I wrote this in like, an hour. Out of shame. For it's purposes, assume Dean and Castiel are teen pop hits with very pushy parents. Cas is a little Taylor swift/a random choir boy, Dean is more Miley Cyrus/country western. For some reason, this got really depressing and vitriolic.

Hey, did you know you could follow me on twitter at JollySnidge? (pimp...pimp)

Bettina and Ashley something, kiss at the MTV choice awards. Right up on stage in the spotlight, a clusterfuck mess of a kiss, full with tongues and cherry lip-gloss. Like they even understand what it means – aside from the front covers of the gossip rags of course. Like busting a pre-pubescent tit out of their red carpet dress, only of mutual benefit.

Dean catches Castiel's eyes across the stage, he's waiting in the right wing, Castiel in the left. Cas looks tighter, more wound up than usual, in his white shirt and dark blue suit. Dean is feeling a little sick, a little nervous, and keeps fiddling with the frayed parts of his jeans and the tight fabric of his shirt.

There's an unholy shriek from the crowd as the two tweens make good for the cameras. It's nothing compared to the cacophony of shrill screams and roar of lower voices as he and Castiel replace the two girls at the podium. It's deafening and disorientating. Castiel looks downright afraid, blinded by camera flashes. Even though Dean knows he's done this before, they both have.

Ok, so they're from slightly different backgrounds. Castiel is very Christian chorister makes good as a pop icon. So freaking squeaky clean Dean's surprised to see him sweating a little under the brilliant lights. Dean's a little more hardened, still as much of a sell out thanks to his dad, but carrying off the country western – country sweetheart/ bad ass with a little more wiggle room for out of the box behaviour.

He thinks Cas might hate him a little for that.

They stand side by side and read the autocue, Castiel is poker faced and ethereal, Dean smirks his way through it, thumb stuck in his belt. They present the award and get the hell off stage before the screaming can truly render them tone deaf.

Behind the scenes Bettina-whoever is snapping at her make-up girl and already looking half drunk. Someone's going to have trouble keeping her in line tonight. Ashely-somone's off, probably in the bathroom snorting or heaving – who knows or even gives a shit, right? Dean feels cold from the neck down, though his face is burning.

Cas's hand brushes his and his skin flares up, like flopping down next to a space heater in midwinter.

Through the fuss and chaos they make their way to the back, to the men's restroom. Once inside, Dean kicks the doors to the other stalls, briefly checking to make sure that they're alone. Castiel is standing by the scummy sinks, rabbit eyed and twitchy with fear and expectation.

Dean backs into a stall, resting one hand on the wall and cocking his thumb into his waistband. "Come here, baby." He drawls. It's a fucking act and Cas knows it, knows that Dean is scared shitless of being found out, of losing everything and having his Dad throw a fit that his heartthrob Texan son is a fucking homo.

Cas knows it's an act and he goes anyway, feeding his fear into the desire that burns white hot all the time with them. Burns so bright it's hard to keep hidden.

They collide like contracting matter, like a black hole being born. Dean against Cas and Cas up against him, the cubicle door slamming shut and Castiel backing up against it.

Dean kisses his mouth, the hollow of his throat, the flat skin between his collar bones. Castiel is delicious and it's never enough. Never enough. Sometimes, in lonely motels and hotels between gigs and appearances, Dean thinks he'd like to rip Cas up, swallow him down in blood and muscle and bone, until his body ran on the energy of it, until their pulses swamped each other. On those nights he thinks of the songs he could write about Cas's skin, his soft lashes and the sound of his fragile pulse.

He thinks, that's real fucking love, and nothing else comes close.

But he sings about waitresses and high school girls.

All the time he wants this. One boy, always and forever.

Castiel presses up into the touch of Dean's mouth, gasping and stroking his fingers into the hair at the back of Dean's head. He whimpers and Dean shushes him gently, they don't have time – there's never enough fucking time. He leans back and snaps Cas's belt open, tugging the zipper on his pants down and looking into Castiel's surprised, awe struck face. He always looks like that, like this is the best thing, the only thing in the world.

It's that sweet, rapturous expression that has made Castiel famous, and filled his parents pockets by default. But that look has never been for God, it's been for music, and for Dean – the two loves of his entire life. If Castiel's 'Daddy' ever finds out that his choral angel is a fag, he'll probably kill him himself.

Dean is on his knees on a dirty washroom floor, Castiel's pants around the boy's ankles, his cock halfway down Dean's throat, curving hard and needy as Castiel's body seizes up against the door, one had thrown up to clutch the top of the wooden panel for support, the other rubbing tenderly at the nape of Dean's neck. Castiel squirms and gasps and blasphemes like it's going out of style.

