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The bell rings like a slasher movie scream, and the small crowd of pimply, backpack-toting kids files off into groups and jagged lines as they abandon their lockers and head for the classrooms that line the long, wide swath of the corridor. Dean just stands there, motionless in the throng; lets the white noise of all that chatter and laughter flood over him, frantic emotion like electric current.

He loves this moment; those first few seconds it usually takes for the shrill note of metal-on-metal to turn random chaos into something almost resembling order. He could be invisible right now; in a way he never really is with his height and leather jacket and the smirk that draws attention to his face more effectively than any neon sign.

He spots Sammy somewhere further down; skinny bird-like frame and too-long hair standing inches taller than the Mathletes or the Chess Club or whatever it is this week; sees the small eye-dart and subtle nod before he turns to reply to whatever the (somehow even scrawnier) boy next to him is sayin’.

Let the kid have his social butterfly experience. Dean’s fine right where he is.

The corridor empties like water from a bathtub; last few dregs of denim-clad legs and shirt logos vanishing from sight with the slam of wooden doors, and then it’s just him and the empty space; and he feels like he can breathe a little easier.

He’s technically supposed to be in Home Ec. right now, but he only bothers dropping by that class to wink and flirt with the pretty blonde number who sits across from him; not as easy and faux goody-goody as the cheerleaders, but less work than the tightly wound girls that take the whole GPA thing way too seriously. He’s tempted, ‘course he is, but his heart’s not really in it today. Plus, he’d probably be asked to explain why he hadn’t attended last week, and come on, seriously; it’s Home Ec.

So instead he wanders in a snaking curve down the reflective white floor, passing lines of blood red lockers and underneath the warming glow of skylights with no real destination in mind; vague ideas of just getting in the car and finding a nice open field where he can stretch out on the hood and catch some rays. Or a strip club. He ain’t fussy.

He ducks though the deserted (heh) cafeteria and heads toward the disused classrooms that’re being repainted so he doesn’t risk sneaking past the principal - bald little guy with an ‘I assign detention because I care’ attitude that never fails to make Dean wanna roll his eyes so hard he’ll go blind - to get to the parking lot. He’s already feeling loose-limbed at the thought of spending the day lounging on his baby in the summer heat, when an unmistakably sexual groan bounces down the bare hallway like a kinky little pinball.

Well, well, well.

More out of boredom and gleeful, sadistic amusement than anything else - honestly, if you can’t find a place to get off where you won’t be found, you deserve the embarrassment. Freaking amateurs - he follows the noise like a bloodhound on a scent trail, ‘till he reaches a tiny excuse for a room like two closets with a slightly higher ceiling and no wall between ‘em, and peeks around the corner, only to have so much blood make a U-turn into his dick he actually gets light-headed.

Okay, so it’s not exactly some loser jerkin’ it between classes.

There’s a guy pressing another guy against the only wall that’s not got ladders and cans of paint and dirty brushes all along it, and they’re goin’ at it like a tonsillectomy is something performed with someone else’s tongue. The slick-wet noises reaching him make him wanna grind the heel of his palm into his crotch, but he just can’t look away.

It’s not the two guys thing, or the fact that they’re both freaking hot as Hades, or even the way one of ‘em has a leg almost resting on the other’s hip while he buries his hands in jet-black hair.

That’s all awesome, but its drops in the familial bucket when he realises that the guys are goddamn identical.

It’s the Novak twins; climbing all over each other like sharing a face isn’t close enough already, and fuck if Dean hasn’t had this dream before.He’s heard the rumours, couldn‘t have avoided them really; there’ve been whispers about how ‘close’ these two are since before Winchester became another name gossiped over in the corridors or bemoaned in the teacher’s lounge.He knows their names are Jimmy and Castiel - always made him laugh that; like their parents used up all their creativity on the one twin - and that they live in one of the more hoity-toity neighbourhoods with a bunch of other fostered kids; including a particularly bodacious redhead that sometimes stares at Dean a little too intensely for his liking, and a tall guy with mahogany skin that always looks like he‘s picturing scraping Dean off the underside of his shoe.

Far as he was concerned, they were just rumours; probably not helped by the fact that they don’t really talk to anyone but each other, and usually in some weird monosyllabic language that he always thought twins grew out of long before high school.

He should probably start paying more attention to the gossip mill.

He can’t tell which of ‘em is which from here; they have a habit of wearing matching outfits, or different clothes that they then mix up throughout the day. Sam calls ‘em Castor and Pollux, but then Sam reads too damn much.

