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cas paints dean with his come

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Sam shuts the door behind him as he goes to another one of his signings. It’s just been a few months since his paintings got world famous, and he’s honestly blown away by how much people love them.

He leaves his latest, unfinished canvas to dry under the fan’s wind. His supplies are scattered around it, and he hopes that there’s no earthquake to splatter paint all over his—hopefully—masterpiece.

---

Inside the room, Dean shivers. The wind from the fan is falling right on him, and he feels cold. The paint on him had already dried, ages ago, and he feels annoyed that Sam would just leave him out like that.

What? He deserved better!

What’s more annoying is how the other supplies are taking up space around him. Haven’t they ever heard of personal space, he wonders, when one of the paint tubes rolls past him and almost knocks him over.

He recognizes it as Jo, and harrumphs when the girl sheepishly looks at the paint she squirted onto the ground. It almost splattered Dean!

“You seem annoyed,” someone says in a cool voice, and Dean barely keeps his anger in check. Of course it would be that goddamn paintbrush—the one that Sam just can’t stay away from.

He disdainfully glances at Castiel, and finds his bristles tousled as usual. The brush is grinning, knowing full well how his presence irks the canvas.

Dean finally answers, knowing that silence won’t make the brush go away, “Yes, well, you’d be annoyed too if you weren’t under a fucking fan blowing air on you and people jumping around and not taking care about where they squirt!”

The moment Dean gives the reasons for his irritation, he flushes red. Both the things he said sound so suggestive! And the way the brush is grinning, the accidental innuendos were not lost on him. Oh god.

Castiel comes impossibly close, and Dean almost trembles in his frameless glory. “I could warm you up,” the paintbrush suggests, and fuck, Dean is full out shuddering now.

Castiel pays no attention to the supplies surrounding them, and to Dean’s horror, leaves a stroke across him. Oh god, what would Sam say?!?!

The brush notices, and grins, “Do you think Sam does all the work? No, I sometimes influence him too. Trust me; he will just be glad to see such a good canvas when he returns.”

Such a good canvas, the way Cas says it makes Dean feel hot all over, and yeah, perhaps that’s what Cas means by warming him up.

Hold on, Cas? Fuck.

Apparently his last thought gets vocalized, because that’s the moment Cas twists his bristly end across Dean, and a cry comes out of the canvas’ mouth. Castiel repeats the motions, and pretty soon Dean’s letting out a string of loud noises, and they don’t even notice when the other supplies stop what they’re doing and stare at the show with wide eyes.

They were waiting for this to happen, but not in such a manner!

Castiel keeps moving his bristles around Dean, and suddenly jerks, bristles getting ramrod straight. That’s when Dean feels something seeping onto him. He watches, body hot and breath laboured, as Castiel’s release coats part of scene Sam had painted two hours back.

Castiel looks back into his eyes, and his grin turns lewd as he does something with his other end. Dean feels a scratching sensation, and moans as the brush continues those movements. Castiel’s paint-scratching feels good, and Dean knows that this is just the brush’s way of mollifying Sam when the man returns to his painting. It’s Sam’s favourite technique.

Finally, Dean comes as well, shuddering and almost jumping off of the table. His own come glitters on the painting, giving it an almost ethereal look.

For a moment Castiel admires Dean, almost feeling that something special has taken place (this is great, the others whisper, he’s never done this before) before everyone goes back to their original positions as they hear the door opening again.

Dean’s feeling colder than ever because of the wind on his sweaty surface.

---

Sam looks at his canvas, and gasps. He came here only because he forgot his pen, but now he feels as if it’s complete.

In a split second decision, he picks up the canvas and his favourite paintbrush, ready to reveal his masterpiece to the world.