Title: No; He Can't Read My Poker Face
Author: highermagic
Rating: NC-17
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: Highschool AU.
Warnings: plotting, masked!boys , slight female bashing?
Word Count: ~4,000
Summary:It's a Masquerade Ball. Normally something Castiel would want to avoid – too many people getting drunk while taking part in the total lack of inhibitions that a mask can give them. The last part, well, Castiel intends to take full advantage of.
Notes: Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. THIS IS ALL TEXT FROM LAST NIGHT'S FAULT. Here's the text; 'He will not just "come" out of the closet. He will fall out, 69ing me, with two fingers in his starving asshole, wearing cum splattered lady gaga sunglasses, weeping.' …This was too much fun to write. Too fucking much. *headdesk*

It's a Masquerade Ball. Normally something Castiel would want to avoid – too many people dressed in, frankly, ridiculous costumes (since he doubts anyone in their year actually understands what 'Masquerade' is) and getting drunk while taking part in the total lack of inhibitions that a mask can give them.

The last part, well, Castiel intends to take full advantage of.

He's an observer. He watches people, and one person, in particular, has caught his eye quite nicely. It's a shame the boy thinks he's straight (or, at least, isn't open to being gay), because with a face and a mouth like that, well, his genetics are against him. He's made to be a pretty little bottom, with that smile, so bright and wide and sweet, and his thick, soft-looking brown hair…

Castiel might have a little bit of an obsession. He'd have resigned himself to it if he didn't know that Dean Winchester was looking right back.

'Cause while the boy might be so deep in the closet he's getting frostbite, Castiel is confident that, with the right amount of coaxing, he can get the boy on his knees for him, begging to be fucked. 'Cause he's an observer.

He knows Dean as soon as he sees him – hell, he imagines he can smell all that repressed sexuality in the air as soon as Dean comes in. The ballroom is large, packed with students, and Dean blends in almost immediately. Or he would if Castiel couldn't hone in on him like a bloodhound.

He's wearing a very debonair kind of 'James Bond' suit, his face covered with what looks like the silver mask from Lady Gaga's 'Poker Face', and Castiel can't help smirking, because if anything, Dean is just helping his cause even further.

How anyone can't tell who he is, with that mouth, Castiel will have no idea. But it will only succeed in helping his mission.

His own mask is a simple affair; like the blank dramatic masks used in the school plays sometimes; a swirl of black and white along his face with only holes for his eyes and to breathe through his nose. He stalks through the crowd, bypassing drunk dancing girls who are laughing with their high-pitched squall, his lip wrinkling in disgust behind his mask.

Honestly, he doesn't know why men like girls when they all act like that.

He approaches Dean, already feeling his pulse quicken with anticipation, and taps gently on the man's shoulder. Dean turns around, his eyes the only part of his upper face visible behind the mask, and Castiel watches as they take him in, dark and shadowed behind the mask. His lips part and he licks them slightly – possibly an involuntary reaction, but Castiel doesn't mind.

He takes a step back, smiling though Dean can see him, and gestures with one gloved hand for the boy to join him on the dance floor. Castiel knows there is nothing feminine about his costume – nothing feminine about him, really, and so there is no mistaking him for anything but a man. Dean, though, embraces the fact that no one must know who he is – he has no reputation to uphold – because he smiles slightly, and follows. Castiel can see his eyes darting from person to person, making sure they're not being paid an undue amount of attention, but if anyone sees, they don't care, and if they care, they certainly don't know.

He smiles again, glad that he was clever and chose a mask that gives none of his features away – Dean's mouth is distracting, though, and he wants to claim that beautiful man, right in front of him, right now. But he can't. He pulls Dean close, letting him feel the lines of his very masculine body, and doesn't miss how Dean's breath hitches, how his mouth falls a little open, the inside just taunting Castiel.

Dean's hands land on him, possessive, almost, like he's afraid Castiel will just disappear, and Castiel lets their bodies collide, lets Dean bury his face in Castiel's neck – lets the younger man just relax and be taken over by the music. Soon, he will have Dean, loose-limbed and needy enough to follow wherever Castiel leads him, and he can't wait.

