Author's Note:

Okay, so...hmm, where do I start? I have a lot to say. For starters, hello to anyone that is reading this! Thanks for stopping by, hope you enjoy your stay :D I would like to first thank my friends Ash and Arielle, for without them this fic wouldn't exist. Arashi, you sent me that video and inspired me for a one-shot that has turned into a multichapter AU fic. Arielle, I am so very grateful for all of your help with this! I was kind of lost with chapter 2, so thank you for your guidance and advice :-)

I am not entirely sure of this fic, it was originally a 6 page long one-shot that I divided into two chapters, and I am working on a third. I think I will leave this first part up for a few days and see how it's recieved before I post any more. Next chapter is nothing but straight porn by the way, so've been warned :P I didn't want to post this because I didn't want to try writing two fics at once (this and my other fic Ordinary Life) but I finally caved.

Kinda like it? Hate it? Ideas for improvement? Please tell me! Thanks for reading :D

"Mr. Photographer, I think I'm ready for my close up, tonight

Make sure you catch me from my good side, pick one

These other, ha, just wanna be me

Is that money in your pocket? Are you happy to see me?

Kill the lights

Take 'em out, turn 'em off, break 'em down

Kill the lights

Don't be scared, make a move, see me now?"

~Kill The Lights by Britney Spears

"You're late!" the head of the photography department barked.

Castiel fumbled to attach the strap to his camera, pulling it over his head. "Sorry."

The burly man guided him deeper into the studio, Castiel blushing when he glanced into a room and saw a young woman photographing a couple kissing in nothing but tight jeans. Everyone laughed when he told them, but he was thirty-six and a virgin, so this whole setting was making him uncomfortable. He was a reputable photographer and had gotten a job doing the cover shoot for Venice Garde, a high class, racy Italian magazine now being sold in America. It paid a fortune apparently, and he'd been told he was assigned to one of their best looking models, the one privileged with being on the cover of their first American sold issue.

Finally he reached Studio Room 17, and waiting for him was…well, God come to Earth, quite possibly. A hot blush worked up Castiel's cheeks when he saw the cover model; a tall, muscled, short haired, green eyed beauty of a man with a charming smile and flirty wink waiting for Castiel when their eyes met. This must be the infamous Dean Winchester, Castiel thought, clearing his throat and reminding himself to act professional. Which wasn't easy for a gay man, his sexuality having been discovered the first time he almost had sex with his ex-girlfriend Meg, who hardly aroused him with her mousy whimpers and whines. She'd thrown him out the door in his underwear when he told her he wasn't getting anything out of it.

"You must be Castiel," Dean said, clad only in a soft white towel wrapped around his waist.

Castiel tore his eyes from the trail of dark hair going from the model's navel down to the edge of his towel. "Yes. Castiel Novak. Pleasure to meet you."

Dean's eyes darkened the moment Castiel spoke, the glint in his eyes suggesting he liked the rough, gravelly texture of the older man's voice. He shook Castiel's outstretched hand and introduced himself, drawing that same hand to his lips and kissing it before dropping it slowly. His lips sent sparks racing up the phtotgrapher's fingers. Castiel flushed to the roots of his tousled brown hair. Was this man coming on to him? Was he imagining the come hither look dancing in those emerald green eyes? Regardless of what the answer to either of those questions might have been, Castiel had to tear himself away and make busy while the crew whisked Dean off to get dressed. That had been…sexual, if the very inexperienced Castiel knew it when he saw it. The look in those eyes had him blushing even after Dean was gone from the studio they'd be doing the shoot in. He cursed himself for being so easily effected as he mounted his camera on a tripod, pulling his specialty lenses from his camera case.

Not five minutes later, a voice said from behind him, "Nice coat."

Castiel nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned and nearly got a face full of Dean's…oh god. The photographer fell backwards when he came eye to eye with Dean's very sizeable manhood, which couldn't have been more than two inches from his face. The handsome model was stark naked, smirking and holding a black fedora in his left hand. Castiel was blushing more profusely than he'd ever blushed before, which was saying something since his face had felt aflame after Dean had kissed his hand only minutes ago.

"Are you ready?" he asked hoarsely, awkwardly fiddling with the hem of his trench coat.