“Fuck, Cas c’mon, just. Fuck yes right there. “

Well. That sticks the labels on pretty freaking firmly.

‘Cas’ it seems, is kind of a toppy bastard, judging from the way he’s got Jimmy’s hands pinned to the cinderblock by the wrists and his thighs kicked apart, not to mention the way he’s biting along the - identical, Christ - line of his jaw, little whimpers falling from Jimmy’s kiss-swollen, split-slick mouth like wind chimes on a sweltering porch.

He shouldn’t be watching this. And he definitely shouldn’t be rubbing at his cock through his worn jeans while does.

Dean tends to do a lot of things he shouldn’t, but hey it’s worked out pretty well so far.

“This what you wanted, sweetheart?” Endearment like slick oil and curling smoke as Castiel shoves their hips together. His voice is lower and courser than his brother’s; either ‘cos he’s turned on or because of the way it obviously makes Jimmy shiver.

They’re the same height, same build, same everything, and yet Castiel’s shoving Jimmy around like he weighs less than a bag’a sugar.

“W-Wanted to. To suck you. Fuck please lemme suck you Cas.” Answering sound of a dirty-rough chuckle in that low register, rustle of clothing as they press together harder, faster.

Sweet fucking Christ.

“Do it then. C’mon bro, wanna give Dean a real show right?” Smirk colouring the words, and Dean jumps like he’s had a cattle prod put to him.


“Sorry Dean, but you aren’t nearly as quiet as you think you are.” Castiel’s turned toward him, but only partly; most of his attention still firmly fixed on his wide-eyed twin leaning against the cool wall.

“I was just. Look, I won’t tell anyone, okay?” Surprisingly earnest despite the not-inconsiderable bulge in his pants and lack of blood in his upper appendages, which Castiel has clearly noticed from the way that unshakable smirk widens Cheshire Cat style.

“Oh I know you won’t. And I know you’ve been watching us.” For all that Dean’s taller and broader across the shoulders; he gets the distinct impression from those icy-blue eyes that this guy could take him apart, and that he probably wouldn’t be kind about it either.

That shouldn’t make him harder, right?

“Cas, don’t be a dick.” Jimmy apparently hasn’t swallowed his tongue then.

“What? I’m just playing with him. Besides, he’s pretty when he’s all wide-eyed and shaky.” Possibly the filthiest once-over he’s ever gotten, and that’s an accomplishment in itself.

He’s waiting for Jimmy to get pissed about his being there, or at least with Castiel checking him out like a piece’a meat when he’s been left wanting and a little bit ignored, but he’s lookin’ at his brother with that same ‘you’re a moron but I put up with it ‘cos I like you’ expression that Dean is painfully familiar with.“Whaddya say baby boy? Be a shame to send him on his way like that huh?” Pointed glance at Dean’s tented crotch, and Jimmy sorta rolls his eyes and grips Castiel’s chin to draw his gaze back to him.

“If he watches, do I get to come sometime in the next millennium?”

“Have I ever left you unsatisfied?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

There’s about a thousand layers of unspoken stuff flying between them, and Dean has the fleeting thought that this is what it looks like from the outside, before scolding himself that there’re enough siblings in this Penthouse moment already.

They back away from their chosen surface like sexy cogs of a perfectly aligned machine, and Dean forces his legs to carry him into the room, while staying what he hopes is a respectful distance away.

Respectful is such a relative (heh) term when you’re about to watch a guy suck his twin’s cock.


“You look. You don’t touch. Break the rule, and I break your hands.” Dead cold in his gaze that melts completely, soon as he turns back to Jimmy and cards his long fingers through all that spiky dark hair on a hard press of lips, slight pressure on his scalp ‘till the other Novak drops to his knees onto a grimy sheet.

Jimmy’s hands go to Castiel’s zipper, and there’s a gleam in those eyes that’s brighter than any chick that’s ever gone down on Dean.

Castiel’s - Cas’, seems only fair if he’s gonna get the peepshow that he should get to use the nickname too - hands make sweeping movements along Jimmy’s jaw and across his lips, flash of pink tongue coming out to meet them, breath stuttering and eyelids flickering in unabashed eagerness.

Jimmy draws his twin’s dick out through the open slit in his underwear, and leans forward like there’s an opposing magnet in his tongue as it flicks over the head, unwavering stare on Cas’ face like Dean is just another ladder sharing the room with them.

Fine by him, just as long as they don’t stop.

Jimmy plants a soft kiss to the reddish, rounded head before he wraps his lips around it and sucks his way down past the crown. Cas makes a low, grating noise that could’ve made ripples in standing water, and his head tips back in reflex before snapping forward, like he can’t bear to miss anything.