Dean must have been to a pre-party, because there's alcohol on his breath, and his entire body is easy and relaxed, letting the beat of whatever-the-hell-this-song-is flow through him, turning him into a creature lacking inhibition and full of lust. Castiel growls when he feels Dean's warm, wet mouth against his pulse.

Straight my ass, he thinks to himself, feels drunk with victory, and that's when he feels fingers nimbly trying to undo the back of his mask.

With a snarl, he shoves Dean off him, fisting a hand in his coat so he doesn't go far. Dean gasps, his eyes wide behind the mask, cheeks slightly flushed, mouth open and panting. "Sneaky little bitch," Castiel growls in a voice that he thinks Dean wouldn't recognize even under normal circumstances – it's not like they've ever said two words to each other.

Dean gasps, licking his lips again, his pupils going blown, and Castiel smirks, tugging the boy closer again. "You will come with me, now," he murmurs, and Dean can only nod, wide-eyed and needy. Castiel can feel his heat, feel the need pouring off of him like a physical thing, and he growls again, tugging on Dean's coat once and fisting a hand in that gorgeous, soft hair, before he lets go, turning around and walking towards one of the side entrances, knowing that he will be followed.

This door leads to a hallway, and Castiel disappears through the first classroom door just as he hears Dean follow him into the hallway. It feels like a chase, like a hunt, but Castiel's definitely not the prey, here. He's smirking, blood burning in victory already, and turns around in time to see Dean standing in the doorway.

His eyes, black from lust and hazy, track over Castiel's body, hidden beneath his clothes, but Castiel thinks he might as well be naked for the amount of lust in Dean's gaze. It's almost too easy to gesture Dean to come forward, and it's even more astonishing when the boy does, stumbling like he's a dying man and Castiel is holding a giant meal right in front of him.

He falls to his knees in front of the older teen, and Castiel thinks that, yes, he likes this position very much.

The harsh fluorescent lights overhead glint off Dean's mask, making it sparkle, and Castiel can see his monochrome reflection in it. He reaches down with a gloved hand, petting over the side of Dean's face, before he presses his thumb against his bottom lip. Dean's lips part so easily, the boy moaning in barely restrained need, his hands coming forward to hook in Castiel's thighs, shaking slightly and grabbing too hard, and Castiel bucks his hips without thinking, biting out a low, terse 'Fuck'.

Dean smiles at that – smirks, even, the arrogant little bitch, and leans forward, mouthing at Castiel's erection through his slacks. Castiel breathes out the air he'd been holding, biting his lower lip and stifling another curse against the back of his mask. He would never get tired of this sight, but he has a different idea.

"Close," Castiel murmurs, smirking when Dean's eyes flash to his face – he can see, even behind the mask, Dean's brain working, trying to figure out who he is. Castiel smiles and lets him, moving his hands to his slacks and undoing the button and zip, freeing his hard cock and gripping it, stroking once.

He'd gone commando, because he'd had a plan. Dean, seeing that, smirks. "Thought you'd get lucky?" he purrs, and Castiel almost laughs because Dean's changing his voice – or maybe that's just the alcohol; his accent is slurred, definitely more pronounced than usual, and he's making it lower, raspy with lust. Or maybe that's just Castiel's influence.

He likes to think it is.

"Knew I would," Castiel replied tersely, fisting his cock again, and then lays the head against the seam of Dean's pretty, pretty lips. "Open up for me, baby."

And Dean just takes him, with the prettiest moan Castiel thinks he's ever heard. One of Castiel's hands goes to the back of Dean's head, cupping his skull and making sure he's not going anywhere, but Dean certainly doesn't look like he wants to go anywhere, with his lips stretching so nicely around Castiel's cock, his hands tightening in the teen's thighs so he can't thrust forward or pull back, and Dean scoots forward on his knees, kneeling up, and Castiel groans loudly as Dean just continues to sink down, taking almost all of him in one go.

