I can be an asshole of the grandest kind

I can be cold like it's going out of style

I can be the moodiest baby

And you've never met anyone as negative as I am sometimes

I am the wisest person that you've ever met

I'm the kindest soul with whom you've connected

I have the bravest heart that you've ever seen

And you've never met anyone as positive as I am sometimes.

You see everything, You see every part

You see all my light, and you love my dark

You get everything of which I'm ashamed

There's not anything to which you can't relate

And you're still here.

"Keep your stuff off of my side." Castiel throws Dean's jacket and boots over to his side of the cramped dressing room, where they land in an ungainly heap.

"Calm down, it's just a fucking jacket." Dean growls, he's nervous as it is, this guy is doing nothing to help that. Jesus freak nightmare of a singer that he is, he's probably used to having his own damn dressing space. That made two of them.

"It's disrespectful." The skinny pale guy intones, face all pinched up and dissatisfied like he's someone much older.

"Bullshit." Dean would usually let it go, but this guy is rubbing him up the wrong way, so he throws his jacket back over to the other side of the room, where it catches on the other dude's mirror and hangs there.

Pale guy grits his teeth and glares at him.

"Are you so petty..."

"You bet your ass I am." Dean flings a boot across the room, it's actually kind of fun to throw shit around. He's never really had a diva moment before, and this is probably as close as he's going to get to letting a little steam off in public.

"Dean Winchester – twenty minutes." Someone calls through the door.

"Thanks." Dean hollers back.

Castiel seizes the boot and hurls it back, with enough force and crappy aim to shatter Dean's mirror.

"Oh you stupid sonofa..." Dean booms, "There's no need to be a fag about it."

He flinches as a pot of moisturiser strikes him on the cheekbone. Castiel looks irate, hectic pink dots on his cheeks and his arms still raised in a throw.

Dean gets to his feet. "Ok, you want to make this a thing? Fine." He shifts on his feet, figuring that the skinny choirboy isn't going to step up to the plate against a Texan with four inches on him at least.

Castiel rises viper quick and glares at him.

"Well...look who's got a pair." Dean smirks.

Castiel's brow creases, his eyes in shadow. "You arrogant, ignorant, asshole." He growls.

"Least I'm not a stuck up Jesus nut." Dean snarls.

"No, you're a Godless, talentless, hick." Castiel spits.

"Least I don't sing like I'm castrated."

"You bray like a mule."

"Oh, run back to Daddy if you can't think of anything better than that." Dean grins, "Hell, I hear worse on the street."

Castiel bites the inside of his cheek, eyes shining with venomous triumph.

"You're a faggot."

Dean freezes. Castiel raises his eyebrows, daring him to deny it.

"Not funny." Dean growls.

"Funny how you're not laughing that one off." Castiel mutters. "Not so amusing now, is it?"

Dean shoves him backwards.

Castiel whips back his arm and slaps Dean hard across the face, the way a parent might strike an insolent child.

Dean grabs Castiel's wrists and pushes him back, back, until they hit a wall. He can feel where Castiel has split his lip, the side of his face burns.

"You hit...like a girl." He rumbles, pressing Castiel into the cheap plasterboard.

Castiel leans his head forwards, looking Dean hard in the eye. There's a lot of blue there, and Dean realises he hadn't really looked Castiel in the face at all before.

"You look like one." Castiel says, viciously, calmly. His voice a flat out growl, low enough to make Dean's hair stand on end despite the lameness of the insult.

Dean swallows and presses Castiel further into the wall, raising the other boy's wrists until he looks like he's being crucified there, then further until they're above his head. He doesn't do it quickly, and it's the slowness of the action that seems to place Castiel in a kind of trance, so that he goes willingly, breath hitching when Dean squeezes his wrists.

"Get your hands off me." Castiel whispers, without conviction.

Dean does as he's asked, dropping his hands to his sides.

He presses his mouth to Castiel's instead, sliding his tongue against the slightly parted centre of Castiel's mouth and tasting the warm, wet give of the flesh there. Castiel makes a choked sound at the back of his throat, flinching back against the wall only to have Dean follow him. Castiel's mouth opens to his with a low groan, and Dean presses their bodies together. Anger is still pulsing through his veins but there's a chase of arousal following it, making his heart burn in his chest.

Castiel's hands drop from the wall to Dean's shoulders.

Dean grasps Castiel's hips.

They barely part for breath, heads tilting at new angles as they delve into each other's mouths fitfully. Castiel hums blatant ecstasy against Dean's lips, twisting their tongues together as his body goes heavy and limp against the wall. Dean for his part is ready to tear at his skin in sudden frustration, but when he presses a knee between Castiel's thighs the other boy jerks and twists his face away.