The door bangs. A cubicle bangs and Dean can hear, over the rush of his pulse and the distraction of the hot flesh stretching his lips, someone tossing their guts into the far toilet.

Castiel is going crazy with the pressure to keep silent, but Dean keeps going, his own cock too hard for words and blood blaring in his ears.

Somehow, he'd be so glad for them to be caught. He just wants it to be over. The worst can happen and then he can let it all drop.

But whichever star or starlet is hacking up their last meal doesn't seem bothered by the slight scuffling sounds from the other side of the bathroom, and they leave without investigating.

As soon as the door bangs closed Castiel breaks.

"Fuck...oh..uh...fuck...please...please..." his voice gains volume and ragged desperation and his hand is both stroking and clutching, desperately pushing further inside, until despite the number of times they've done this, Dean's eyes are watering. Dean rubs his fingers in the saliva that's slowly been coating his chin, snakes them back and up, until Castiel is squirming down and panting, his eyes rolling up and fucking obscene things coming out of his mouth.

Castiel comes like an electrocution, harsh, sudden and unrelenting. Dean's got two fingers inside of him being milked by Castiel's hungry body, and Castiel's hand on his face as lets out a helpless moan and snaps his hips up, pulsing in Dean's throat as Dean swallows around him punishingly.

Castiel goes limp against the door, and Dean disentangles them, raw throated and damp fingered, turning Castiel's compliant form around and pushing him face first, towards the door. Castiel raises both hands to the top of the door and widens his stance. They've done this before. He knows how it goes.

Dean's inside and jerking up into Castiel's body in as much time as it takes to force his zipper down. Castiel's legs shake and his fists turn white as they grip the door above him, his moans are encouraging and when Dean strikes his prostate and reaches round to finger his softened dick, Castiel's whole body trembles and he whines as if on the edge of pain.

Dean's lost to the heat, the tightness and trembly, aching, need of Castiel's body for his own. He can feel sweat running down his back, Castiel's shirt is already damp with it. Dean's knees ache from the floor, his body is humming with pleasure and he's tight, waiting for release. Castiel squeezes his spasming internal muscles around him and Dean whites out for a flash, returning to himself on a wave of hot, shivery pleasure.

"Uh...again..." Dean fists Castiel's cock, still wet with saliva and sensitive as a live wire. Castiel grunts and squeezes around him again, and it feels so fucking good Dean knows that the next one will be it. He's thrusting still, shallow and breathless and wanting. "Again..."

Castiel complies with a near howl as Dean thumbs the head of his dick, plumby and raw and greedy for attention.

Dean comes in a series of twisted up pulses, and feels his own come slick the way, and ruts until he's half bent over Castiel's back, breath dragging out of his lungs, body protesting and dick throbbing with the stimulation, softening and slipping out easily. Leaving Castiel leaning on the door, ass red and ruined, contracting and empty, the boy panting and whimpering with need even as his body thrums with orgasm.

Dean tugs his pants up once he's cleaned himself, perches on the toilet seat and steadily mops up Cas's thighs, saliva and sweat and come painting across the greyish toilet paper.

"You are something, you know that, right?" Dean drawls, knowing that Castiel is by no means immune to his accent.

Castiel stiffens, his back still facing Dean. "I know what I am."

Dean caresses the swell of his ass – was there anything better? Anything as lovely? When he bends and presses his lips to it, Castiel makes an awkward little sound and twists to face him, unintentionally replacing his ass with his crotch. Dean kisses his stomach with a sly grin.


Castiel strokes his hair.

The first time they were together was like a summer storm – unexpected and devastating. Dean was performing at a small venue around the same time that Cas was there. They met behind stage and Dean could not stand the stuck up Jesus freak, or Cas's dad. Castiel in turn thought Dean was a pretty boy hick.

So they were both a little wrong.

Dean was smarter than a lot of people thought, he even wanted to go to college. Castiel couldn't have cared less about the bible.

In the middle of a fight backstage, during which time their parents had mercifully left them alone, Dean had felt a kick of something powerful and Castiel had stopped in his yelling about respecting his space and had panted, his lips perfectly soft and pink and full.

They'd practically dry humped that night, clawing at each other's clothes and biting their lips red and plump.

Since then there had been no one else for either of them.

"One day." Dean says, in the ruined cubicle of a toilet somewhere in Texas, "We're going to kiss out there, for everyone to see...and we're going to mean it."

Castiel strokes his face and kisses Dean sweetly on the lips as Dean zips up Cas's pants.

One day.

Until then, it's just another dream, that'll never be a love song.