"Fuck, done this before, haven't you?" he growls, hand tightening in Dean's hair, the other thumbing along the corner of his mouth, where he can feel his cock disappearing into Dean's mouth. "You little slut." Dean just moans, sucking for all he's worth though it must hurt his jaw like a bitch, his tongue pressing and licking all along Castiel's cock like he's a fucking popsicle of Dean's favorite flavor, and he has Castiel panting before the older teen can even catch up, because fuck, this is not Dean's first time doing this. No way in hell.

Castiel likes it when his hunches prove to be true.

Or maybe he's practiced. Maybe he's fantasized, sucking down fake cocks or fucking bananas, pretending that someone's owning his mouth and fucking his face. Castiel growls, thrusting forward so Dean has no choice but to take him deeper, and the boy chokes, trying to pull off, and Castiel lets him get as far as the head, not letting himself slip from Dean's mouth completely.

The boy's nostrils are flared, trying to breathe, and he's panting heavily, shoulders heaving under the black coat. Castiel allows himself a brief moment to admire, the play of light over the back of Dean's neck, down his throat, his broad shoulders hidden under, in Castiel's opinion, far too much material, flattering though it is. Dean is beautiful, and slowly, Castiel will unravel him.

First things come first, though.

He rocks his hips forward again, sliding deeper into the wet, warm cavern of Dean's mouth. Fuck, it's burning, the inside of his mouth, and Castiel wants nothing more than to slam all the way and make the boy choke on him until he's coming and Dean has no choice but to swallow.

He growls, pulling out, the stab of desire from that one image threatening to send him over the edge. Dean stares up at him, panting, his lips and chin slick with saliva and Castiel can't help rocking forward, making his lips even shinier with the little glob of precome, and Dean licks it away immediately, moaning softly at the taste.

"Like getting your mouth fucked, boy?" he asks, stopping himself just before saying the boy's name – that would ruin the entire game. Dean moans again, eyes wide, and nods. Castiel smirks behind his mask, and feeds Dean his cock once more, because he has a new plan, and he likes this plan very much.

He thinks Dean will, too.

He grips the back of Dean's head and growls low in his throat when Dean starts sucking him immediately, the blunt press of his teeth cushioned by his wet tongue, and Castiel thrusts forward until he feels himself hit the back of Dean's throat, making the younger teen choke and swallow to try and get rid of the sensation. He does it again, until Dean gets used to it (or maybe he doesn't, Castiel doesn't know, and if the way Dean is subtly rocking his erection against Castiel's leg, like a fucking dog, Dean doesn't much care) until his orgasm hits him.

He pulls out, fisting his cock, and aims the first splatter of come for Dean's mouth, marking that pretty, shiny mouth with his come before he moves up to the mask. The strands of fluid dull the shine of it, marring his reflection, and Castiel imagines he's actually coming on Dean's face, painting around those pretty eyes and across his nose, into his hair…

"Fuck," he growls, his comedown leaving him shaky and a little weak. Dean licks his lips, smiling in victory, and leans forward to lick at Castiel's spent cock, sending all kinds of painful aftershocks through the teen. The hard edges of his mask dig into Castiel's thigh and hip, and when Castiel presses forward with his leg, he feels Dean's erection pressing insistently into his slacks.

He smirks, tugging on Dean's hair. "Come up here, baby," he coaxes, making Dean stand on lust-wobbly legs, the younger teen rocking against his hand when Castiel cups him, a soft moan muffled against Castiel's neck.

"So fucking pretty," Castiel murmurs, petting through Dean's hair and smiling when Dean stifles a soft whimper against his neck, when Castiel squeezes his cock through his slacks – and it feels like Dean's got a lot of repression. Castiel's grin is positively feral.

Just then, the door to the classroom is being moved, and Dean tenses up, pulling away, but Castiel doesn't let him go. Instead, with a growl, he shoves Dean into the teacher's supply closet – the space is tight and shelved on all sides with books – and closes the door behind him. Outside, he can just hear the sounds of a couple, intending to use the classroom for just what he and Dean had been doing.

He can barely hear them, so he tunes them out. "Come here," he murmurs again, pulling Dean close.

Dean hesitates, staring at the door. "Shouldn't we -?"

