“Sam,” Dean says, walking up behind his little brother—who’s perched at the kitchen island with a bowl of soggy cereal in front of him. “What the hell is a textdoor neighbor ?”
Sam looks up from his boring bran flakes and gives Dean a wrinkled face expression. “Uh, it’s this internet thing going around. How did you even hear about it?” Sam asks.
“Kids these days,” Dean sighs as he hands his phone over.
505-867-5308 << Hey, textdoor neighbor!
505-867-5308 << *bear waving gif*
Dean >> Who is this?
505-867-5308 << I’m your number neighbor. We have the same number except the last # is either one up or down.
“Oh, yeah people are texting their phone number neighbors, like, you know, your phone numbers are neighbors. You have an iconic number, Dean. I’m surprised you don’t get texted more often.” Sam grins at Dean, knowing how much he hates his phone number. The only reason he hasn’t gotten rid of it is because he’s pretty sure if he changed it, they would never hear from Uncle Bobby again. Or he would have to drive all the way to South Dakota to reprogram his number into Bobby’s phone.
“Whatever, I don’t have time to deal with that. Plus, he’s an even, he would live on the other side of the street, not next door,” Dean grumbles as he walks out of the kitchen. He has to leave for work in less than two minutes, but can’t help feeling like a dick for not responding. One time he didn’t respond to a text from Sam and got an hour long lecture about respect and kindness. It wouldn’t take him more than a few seconds to send a reply and then maybe this weirdo would leave him alone.
Dean >> Oh
Dean >> weird lol
There, now he’s not an asshole, but doesn’t have to play the stupid game.
The traffic is light, and Dean’s pleasantly surprised to make it to work with a few minutes to spare. He’s doing a bathroom remodel in the upper east end of town, and today is his last day. All he has to do is go through, finish a few final touches, and meet with the family to make sure they approve.
Dean checks his phone one last time before going in, making sure the ringer is turned off. He already got chastised by the owners of the home for having his volume too loud . Normally, he would spend the next three days playing obnoxious ringtones just to piss them off, but these are highly influential people, and if they are pleased with his work, they might send him some more business. It’s been a struggle to get his business off the ground, and one good recommendation in this neighborhood could be his big break.
The business has only been up and running for a year, cleverly named Winchester Remodeling. He does good work and every customer has been happy so far, but it’s not like he’s above lifting his shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow several times a day to keep Mrs. Johnson entertained. And maybe she hosted a cocktail hour several times a week, even when he wasn’t here. But Dean knows the desperate gaze of a lonely housewife, and a hot construction worker usually takes the primo spot in their fantasies. If it helps him get his mortgage paid off sooner, he doesn’t mind strutting a little while he gets to do what he loves. And it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy being objectified by women who have paid top dollar to stay just as beautiful as they were in their early thirties.
It’s only three o’clock in the afternoon by the time he’s leaving with Mrs. Johnson’s number tucked into his pocket. Mrs. Chavez made sure to get his card and asked if she could have a few extras for some friends who have expressed interest in remodeling. He’s sure the black tank top he wore while remounting a light fixture helped in that situation, and he’s grinning the whole ride home.
505-867-5308 << Yeah everyone’s doing it on Twitter
505-867-5308 << Wanna play 21 questions or something?
Oh man, this is not what he expected, but he’s in a really good mood and for the first time in three months he has an early start to an actual weekend off. So he decides he’ll play along. He’s sitting in the parking lot of the liquor store by his house when he decides to reply.
Dean >> depends, how old are you?
505-867-5308 << Don’t judge me...35. I know I’m too old for these types of games but *Shrug emoji* How old are you?
Dean >> okay, you’re not a child at least. I’m 31.
He stares at his phone for a minute, but when there isn’t an immediate reply, he pockets the device and makes his way into the store. Not only is it the first real weekend he’s had in several months, but he’s going to be alone for most of it. Sam left for a camping trip shortly after Dean rushed out the door this morning, and he’s not coming back until Sunday evening. His biggest worry for the next few days is whether he needs to wear pants when the pizza guy shows up. But to have a proper good time he needs beer. Lots and lots of beer.