"Don't." He rasps.

Dean presses his thigh lightly against Castiel's groin. "Scared?"

Castiel glares at him with blown pupils. He is scared of course, they both are. They've flown out of their comfort zones, accidentally betrayed themselves as frauds, strangers and enemies that they are to each other.

"Not interested." Castiel growls defiantly, anger chasing his fear to the back of his mind.

Dean's hand fists the other boys hair, jerking his head to one side and kissing him hard, grinding their lower bodies together in a rush of heat and fury.

Castiel moans brokenly and wriggles against him shamelessly, the hard length under his black pants pressing against the stiff fly of Dean's jeans, and the weight of his arousal underneath. Their movements are uncoordinated and desperate, rubbing and rutting as they suck and lick at each other's mouths. Castiel shudders and gasps at each new brush of sensation. Dean is panting, pressing the hard, sensitive points of his chest against Castiel's, flush through the soft cotton of his tee and the starch if the other boys shirt.

Neither of them has had this before, the rush of pure need and satisfaction. For Dean his experiences have been restricted to guilty fumblings over his laptop, shamefacedly removing all traces of his internet history afterwards. He has watched men in the crowds at his concerts, has fantasised over the lanky, lethargic forms of the boyfriends of his fans.

Castiel has one rumbled magazine which he keeps rolled up inside the lining of his suitcase. At night he touches the lined and crumpled images of men, their muscles standing out through their tanned and sweat sheened skin. The magazine is the only thing he has ever stolen.

Both of them so long unsatisfied, cling to this immediate pleasure like a drought starved man to water.

Neither of them has really calculated the end destination of this struggle, but they both find themselves alarmingly close, Dean pressing down against the bulge in Castiel's pants and knowing that he's a few quick strokes short of coming his brains out in his dressing room. Castiel seems to sense his own imminent release at the same time, leaning his head back against the wall and baring the rippling expanse of his throat, working hard to pant and swallow.

"Oh God...oh..." Castiel bucks up against Dean's hips and the other boy grinds down, hand hitting the wall for balance, his nails digging into the plaster. Dean presses his face to the curve of Castiel's neck, nose rubbing just under his jaw. Castiel whimpers. They're both riding the wave of surprising euphoria, the tight ascendency of pleasure that precedes orgasm.

Dean moans shakily against Castiel's skin. "Please..." not sure what he's begging for.

"On stage now Dean!" His Father thumps on the dressing room door and Dean bucks up, teeters on the edge of orgasm and then feels cold reality deprive him of his climax. Panting frustratedly, he groans and pulls away from the glassy eyed boy underneath him, Castiel's clothing is askew, his skin glowing with sweat as he whimpers, also left unfulfilled by the departure of Dean's body.

Dean grabs his guitar as if trying to strangle it, breathing heavily and willing the desperately hard length of his erection to subside. He points sternly at Castiel.

"Don't you fucking go anywhere."

He shoves open the door and lets his Dad shivy him along the halls and onto the stage. The lights are blinding, it's hot and he's already flushed and shivering with the sheer need of his body, the desire to come. He ignores the shrieks of the girls, and older women in the crowd. Instead he reaches into his repertoire and picks out the first song he can remember. He gives it little thought at the time, though later he'll wonder why it was that tune that came to him, those words that he had written so long before he understood them.

Our song is the slam of screen doors,

Sneaking out, climbing outta the window.

When we're on the phone and I talk real slow.

Cos it's late and my Father don't know.

Our song is the way I left,

The first time when we didn't kiss and we should have.

And when I got home,

Before I said Amen,

Asking God if we...

Could play it again.

Three more songs and Dean's free, it's a small set, but right now the lack of attention doesn't bother him so much as sneak up his spine in a flash of anticipation. Waving his dad off and going to the dressing room, he half expects Castiel to be gone by now, his set is over after all, he was changing out of his stage clothes when Dean had been getting ready. But the other boy is still there, sitting awkwardly, hunched in his chair. He looks up as Dean comes in, as Dean is lowering his guitar to the floor and leaning it against the wall he glances at Castiel coolly.

"Well, you followed an instruction. It's a damn miracle."

Castiel glares.

"I haven't finished changing." Castiel says stiffly. "My father has arrangements with the manager of this place anyway. He's not available to take me to the hotel."

Dean rolls his eyes and tugs his damp shirt up and over his head.

"Bullshit." He sneers. Watching Castiel watch his bared chest with a pained look of desire. "You want to get off."