Damn interruption. "No," Castiel growls in reply, squeezing Dean's cock again, and then he shoves the younger boy around, making his hands fly out so he can brace himself against a shelf. Immediately Dean's body goes lax, and Castiel can't help but think that it's too fucking easy, before he's on Dean. God, he just wants to mount him, rut until they both come and Dean can't even stand, but he's got more finesse than that.

At least, he likes to think he has.

He practically tears at Dean's slacks, wanting them off, off, off, and baring the man's ass to his greedy touch. Dean moans softly again, head hanging between his straining arms and tense shoulders, cock thick and hard. Castiel smiles at just how eager he is to be fucked, and gives a mental shove to his libido to get the hell on with it 'cause he sure as hell isn't waiting.

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small bottle of lube, and then takes off one glove, drizzling the lube onto his bare fingers. It's cold and he rubs his fingers together to warm it up a little, before he puts the lube back and flattens his other hand across Dean's cheek, wishing he could feel the smooth skin beneath his palm. But that's not part of the game.

Dean's burning – his body heat is making Castiel sweat, and the air in the closet seems stifling. He can barely breathe but that doesn't matter; Dean's panting, his shoulders heaving with every breath and sweat is breaking out along the back of his neck and in the dip of his spine. Castiel leans down, mouthing at the bottom knob of Dean's spine, where there's a tiny indent above his ass, his lube-slick hand smearing lubricant all over Dean's ass. The clean-up will be a bitch and Castiel wants that. He wants Dean to have the worst walk of shame in the world, because the boy's such a teasing little slut and he deserves it.

At the first press of one slick finger into Dean, he's surprised at how little resistance he gets. Then, he growls, realizing what he's feeling. "Such a greedy little whore," he snarls, pushing one finger all the way in. "Get a little horny, hmm? Fuck yourself with a big fake cock before you came here?" He pauses, then, adding a second finger, and Dean just moans. "Or you already got yourself a man, and you're here, fucking me? Can't you get enough of a thick cock, you greedy slut?"

Dean moans more loudly, slowly losing the rest of his inhibitions as lust and need overtake every other thought – he's fucking back onto Castiel's fingers like a pro, like he's been doing this all his life, and it's all Castiel can do to grip his thigh and hold on. "Hey," Dean gasps, throwing his head back as Castiel strikes his prostate, his entire body locking up and quaking, "you knew you'd get lucky." He pauses again, catching his breath. "Some of us need to take care of ourselves."

"Whore," Castiel snarls, before adding a third finger. His cock has decided to finally join the party again, and he's hardening quickly against the back of Dean's thigh. Dean feels it and whimpers, pressing back. "Just can't fuckin' get enough, can you?"

"Please," Dean begs, head hanging down, "please. God, just do it already!"

Straight my ass, Castiel thinks again, before he yanks his fingers out, more roughly than he needed to, and tears open a condom, rolling it on. Dean's shifting eagerly, his fingers white-knuckled on the shelves, entire body tense and quivering with anticipation. When Castiel grabs his hips again, positioning himself to thrust into Dean's willing, hot body, the younger boy doesn't even hesitate in pushing back, taking all of Castiel in.

Though he felt loose around his fingers, Dean's body is so tight and wet and hot on the inside, and Castiel groans, bending over the younger man, mounting him like a bitch in heat, his forehead pressed into the dip of Dean's spine. The younger man mewls desperately, hips pressing back and forth, trying to get Castiel to move inside of him, and the older teen growls, digging in more harshly with his hands so he'll leave nail marks on the ungloved side.

"Please," Dean gasps, "move."

"As you wish," Castiel replies, done with teasing for now, and thrusts all the way forward, as deep as he can get. Dean gasps, his body lighting up from the inside, tensing completely when Castiel strikes his prostate, so Castiel grins and does it again, and again, until Dean feels seconds away from jumping over the edge, his body taut like a drawn bow, entire being set to vibrate under Castiel's capable hands.

Every time Castiel strikes Dean's prostate, the boy locks up so suffocatingly tightly, it's like being gripped in a vice, or fucking a virgin. God, it's fucking amazing, finally being inside of Dean after so much planning and making sure he'd read the whole situation right. Totally worth it.