Dean smiled suggestively and pulled Castiel up, right against him, his naked body flush with the older man's. "Are you?"

He had to flirt with me, didn't he? He couldn't be straight, he couldn't be ugly, he couldn't completely and totally ignore my existence, could he? Castiel thought desperately. He'd never had this much sexual tension between himself and the subject of his photography before. No one else knew it, but he'd always found something erotic in taking pictures of beautiful people, and this was the worst time possible for that secret kink to perk up, along with something else he'd rather not specify.

"People are watching us," he stuttered awkwardly.

"'Course they are gorgeous, we're in a studio," Dean said calmly.

Castiel pointedly ignored the model calling him gorgeous. "We should get on with this."

Dean smirked and used the untied belt of his coat to pull him even closer. "Couldn't agree more."

"With the shoot," Castiel hissed, backing shakily out of Dean's grip, grabbing his camera and positioning himself several feet behind the flat gray backdrop Dean would be standing in front of.

Unfazed as ever, the younger man stood in front of the backdrop, assuming such a provocative position that Castiel thought he might die (or come) right then and there. He folded his hands behind his hand, leaned back against the backdrop, and hung the fedora on his erection. Castiel's blush and arousal only deepened when he recalled feeling the model's manhood pressed up against him moments prior, hardening in their proximity. He'd given Dean that erection. This man was going to be the death of him before he managed to get out of here for the day.

Castiel held his camera up in front of him and zoomed in just right before taking a series of snapshots of Dean in the same position, altering the zoom and angle only slightly in each one. Then he motioned for Dean to change positions, grateful that the model was well used to photographers and was familiar with the subtle hand gestures that commanded a move here, a lifting of the head there. It made it so much easier to work. And not to mention Castiel feared if he engaged Dean in any form of conversation then he'd end up with another sultry innuendo that made him want to let Dean drag him into some dark corner and have his way with him.

Dean turned with his back to the camera, placing the fedora on his head and looking over his shoulder at the camera with an expression so lustful that it said without debate, Come here and let me fuck you, handsome. It was that blatantly lewd, and it was only a facial expression. Castiel shivered at the idea of what actions might follow such an expression. He took another series of pictures, trying his best not to appreciate the view of Dean's perfectly shaped, toned ass.

The session became one very sensual blur, Castiel finding what should be a strictly professional experience something so boldly erotic that his blood was pounding in his ears and rushing down to his groin. Most of the crew hung back unobtrusively, but by this point, almost an hour of pictures later, Castiel felt like he could probably have sex with Dean right there, heedless of the eyes upon them. As soon as the thought passed his mind, he asked himself, What the hell is wrong with you? What happened to being the awkward little virgin that blushed at the word "sex," let alone imagining having it in front of ten some odd people with a man you met a grand total of an hour ago?

Shaking off that voice, he stood up and informed Dean they were finished. He pulled his camera back over his neck and started packing his equipment back into its cases, keeping busy to hopefully avoid any further contact with Dean. Most people overlooked the shy, awkward photographer, his lightly muscled body hidden under layers of clothing. But Dean…the model had taken to him instantly, charming him and flirting with him. Castiel chastised himself for allowing it to work.

"So, Cass," Dean said, casually dragging his fingers through the older man's hair.

"Hello Dean," Castiel breathed, shivering at the sensation.

Dean crouched down behind where Cass was crouched as well and leaned forwards, his breath tickling the back of his neck. "Let's get out of here."

Castiel's mouth was open to protest when he felt the palm of Dean's hand press into his crotch. He stifled a moan and tensed, his hand dropping from the case he'd just zipped up. Dean then took his hardness in a bruising grip, squeezing it roughly. Cass moaned gutturally and dropped his head back against Dean's shoulder, falling out of his crouching position and landing on the floor. His mind was too scrambled to even process what was going on, his cock too hard for him to remember his name.

Dean started rubbing Cass through his pants and the photographer's legs fell apart, his hips arching up into Dean's hand. The model smirked and leaned close to Castiel's ear. "That's right, spread 'em like a whore for me," he whispered hoarsely.

"Please," Cass moaned, rocking his hips against the younger man's hand.

Dean smirked against the back of Castiel's neck. "I know just the place."

And Castiel, God help him, uttered not one syllable of protest.