the front porch, stairs stooped with age but sturdy, Dean rings the doorbell. After a minute, he knocks just in case the doorbell doesn’t work. The porch is inviting, pastel floral print cushions on the wicker furniture and someone is in the middle of a jig-saw puzzle on the wicker table. Dean would think someone’s grandma lives here, but when he’d taken the phone request for an estimate regarding a small roof leak, it was definitely a guy, didn’t sound too old, but shit, Dean wanted him to be a sex-phone operator.

Was that still a thing? With internet porn and cam girls, did sex phone lines still exist?

Dean’s wandering thoughts are cut off by the loud and hurried sound of someone tromping down the stairs. The door is swung open and Dean’s about to apologize for being a few minutes early, but, wow, that is a lot to take in.

He’s not wearing a shirt, and Dean’s gaze moves in jerky flicks from blue eyes, tousled dark hair, to pierced nipples, some kind of blocky foreign word tattoo on the side, hip bones like goddam, and tenting a pair of stupid novelty boxers with puffy clouds and cherubs on them is a very prominent erection. Bare feet, hairy legs, nicely muscled calves, back to the boner. Dean just stands and stares.

The guy, what was his name, something weird, Cas something, tugs at the front of his boxers, looking supremely uncomfortable, when an orange blur shoots past his ankles and before Dean knows what’s going on he’s bent over and grabbed a ball of fluff.

Tabby cat squirming in his arms, the guy tosses the cat back in the house and steps onto the porch, closing the door behind him.

“Sorry, I just woke up, this is, uh…”

Dean definitely does not look below the guys chin, and that pouty mouth that’s just…. “No yeah, hey, sorry about being early, I’m Dean.”


He’s given a firm hand-shake before Cas gingerly steps around him, and when Dean turns he finds that across the - truly magnificent - ass is written ‘Angel’.

Cas steps down from the porch and starts leading Dean to the side of the house.

“So, the leak is just above the stairs to the top floor, here,” he points vaguely at the roof.

“I’m gonna need to see inside, too.” Dean says.

The roof is a safe place to look - that doesn’t involve estimations of seven, maybe eight inches - even though he can’t see shit other than that the shingles are a light gray.

“What?” Cas squints at him.

“I need to see inside, where the damage is.”

“But, you’re supposed to fix the roof.”

God, he still has a hard on.

“Yep,” Dean nods, “But if I know where the damage is on the inside it’ll help me to figure out where the problem is on the outside.

“Oh,” Cas turns around and leads him back up on the porch, muttering, “I suppose that makes sense.”

The tabby cat tries to run outside as they go in, and Cas effectively nudges it aside and blocks it’s path. The inside is cluttered in an organized sort of way. Cas takes him upstairs, and the whole second floor is open, sloping towards a row of windows in the front and the back that are covered with gauzy orange and gold curtains. It’s a pretty small and low space, scattered with rugs and pillows and it looks like some kind of hippy’s den with far east decorations, so Dean’s not sure why Cas didn’t want him to come inside but then, oh hey, that’s a sex swing in the corner and Dean missed the giant pump bottle of lube next to a gold statue of Buddha and is that really a bronze bowl full of condoms…

“So, it’s just up there.”

Cas points up and Dean snaps his gaze away from the sex swing to look at the ceiling.

“Yep. You’ve got a roof leak.”

Cas snorts and rolls his eyes.

It’s not too bad; the pale yellow paint of the ceiling is bubbling where water is retaining, but where it’s broken through there’s some crumbling plaster that’s fallen down. It’s about three square foot total, not too serious a leak. Depends on how long it was let go to get to this point.

Dean pulls a measuring tape out and takes estimates along the walls, eyeing where the damage is and making a mental note of it. Cas shifts from one foot to another, standing a few steps up from Dean, and that is definitely not the best spot for him to be standing but at least he’s not sporting morning wood now.

He does have a cute treasure trail though, stomach taught and tan between the ridges of his hips.

There’s another cat, black, sitting at the bottom of the steps when they go back down.

“Might be some old storm damage, I’ll take a look out there,” Dean says.

“I had the roof done about eight years ago, but the contractor was a jackass and I do not trust his quality of work.”

“That sucks,” Dean commiserates. “Give me ten, fifteen minutes, I’ll let you know what I see.”

Cas nods, and lets him out, grabbing the orange tabby and tucking it under his arm as he shuts the door.

Dean gets his ladder from the truck and climbs up to the gently sloping roof of the bungalow. He guesstimates where the damage should be, checking around, and finds a few nails sticking up that could be the cause for a slow leak. Snapping a few photos on his cell phone, he climbs back down.

When he knocks, Cas answers in jeans and a t-shirt, hair somewhat flattened, and steps onto the porch.