"So fucking good, baby," Castiel growls, nipping at the back of Dean's neck as he fucks forward more harshly, chasing his orgasm.

"Don't -." Dean chokes, gasping when Castiel thrusts forward extra hard, until Dean feels he can feel it in his throat. His voice is low and fucked-out, his throat will be sore in the morning, and Castiel smirks in victory. "Don't call me that."

"What, don't like the name 'baby'?" Castiel taunts, smirking. "Alright. How about sweetheart?" Dean gasps again when Castiel pulls out, almost all the way, and then slams back in until Dean has to brace his shoulder against the shelves to avoid hitting his head. "Darlin'? Slut?" Dean moans, the filthywrongness of it just hitting him hard. Castiel chuckles, biting out the word again. "Yeah, figured you'd like that."

He slams forward one last time, choking on a growl as he comes, filling up the condom. God, how he wishes he could have fucked Dean bare, but that's just one of those things – probably wouldn't let him without a condom.

When he pulls out, Dean still hasn't come, but he's making no move to get himself off – he's so obedient, staying still because Castiel hasn't told him to do anything yet, and probably too strung out to even think that far. He smirks, his gaze traveling down Dean's sweaty neck, his covered back, to his bare ass and fucked-open hole. He slides two fingers in easily, lube slicking the way and making Dean feel like a girl, and Dean's knees almost buckle. He groans loudly, full of need, when Castiel presses down on his prostate and won't let go.

"Please," Dean gasps again, pressing his cheek against the shelves, eyes closed, teeth bared, and his breath coming out in shaky, uneven gasps. "Please, I need -."

"Now," Castiel whispers, pressing close to Dean again, his hand cupping Dean's throat and just slightly pressing with his thumb, stroking down the flexing tendon in Dean's neck. "Come for me, Dean. I want to see it."

Dean's eyes fly open, hearing his name, and he chokes, but can't hold how his entire body just explodes in a mass of pleasure, unwinding from his tight coil as he comes harder than he ever has before, with two fingers up his ass from a guy who he doesn't know, doesn't recognize, and fuck, it should be so wrong, but all Dean can think is how hot it is. He's burning up, white going off behind his eyes as he orgasms with a shout, and then suddenly there is a mouth on his. It's searing, burning hot, the tongue that invades his mouth is domineering and takes no prisoners and fuck, if Dean doesn't roll over and beg for more. He moans, not quite able to open his eyes, still lost in the aftershocks as the stranger kisses him thoroughly, leaving him breathless and wanting, his mouth so soft and warm.

He opens his eyes, hoping to get a glimpse of the stranger's face, but all he sees is black. He reaches up to tentatively feel, and realizes that whoever-it-was had covered the eye-holes with one hand so he couldn't see. When the hand is removed, the mask is back in place, the glove is back on, and the other teen looks completely unruffled.

Dean, he's sure, looks like a fucking mess.

He can only watch, blank and disoriented, and the masked man gives him a kind of mock salute, and he knows the bastard's smiling, even behind the mask. "It's almost midnight," he says, leaning forward, and Dean can smell himself all over the other man. He quickly decides that he likes it. "I guess that's my cue to leave."

"Wait, what?" Dean demands, straightening, and makes a grab for the other teen, but he's already out the door and into the – now empty – classroom. Dean stumbles after him – he's not effective at chasing with his pants around his knees and his entire body very thoroughly fucked out, but he still tries. He catches himself on a desk, but the other teen is long gone.

Dean groans, thunking his head down on the desk, and sighs. Damn it. Now he'll never know.

It's the night after the Masquerade Ball. Castiel likes these days best – everyone's hung-over and in a sour mood and Castiel, well, he's on top of the world.

He passes by Dean's locker, since his isn't far away from it, and the younger teen is there. He's watching the crowd, and Castiel knows he's waiting for someone to give themselves away, give any indication that they, too, were involved in whatever happened last night.

Castiel walks right on by, humming 'Poker Face'. Dean doesn't get it.