Dean knows how he feels.

That’s it, so damn good for me, bro.” Jimmy hums around Cas’ cock, and the fingers in his hair tighten briefly in response, before feeding a few more inches into his brother’s mouth.

“He loves this, Dean.” Said like he’s confiding a secret, even while his twin is screwing his mouth down over the iron-hard length of him like he wants it more than the air he isn’t getting. “You think it’d be the same, but he gets off on it so much more than I do. Comes so hard when he’s got something in him.” He sounds stupidly collected, given the sloppy-hungry way Jimmy is bobbing and sliding on his cock, but his voice is so rough now Dean can feel it in his boots.

He doesn’t even realise he’s gripping his own dick through the washed-thin material of his jeans until Cas grunts and makes an encouraging motion with one hand, before it folds around the back of Jimmy’s skull to drag him down further.

“C’mon Winchester. Get it out.” Like a taunt wrapped in a challenge, and Dean has zero skill at refusing either. He can’t help the gasp as his precome-slick erection hits the cool air of the room, or the way his hand immediately starts stripping it to the rhythm of Cas’ thrusts into the sucking heat of his twin brother’s mouth.“There ya go. Fuck look at him Dean, the way he takes it. He was made for this, made for me.” The grating, whining noise that punches from Jimmy’s throat is muffled by the cock in his mouth, but the meaning is clear even if you ignore the growing dark stain of slick where his cockhead’s trapped between his pants and his thigh.

God, Jimmy really gets off on this.

Dean is way past hard and into painful now, but he forces himself to slow the pace of his fingers; wants to come when they do.

Cas notices, observant fucker (literally) that he is, and starts screwing in deeper, faster; Jimmy only making sounds of raw need and encouragement as Cas uses his throat. The stretch of his lips is fucking obscene; bruised and red and so goddamn wet that Dean can almost feel it, can certainly hear it.

“So desperate for my come, aren’t you? Want it on your tongue when I get you off. Work for it.” Gritty rumble of the words like a physical touch to that sweet pain of building pressure in Dean’s balls, the heat of it tightening his guts and all of it made so much better by how wrong this is, how many times they must’ve done this before, how much more they’ve probably done together.

Dean is gonna be jacking off to this for the rest of his goddamn life.

Cas’ movements are getting jerky, the slip-slide of hard flesh going rough and a little careless, Jimmy’s eyes rolling to the back of his head before slamming shut with a click of his throat as he swallows and swallows and swallows. There’s buzzing in his ears and sweat soaking his back and running down his face, taste of salt in his mouth and fuck he’s coming so hard he wants to curl over with the force of it; knees trembling and thumb rubbing around the head as he shoots pearly white onto the floor.

The room smells of musk and sex and sweat, all tinged with the bitter note of paint, and Dean is never gonna be able to smell that glossy chemical scent again without going hard as nails.

“Perfect baby, so sweet taking me in. Feels good doesn’t it? Think Dean likes it too, the way you need it.” He’s pressing a thumb into the hollow of Jimmy’s cheek, feeling the still mostly-hard length snugged up in there with all that come, and there aren’t even words for how amazing they look right then.

With the humming haze of pleasure retreating a little, Dean’s thinking of saying somethin’ about reciprocity and fair play, when he glances down at Jimmy and sees the film of sticky-white on his palm from where it’s seeping through his jeans.


“Told you he gets off on it.” Smugness only slightly diluted by the tremor in his voice and the way he’s tracing the tendons in Jimmy’s neck like he’s suddenly made of razor-thin glass, looking at him like he should be on a pedestal somewhere; out of reach and ethereal.

Sam might’ve been closer with that Greek myth thing than he realised.

Cas hauls Jimmy up and then brings his messy palm to his own mouth, licking the traces of his brother’s release away one dragging swipe at a time; eyes locked like a mirror of devotion and base obsession.

“We should do this again sometime, Dean.” Cas says as he pulls Jimmy in against him, not looking in his direction or any other that doesn’t have his doppelganger in it. There’s undeniable dismissal in the words, and Dean figures his time’s up now that they’ve all gotten their rocks off; the aftermath isn’t his to witness.

He gets it, even if he is a touch disappointed.

He nods at Jimmy, gets a dopey little smile and a half-wave, before he’s turning away, tucking himself back into his clothes and looking for a bathroom to wash up in.

That lazy afternoon in the sunshine is gonna involve a lot of reminiscing, he thinks.

Good thing there’s lube in the car.