“We were never really dating, we were never really not dating. We didn’t know. No one knew. All you’d know for sure is that you’d always find one of us next to the other, even if we weren’t getting along.” - BJ on him and Mindy
I’m sorry, but I had to lie to you. Mr. Stewart didn’t buy my story at all. He was on to me, but I think I found a way to protect you, to get you out. So get going, run like hell and clear your name. You need to prove your innocence. I need to do something else.
pLEASE TELL ME I am not the only one who sometimes forgets that Destiel isn’t canon! Like, I spend days reading/writing fanfics, thinking about headcanons etc, and then I go and watch an episode and am like WHY THE FUCK DON’T YOU KISS YOU’RE A DAMN COUPL- OOOOOOOO no not again
So I woke up this morning, completely confused because I apparently created a ship in my sleep.
Jack Kline / Claire Novak
And I have no idea howI feel about it. Like, a bit confused and squicky because they are basically adopted siblings, being Winchester foundlings.
But then I think how fucking cute it would be and they are kind of like a mini Destiel. Jack is a literal mirror of Castiel. I’ve long said Claire is a young Dean: angry at the world; happy to use her pretty face to get what she wants; uses humour to hide her pain; pretends like she doesn’t care when really she feels things all too deeply.
But the really important question is, what can we call it?
Imagine Dean Smith, succesful employer on Sandover Inc., and Castiel Novak, Mr. Adler’s (aka Dean’s boss) personal secretary in the supply closet of the office.
Imagine Cas’ trousers bundled around his knees, almost locking them, his face pressed against the cold metal of one shelve, his shaky breath, his rosy cheeks and pink lips, and imagine Dean behind him, chest against back, one hand fisting Cas’ white shirt under the dark blue waistcoat, the other nailing the meat of his gloriously thick thigh, the handgrip helping him thrusting, pulling, pushing, his dick sliding perfectly in Cas hot, tight, sweet ass, now out, now in again.
Imagine how wrong and filthy it feels, fucking on work, fucking your subordinate, being fucked by one of your bosses. How wrong and, at the same time, how heavenly great.
Now imagine footsteps, voices, approaching the little closet. Imagine how quiet they must be to not being discovered.
But Cas has never being a quiet one, al least not when waves of pleasure expand through every nerve, every cell of his body, his gravel voice pouring
sugary, deeps moans, like honey falling from his sinful lips, like a non-so-celestial melody was trapped in his vocal cords and was determined to escape.
So, as you can imagine, Dean has to do something, and before another obscene sound falls from Cas lips and exposed them to their coworkers, his hand goes up and cover his mouth. The next moan is shallowed by his palm, wet and hot, but succesfully muffed.
“Jesus, Cas, for someone who is not so much into people, you certanly know how to make a guy feel appreciated”, Dean can’t help but tease, a whisper in Cas’ ear. Because outside this closet, without Dean’s dick (or sometimes fingers, or, even one day, in the second floor’s bathroom, his tongue) up in his ass, Castiel was a cold, stubborn, almost frightening person, so righteous, so… untouchable, with his stern face and his unimpressed squint. Probably no one couldn’t picture him as someone who was more than willing to let be bent in a half and be fucked hard, dirty, into the next century; no one can imagine how pretty his face was when certain spot inside him was hitten, or how his body thrums like a holy arp when orgasming, or how rough he likes it.
Only Dean knows, and he would be lying if he said that the fact didn’t turn him on so. Fucking. Much.
Dean can feel against his fingers, on Castiel’s cheek, a move, the skin being pulled when an eyebrow was raised. He can feel those oh-so-blue eyes searching his face; a glare. The bussinesman has to press his lips hard in Cas’ hair line to supress a laugh.
“Don’t look me like that, I know you love it when I turn you in a moaning mess.. oh, fuck!”, ok, so maybe Dean should forget how little motherfucker Castiel can be, now the secretary tongue licking his palm, one stroke, two, and then a sucking right at the center of it
“Did you hear that?”, a voice says outside the closet, and Dean’s heart skips a beat.
White teeth sink in Dean’s bottom lip, a poor attemp to muffle the shaky whimper that threats to fall from his lips when Castiel moves his mouth across the palm, until he’s able to close it around one of Dean’s fingers. He starts licking it with kitten lappings and he sucks it a little before bobing this head, so sinfully slow, every time going further, til his lips brush the knuckle, the flat of that velvet tongue against the pad of the finger. Dean feels a little tug in the corner of that skillful mouth, a vengeful smirk, but, honestly?, he couldn’t care less: the feeling of Cas’ lips around his finger brings images of those lips around his cock, so pink and wet, so beautifully stretched, that one time in his office on lunch break, with Cas on his knees in front of him, behind his desk, those innocent baby blue eyes fixed on his while the secretary deepthroated him like a fucking pro.