It turns out that the answer is yes, you should always wear pants when answering the door to the pizza delivery person. Dean can’t imagine a world where he would let his teenage daughter deliver pizza to creepy old dudes that answer the door in their boxer briefs, so it never occurred to him that it would be a teen girl that delivered his large deep dish Meat Mania. But the smell of extra sausage is helping him recover from his embarrassment quickly enough.
505-867-5308 << So...what’s your favorite food?
Holy shit, Dean almost forgot about his number neighbor and their game of twenty-one questions. He’s not in a bad mood by any means, but he’s not really up for talking to a stranger the way he was earlier in the day, so he resorts to a classic—be a pervert and scare the person away. Sam can’t yell at him for this. It’s part of his core personality, and he’s still responding.
He’s lounging on the couch with the TV playing something mindless as he stares down at his phone. There are beer bottles scattered around the pizza box and he wonders for a moment if he should get up and tidy the place up a bit, but decides that’s future Dean’s problem.
Dean >> Pasta
Dean >> Have you ever been fu… Dean back spaces and wonders if it’s too much. But he’s had several beers and is drunk off greasy meats and carbs just as much as the booze. So he says fuck it and continues the message.
Dean >> Have you ever been fucked in the ass?
He grips his phone as he feels instant regret. What if he just sent that message to the small delivery girl or someone just like her? The texter said they are 35, but that could have been a lie. Oh god, what if he sent that to a sexual-assault survivor? Fuck, what’s wrong with him? He starts typing out his apology, when the three little bubbles pop up, telling him his neighbor is writing back. Fuck, he’s about to get his ass handed to him by a stranger. Maybe default mode pervert shouldn’t be apart of his game plan anymore.
His palms are sweating as he stares down at the ominous bubbles, but he waits for the much deserved ass chewing. He’s shocked at the reply he gets.
505-867-5308 << I have, but I prefer to be the one doing the ass fucking ;p
Dean almost feels giddy with the relief of not accidently hurting someone's feelings as he sags back against the couch. He likes to play the tough guy, but really he hates making people feel bad and never wants to hurt anyone's feelings. There is an internal debate that lasts about six seconds on if he should message them back, but this person is clearly down to talk, and Dean is alone, in his boxers, sporting a strong buzz. Maybe this guy—he thinks it’s a guy—would be up for some fun?
Dean >> Mmm, I like the sound of that. It’s nice to change it up every now and then. I’m a bottom myself. *devil emoji*
505-867-5308 << So you give and receive, am I correct in assuming you’re a man?
Dean >> Yup. You?
505-867-5308 << I am male as well. And in case you are wondering, I identify as gay.
It’s very rare that Dean has had to state his sexuality. Sam always just kind of knew, and his parents were both gone before he ever realized that he might want to try things with other men. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable being bisexual, he just feels weird saying it out loud, or in this case, typing it. It might be that it’s just hard to divulge personal information.
Dean >> Cool. I’m bi.
505-867-5308 << Nice.
505-867-5308 << Well since I know your orientation and your preferences, I could let you know my name...you can call me Cas if you’d like.
Dean can’t stop smiling at his phone. He’s texting another dude that maybe lives in the same area code, or maybe he moved away. Should he ask? Would that be weird?
Dean >> Hiya, Cas. I’m Dean.
He leans back against the armrest of his couch, making himself comfortable while he programs Cas’ number into his phone.
Cas << Hello, Dean. That’s a very sexy name.
Dean >> Thanks. Cas is unique, I like it. Is it short for Cassanova?
Cas << Is that a flirtation?
Dean >> It is if you want it to be. ;)
Cas << And if I did want it to be...would you keep going?
Dean >> oh, baby. I’d go as far as you’d let me.
It was a cheesy line, and Dean knows it, but cheesy usually works for him. Though, he usually only uses lines on women. With men, he’s always been more direct. It’s strange that he's talking to this guy, and tried to get some sort of sext game out of him without even knowing what he looks like. He must be in a needy mood because he feels inexplicably drawn to this man.