Castiel's eyes rise to his face, a mixture of disdain, fear and hopeful desire flipping over his blue irises."You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, sure I don't." Dean sits down opposite him. "It's not like I almost had you coming in your pants not one hour ago."

Castiel flushes. Dean feels abruptly kind of shitty for messing with him. The kid probably has the same raw deal as him when it comes to family and public expectations.

"You want to pick that up where we left off?" Dean asks, leaning back in his seat and regarding Castiel with blunt speculation. The other boy seems frozen between his desire to give in, and his desire to run with his virtue intact. "I've been hard since I left, 'getting a little uncomfortable." Dean snarks.

Anger flares in Castiel's eyes.

"Use the washroom. I'm leaving." He gets up and stalks past Dean to the door. He would have made it too, had Dean not snagged him around the waist and tugged him over to him, kicking his feet apart and pulling Castiel down onto his lap.

"You, presumptive, son of a..." The rest of Castiel's acidic words pour down Dean's throat as he kisses him.

Dean subdues Castiel's striking hands and holds him down to his lap with the other arm, biting and sucking at the side of his neck.

Castiel presses his knees into the seat and rubs his groin against the rise in Dean's jeans. Clearly he's given up any attempt at prideful resistance. Castiel's hands clutch at Dean's naked shoulders, his body shivering and jumping under Dean's slightest touch. There's the sound of a zipper and Dean drags one of Castiel's hands unceremoniously to his cock, Castiel grasps and rubs, almost choking on air at the familiar but foreign feeling. Dean opens Castiel's slacks and administers his own hand. They buck and gasp, curling into each other on the chair, coming split seconds apart, both mostly still fully clothed.

Castiel presses his face into Dean's left pectoral, stooping as his orgasm catches him, breathlessly swearing into the tight skin and muscle. Dean throws his head back, hips pushing up as he groans, feeling Castiel's quick fingers milking him roughly.

When both of them relax, left limp and senseless, Dean blinks at the ceiling.

"Fuck." He rasps.

Castiel scrambles off his lap and tugs his zipper up, wincing at the tacky feel of his skin. "You, don't tell anyone about this."

"Who would I tell?" Dean looks at him pointedly, then lets his head fall back against the seat, chest still bared and jeans open enough to display both his groin and a slither of tanned thigh. "Fuck." He groans again.

"Stop saying that." Castiel hisses.

"What? It was good." Dean smirks tiredly at him. "Fucking good. And probably the last time a dude's going to touch me like that – I'll enjoy it while I can thanks."

Castiel looks like wants to hit something.

"Calm down." Dean advises.

"My father, would kill me." Castiel whispers, horrified.

"He's not going to find out." Dean waves it off, but his own heart leaps with fear.

"I could lose everything, over this." Castiel continues. "and for a ..."

Dean bristles. "a cheap hand job from an ignorant hick?"

"I wasn't going to say that." Castiel mutters.

"But you thought it." Dean sneers. "Fucking Christ, it's not like I do this all the time – I never do this, point of fact. And I have just as much to lose." He glares at Castiel. "You think I want my one sexual experience to be you? To be this..." he gestures at himself, before doing up his jeans.

"So why did you kiss me?" Castiel demands angrily.

"Because you were there!" Dean growls. "You were in my face, and fucking under my skin and...you have...an obscene fucking mouth" Dean clenches his hands into fists. "You're the only person who isn't a flunky or a stage hand or a civy who'd sell me out for fifty bucks. Even though you hate me – you wouldn't do that."

"How the hell do you know what I wouldn't do?" Castiel sneers.

Dean looks at him.

"I knew you'd kiss me back." He says pointedly.

Castiel looks chastened, but no less furious.

"I know you still want me." Dean murmurs. "I can tell." He stands up and approaches Castiel, who freezes like a fearful, suspicious statue. "Because I still want you." He touches his hand to the back of Castiel's head lightly before yanking him forwards to kiss him, hard. "And I'd still fuck you..." he says, in between the pressing of their mouths, "even though...you think...I'm a hick." Dean presses their foreheads together and whispers. "And I'd never tell a soul."

It's this promise, this uneasy proposal that leads Castiel to touch Dean back, to kiss and feel and push and pull until Castiel is lying flat out on the floor, mostly naked, with Dean on top of him, stroking them both in a tight fist. All the while Castiel can hear people walking up and down the hallway behind the locked door. All the while he can feel the threat hanging over them like a sword.

It is under such serious threat that enemies can become allies.

Under such strain that allies become lovers.

Hope you enjoyed this little one shot. Song is by taylor swift (lyrics drastically changed.) Beginging quote is a song by alanis morrisette.