The next moan seems unstoppable, but he gets to silence part of it by biting Cas’ neck, hard, almost to hard; Cas lets a mewl between pained and pleasured rumble in his throat, and sucks the finger even harder, synchronized with the unconcious moves Dean’s hand has started, swaying inside Cas warm in a slow fucking-your-mouth kind of way.
“No, seriously, I swear I’ve heard something. It seems like… a groaning”.
“Maybe someone is fucking in the closet.” the words stop Cas actions, and for a moment, their bodies go completely rigid. Then, a laugh, “C’mon, you’ve seen so much porn, it probably was just a door creaking. Let’s grab a coffee at Human Resources’ rest room; I’ve heard theirs doesn’t taste like mud”.
The voices fades, footsteps walking off.
The simultaneous sighs aren’t heated, but ones of relieve. And now that the danger has passed, only stays the awkward situation. Because, c’mon, they are two grown-ups adults in a small closet, with their pants down, butt naked, and freezed in a poor imitation of a crappy spitroast-for-two.
“You almost got us caught, I can’t believe you”, murmurs Dean between giggles, his forehead against Cas’ nape, two red half-moons in the side of his neck; those will be a bitch to cover, man.
“Next time, don’t be so cocky.” Castiel voice is deeper than usual, a little spit trail connecting his bottom lip with Dean’s wet finger. And, dammit, that is the only thing Dean needs to be turned on all way again.
“Oh, but, babe, you love it when I go all cocky on you.”, he whispers against the bite on the secretary’s neck, nosing his pulse point and kissing it, a little nibble in the sensitive skin. He smiles when a sigh bursts forth Castiel chest, and he turns his head a little to expose that column of tan flesh before twisting it, his hand going up til those long fingers can tangle on the shorts hairs of Dean’s nape. The bussinesman gets the message and moves forward, his lips meeting Cas’ ones over his shoulder in a deep kiss, tongues immediately going for each others, entwining in a hot dance that makes both men groan. It’s a little awkward, but, god, it tastes like glory.
“Maybe you should put that ‘cockiness’ at use before I get tired” says Castiel when their mouths break away, the blue in his eyes so intense around the black of his dilated pupils Dean fears drowing, and puntuactes his words with a hard squeeze of his ass walls around Dean’s still buried dick, a not-so-subtle dare in the corner of his wet smirk.
And Dean never refuses a challenge.
“You are so bossy, you know?” Dean steadies himself, an equal smug in his face when he grabs the two firms globes of that glorious ass, and, quickly, moves his pelvis, almost pulling his cock out all the way. Then, bottoms out in just one motion, hard, so hard Castiel hiccups, his hands flying to the shelf to stabilize himself because his feet almost leave the floor, leaving him only on his tiptoes. Dean establishes a strong pace, not so fast, but sharp, his force moving Cas’ body every time, pushing him onto the shelve, pressing him against it until he can barely move and the only thing he can do is take it, take everything Dean has to offer, with a blissful face. “And tecnically… I am… the boss.”
The last word is emphasized with a accurate thrust that hits Cas’ prostate. Wiith the loud whimper that follows, if his coworkers were still out there, they wouldn’t have a doubt that, in fact, there were someone fucking in the closet. And fucking rough.
However, Castiel, the little shit, still has enough guts in him to answer with an innocent yet condescending tone, although a bit breathless.
As you can imagine, that is the last string of Dean’s sanity.
Fifteen minutes later, a disheveled Castiel leaves the closet, his tie a little askew and, in his walking, a little limp, two red half-moons barely covered by his shirt’s lapel.
And seven minutes after, Dean Smith leaves the same closet, afterwards making sure nobody sees him, a satisfied smile in his lips, yet thinking over how the hell will he manage not to pop a boner in front of everyone the next time Castiel adress him as “sir”. It would be very inappropiate, although he’s sure no one would suspect a thing.
After all, nobody would ever imagine that Dean Smith, the succesful employer on Sandover Inc., next-big-boss-to-be, and Castiel Novak,
Mr. Adler’s personal secretary and proclamed Ice Prince, were having an office affair.
Dean being such a protective, caring Dad to Claire - especially when she got bitten - was one of the best things I’ve seen in this episode. He just couldn’t bear witnessing the possibility of her death that he had to leave the room.