Cas << ...and what if I didn’t want you to stop?
Dean’s heart rate picks up. Fuck, he didn’t think this would actually escalate to that, and especially this quickly, but now that he’s here he wants to keep going.
Dean >> Well I would start by asking you what you like. Where would you want me to start? Kissing your neck or maybe nibbling your ear? What do you like, Cas?
His boxers start to tent slightly as he sees the reply bubbles come up on the screen. Any minute this total stranger could tell him to fuck off or call him a perv, but that feels like half the excitement. He doesn’t know what the boundaries are yet, or if he’s going to get in trouble. It makes him feel powerful and reckless at the same time. His dick has taken quite an interest and the longer the reply takes, the more excited he gets.
Cas << I like many things. I like being told how good I am. I want to be good for you, Dean. I want you to kiss my long neck, and bite me right above my collar bone. Not hard though, just enough to tease. Would you do that, would you tease me?
Oh fuck, his semi just turned in to a raging boner, and they haven't even started yet. What is it about this guy? Dean wonders if he plays his cards right if he could get him to send a pic. Maybe if Dean sends one first? He’ll wait though because a pic isn’t necessary and he doesn’t want to scare the poor guy off. Not when the fun’s just getting started.
Two years ago, he and Sam had set in place a strict rule barring any sex acts in public space, and though Dean is sure Sam is out of town, he’s not about to have his brother walk in on him a second time with his pants around his ankles sitting on this very couch. Not to mention he’s not going to pay to get it cleaned again. So instead, Dean decides to drag himself up and take this to the bedroom. But first, he makes a pitstop to collect two more beers––he doesn’t want his buzz to fade.
It doesn’t take long before he’s naked and tucked into bed, the cool sheets gathered around his ever hardening cock. He doesn’t want to touch it yet—like Cas, he wants to be teased. So instead he shifts himself enough to get a small amount of movement from the fabric as he reaches for his beer. He guzzles half in one drink before he responds to the other man.
Dean >> You want to be good for me, Cas? I bet you like it when you’re told what a good job you’re doing, don’t you? Is praise what gets you hot? If I told you to lay down on my bed and let me make you feel good, would you be a good boy and let me? You would look so hot laying there waiting for me to take you apart. Since I’m teasing you first, we’ll keep your boxers on, but what if I rubbed my hands up your body, peeling your shirt off inch by inch. Slowly pushing the fabric up as my fingers dance across your skin?
Cas << Yes, I would be so good for you. I would lay on your bed waiting for you to touch me, not moving until you tell me to. I want you to tell me how tan my skin looks and how I taste like sunshine. My toned body would shiver in anticipation of your touch. I want you to touch me, Dean.
Dean >> Fuck, baby. I want to see that toned body. I want to see your perky nipples so I can lick and nip at them. Let my warm breath ghost over your skin in the cool room. I want to see goosebumps break out all over your body as I kiss from your nipples all the way up the long column of your throat.
Dean gasps at the image he’s ogling. There is no way this Greek God is who he’s texting. This guy should be out with his boyfriend, or hell in some bar picking up...well anyone he damn well pleased. He can’t really make out the dude’s face, but from the stubble and sharp as fuck jawline, he’s no doubt just as gorgeous as his body. He feels a little silly, but something about Cas makes him feel poetic. God help him if anyone ever came across these texts, he would be mortified. But Cas wants to be told he tastes like sunshine, and something about that has Dean’s cock throbbing against his thigh.
Dean >> Fuck! That’s your body? You look perfectly golden, and you weren’t kidding I bet you taste like a sunrise over a calm clear lake.
Cas << You perfect tease, I can picture your lips on me. I want you so bad, Dean. I’m hard for you, trapped inside my boxers because you still haven't taken them off.
Dean >> I’m going to leave a line of kisses down your collar bone, down every ripple of your stomach. I’m working my way down to those sharp hip bones. I want to scrape my teeth across the thin flesh and kiss my way from one side to the other.