“So, I found some nails sticking up, that’ll be a slow leak, and I can nail them down and caulk around them and that should fix your problem,” Dean shows Cas the photos on his phone, “It could be something else, I didn’t notice anything, but if the caulking doesn’t work you give me a call and I’ll come back out again okay.”

Cas frowns at the phone, finger swiping between photos, and Dean yanks it back before Cas swipes too far.

He really should get separate phones for work and private.

“How much would it be?”

Dean shrugs, it’s not a high or a steep roof, mostly it’s the cost for coming out, “Seventy five, but if it’s still leaking we’ll discount that towards any further work that needs to be done.”

“That sounds very reasonable. When can you complete the work?”

“I can do it now, it’ll take maybe fifteen minutes.”

Dean’s next appointment is another estimate he needs to be at between nine and ten, so he has plenty of time.

“Okay,” Cas nods, tucking one hand in his back pocket and cocking his hips and his feet are bare, toes curling over the edge of a paver stone and onto soft green grass, and christ, he’s got clothes on now and Dean’s having dirty thoughts about his bare feet. “Do you take personal checks?”

Snapping his gaze back up to Cas’ eyes, and geeze it’s even worse that looking at his feet, Dean says, “Yeah, of course. I’m gonna climb up there, I’ll knock when I’m done.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Dean gives Cas a short half-wave and heads back to his ladder that’s still propped against the side of the house. He doesn’t miss how Cas trails after him to the corner of the house and watches him get up on the roof. A lot of people want to watch while you work because even though they don’t know shit about what you’re doing they want to make sure you’re doing it right, and other people are concerned when he’s on a minor job on his own like he shouldn’t be getting up on a ladder without a spotter. There’s a tiny egotistical voice in Dean’s head that reminds him the jeans he wore this morning make his ass look fantastic.

It’s not much work to tap down a few nails and caulk them, and Dean’d feel kind of bad about charging seventy-five for it, but it’s the minimum for a service call. He kind of wants Cas to still be waiting for him when he climbs back down, but the guy isn’t, so Dean secures his ladder to his truck again and puts the caulk away.

When he knocks on the front door, Cas waves him inside and Dean makes sure the screen is shut, the orange tabby watching them with a sharp gaze from it’s perch on a table a few feet from the door.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Cas asks, “Water? Coffee?”

Dean can smell coffee brewing somewhere in the house, and really, he shouldn’t be accepting anything but a check from their customers, but a quick glance at his watch tells him it’s barely past eight thirty, so he’d probably end up grabbing a coffee somewhere else anyway, and if Cas already has it on.

“Sure, coffee would be great, thanks.”

“Sugar? Cream?”

Dean follows Cas to the back of the house where the kitchen sits narrow and bathed in sunlight, pots of herbs set in the windowsills that have delicate lacey curtains over the top half.

“Uh, just black, thanks.”

Cas gets a mug down and Dean is probably a little too curious as he glances around at the lime green toaster, the yellow coffee maker, the pink microwave and, wait, seriously, “Is that a Hello Kitty microwave?”

“Yes,” Cas passes him a mug that has colorfully painted birds on it, “I found it at an estate sale. It’s small, but I like it.”

Dean studies the microwave while he takes a sip of coffee, hot and bitter and a little spicy, “Damn, that’s good coffee.”

“Thank you.” After he pours a mug for himself, this one a shimmery gray pattern, Cas riffles through a small basket on the counter that’s set under some kind of wood divided organizer affixed to the wall that looks like it holds mail and bills. Pulling out a check book and pen, Cas leans his elbows on the counter and stoops over while he writes his check, jeans pulling tight over his ass and Dean is having inappropriate thoughts.

“Do I make it out to Winchester and Sons?” Cas asks, glancing over his shoulder, noticing that Dean is noticing him and there’s a smug fucking smile on his face.

Dean coughs, shifting from one foot to the other then leaning against the counter. “Yeah, that’s good.”

“Is it a family business?”

“Yeah, my grandfather started it, my dad took over, and my poor kid brother, he didn’t want to be a contractor so he went to college and got a fancy degree but he couldn’t find a job so he started working with us to pay off his loans.”

“At least he had somewhere to go for a job.”

“Our dad gives him shit for it, but it’s good work.”

Cas passes the check over, stepping closer than is necessary as Dean sets his mug down and folds it to put in his pocket.

“I want to give you my number, Dean.”

“I have your contact information.” Dean says, like a dumbass.

“I don’t mean as a client.” Cas leans in closer, and he smells fucking amazing. “I mean for a personal, intimate capacity.”

Dean swallows thickly and nods. “No, yeah, that totally works too.”

Dean’s not sure if Cas is completely unaware of boundaries, or if he’s crossing them on purpose, or if it’s because Dean’s brain is not getting any messages right now - his dick’s the stupid one getting messages - but Cas slips his hand into Dean’s pocket and pulls out his phone, enters a number into the contacts, then puts his phone back, hand lingering warm against Dean’s thigh and god, forget the coffee, Dean needs to find somewhere private to jack off before his next estimate.