Cas << I wouldn’t be able to contain myself. So close to my cock. I would rock up trying to grind my dick into your chest, desperate to feel you on me. I would be aching for you.
Dean >> Oh fuck, feeling you hard against my chest. You would be so hot squirming for me. Because you want me. You’re so stunning Cas, I want to worship your body before bringing your cock into my mouth. Would you like that? Would you moan for me while I’m taking you all the way down my throat? Are your balls sensitive? I want to play with them while I hollow out my cheeks and suck down your cock as hard as I can.
Dean’s grinding up into the sheet. It feels good but it’s not nearly enough friction. If the guy in the picture is Cas, he would suck his dick for hours. He thinks about all the things he could tell Cas that he wanted to do. Dean’s left hand skirts up his side, gently caressing his erection. He’s so hard from Cas, that he’s not going to need more than a few rough stokes, so for now he runs his fingers along his shaft. Toes dig into the mattress as he reads Cas’ response.
Cas << Yes, oh fuck yeah. I want you to take my cock, Dean. I need to see your lips stretched around me. I want you to tug my balls. Just a little. Can I pull your hair?
Dean >> Yeah, baby. Pull my hair and hold my face still while you fuck my mouth. Hit the back of my throat until my eyes water. Don’t stop until I’m gagging, Cas. While you’re sliding in and out of my mouth, I’ll have you suck my fingers until they are nice and wet. Then I’ll reach back and start opening myself open for you.
Dean >> I’ll start slow just working one finger around the rim, getting used to the feeling. But as you thrust forward, deeper into my mouth I’ll take the whole finger, working fast to get your cock in me sooner.
Cas << Are you going to ride my cock, Dean? You gonna sit on me and grind your ass down into my lap, working in slow circles until you find your prostate?
Dean >> Fuck yeah I am. I’m going to open myself up so fast. Because you’ve been so good already, I want to be extra tight for you. I want to feel like your cock is splitting me open as I slowly slide down. I want to feel you push into me as my thighs clinch your hips.
Cas << You would feel so good. All hot and tight. You sucked my dick so good I would be holding back. Come on, show me what you’ve got. How hard are you going to ride my dick?
Dean >> The whole room is going to be shaking. I’m going to rock back and forth into you so hard the headboard is going to leave an indent on your wall. Once you start hitting my prostate I’m going to dig my knees into the mattress and fuck myself down on you until I’m painting your stomach white with my cum without ever being touched.
Dean’s left hand goes from subtle, languid strokes to double speed as he pumps faster and faster, imagining what it would be like to ride this mystery man until he collapses. He feels his balls draw up and for a moment he thinks about texting Cas and telling him he’s coming, but it’s already too late. He starts to tremble and feels a vibration working it’s way out from his core. Goosebumps cover his flesh and he feels the tension snap. For a brief moment he feels that tingling feeling––the one you get after your hand falls asleep––spreading through his whole body like someone dropped a match on a trail of kerosene. That’s when the first drop of come spills out before he shoots off rope after rope across his own chest.
Cas << Oh fuck, I’m going to come so deep inside you.
Dean >> Show me how good you are, Cas. Come for me.
Dean’s spent cock gives a tiny twitch reading Cas’ words. It takes several long moments for him to come down and his breath to even out. He ideally wonders if he should feel weird or ashamed for what they just did, but he doesn’t. He didn’t do anything wrong and this Cas guy seemed as into it as he was—or still is because he would totally do that again.
Cas << Wow.
Dean >> Yeah, me too.
Cas << This might be weird, I’m a little awkward, but would you like to keep talking?
Dean >> Yes! I was just thinking the same thing. Idk, maybe we can go on a real date or something. Assuming you still live in the same area code?
Cas << I do, I’m in Middletown. And I would love to go on a date.
Dean >> Awesome!
It takes them over an hour of texting to find out they only live twenty minutes from each other and both love cheeseburgers. Their date is set for next Friday, but when Dean sees the cute Good Morning text from Cas, he thinks Friday can’t get here fast enough. Maybe internet trends aren’t as stupid as he thought.