“Thank you for fixing my roof Dean. I’ll give you a call later.”


Cas doesn’t actually call Dean, he’s more of a texter, with a lot of emojis. Dean doesn’t understand what all of it means, but he gets a date out of it. And he was trying to do things, y’know, how they should be done. Getting to know each other, talking, eating out, being friends first. But Cas, either he isn’t interested in being Dean’s friend, or he thought that sex came before friendship.

Either way, Dean can deal.

An effort has been made. Dean figures the traditional movie and dinner was the way to go, Cas wants to see some ‘avant-garde’ theatre performance - whatever that was - and somehow they wind up starting with greasy burgers at a dive joint and then they’re…. making out in the Impala.

Dean totally kisses on the first date.

Dean totally does more than that on the first date.

So he’s got a hand down Cas’ jeans, his mouth scraping against the stubble on Cas’ neck, both of them twisted together in the front seat and pushed against the passanger door, in a shady corner of the parking lot and you know what, Dean doesn’t really care if he’s a slut.

Because honestly? Cas is more of a slut than Dean is.

He’s loud and unashamed as he moans and pushes his hips up, one arm thrown over the back of the seat, the other hand clutching a tight fist of Dean’s shirt between his shoulder blades. Cas shifts and squirms like he’s not sure how best to settle in for a steamy make-out-session handjob in the front seat of a car. Dean’s done this plenty of times. The backseat is better for a quicky, you just have to make sure not to knock your head on the ceiling too much.

“Dean,” Cas groans, drawing it out filthy and his name sounds so good coming out of that mouth, “Dean, I really want to suck you off.”


Squeezing tight around the base of Cas’ dick, fingers spreading down to tease his balls, Dean shoves his face against Cas’ neck and humps the shin of Cas’ leg folded awkwardly between the seat and Dean.

“You want to go back to your place?” Dean asks, leaning back so he can look at Cas’ face, flushed pretty in the sharp shadows of the parking lot lights, “I really wanna try out that swing.”

“Mm, later, I’ll fuck you in the swing later…”

Rolling his head to the side, Cas glances out the window, the brick building rising up on the side of the Impala, and it might just be luck that Dean picked a corner spot, or maybe he’s fooled around in his car so much it’s instinct at this point to pick an advantageous spot.

Fumbling behind him, Cas opens the door and half falls out, Dean wrapping an arm around his broad chest to hold him steady as he scurries backward. Jeans still open and hard on hanging out, Cas manages to get out of the car as he drags Dean towards him, the two of them glancing around the parking lot. There’s a drunk couple stumbling out the back door and they fall into a taxi together, and someone is smoking leaned against the side of the wall but they’re focus is on their phone in their hands.

Swinging his legs out in front of him, Dean leans back on his elbows and sets his boots on the gravel, knees spread wide and Cas crouches and looks up at him, hands eager and rough on his jeans as Cas getts them opened and pulled down his hips.

Dean brushes a hand through Cas’ soft hair, cups the back of his head as he goes down, plush lips wrapping around the head of Dean’s dick and he tongues lazily at it a while, makes Dean’s eyes roll back and his hips stutter. Cas leans an arm against one of Dean’s thighs, moves the other restlessly under his shirt spreading up his ribs, nimble fingers tweaking his nipples.

It turns fast and sloppy, and that’s kind of the idea of a parking-lot blowjob, but it hits Dean hard. Cas sucks him down and more than anyone seeing into their dark corner Dean thinks someone might hear the wet greedy noises that Cas makes, taking a little more every time he goes down, until Dean can feel the give of his throat, the clutch of him starting to gag a little before he swallows and determinedly presses his nose to Dean’s skin. Fuck.

Dean falls back against the seat, thighs closing tight against Cas’ strong shoulders, muscles tensing as Cas barely moves on him, doing wicked things with his tongue, fingers still playing with Dean’s nipples.

Clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle a needy whimper, Dean comes hard in the tight heat of Cas’ mouth, hips twitching.

Cas pulls off his dick wetly, grinning, turns his head to the side and spits on the gravel then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. As he stands up, glancing around the parking lot, he tucks his still hard dick back in his jeans and that’s a tragedy.

Dean sits up, stomach weak and trembling still, presses his face against a sharp hip and palms at Cas’ dick.

“As much a that’s appreciated, I have plans for you.”

“Mmm?” Dean nuzzles his way up under a t-shirt and mouths at warm skin.

“Remember, you want to try out that swing?”

One of Cas’ eyebrows goes up as he pins Dean with his stare, and Dean won’t be able to get it up again tonight but he’s definitely down to let Cas do whatever he wants.


Blunt nails scrape through his short hair and Cas tugs his head back.

“Come on Dean, take me home.”

“I can do that.”