Chapter Text
His rear tunnel of love was pre-moistened and I...
The door slammed loudly and the author turned around only to find herself inches from a very red and very angry face of a man she had never seen before.
"Buttholes." he hissed. "Don't. Work. That. Way."
The girl fainted.
***
Dean Winchester was a Slash Sheriff and his life sucked. He was listening to shitty gay porn 24/7 on his inner radio and he couldn't really turn it off, forced to listen to the childish voices of the proud authors reading their stories to themselves as they wrote them. He was doing all of this to search for the crime that incorrect descriptions of sex were.
It was his purpose.
He hated it.
Fangirls had generally no idea how anything worked and they eagerly proved that in their works. There were millions of them and they were unstoppable.
Years have passed since he had heard a proper story for the last time.
It was so depressing.
Evertyhing though became two-fold worse when the SV TV started emitting that shitty series about those Smith & Wesson dudes. Seriously, no other show provoked as many homosexual fantasies amongst young people as this one. When the first ones started being written down, Dean already knew he was screwed but he didn't foresee what would happen when they added this third guy, Kovalsky, to this horrible, terrible product of someones twisted mind.
He started drinking. A lot.
It didn't really help.
Now he was sitting on his battered couch after the rutine intervention, staring in the space, again listening to what was being written by all those sadists with innocent faces when he heard something different.
A good porn. Read in a male voice.
"Holy fuck..." Dean stood up, almost tripping the table over.
***
Castiel Novak was one of those men whose age was always a great mystery for those who passed him on the street. If you had asked him how old he was though, he would look at you with his creepily blue eyes and say something like Thirty three years, two months, one day, three hours and fifteen minutes because that was the most exact answer he could give you.
He was always glad to be precise.
In the moment he decided to become a porn writer he was exactly three weeks from becoming thirty four and it had nothing to do with his decision. In fact, the only thing that had anything to do with the sudden change of his career path was this show that one of his annoying co-workers blabbed so much about. She just wouldn't shut up so he sacrificed some of his precious time to sit down and watch the pilot.
He wouldn't admit it in a million years to her but he actually loved it.
And Castiel Novak had no history of abusing the word 'love'.
The characters and their dynamics were so fascinating that he spent the whole night watching the rest of the first season and continued missing on the sleep in the next days only to watch as much as he could. Of course she, that devoted fan of the show, had to notice that something was very off since he looked even more wasted than usually adding scruff to his strange grey sweaters, hipster glasses and those dark, ever-messy hair. She always noticed when something changed and honestly, Castiel only hated that woman more with every cup of tea she made to make him feel better.
Castiel Novak needed no nanny.
Everything was still fitting the definition of slight, yet not unhealthy obsession until he reached season four and his world exploded when Carlos Kovalsky met Dan Smith face to face for the first time. Castiel sat there with his mouth agape as the sexual tension almost flooded him out and left him blinking with shock and really wanting those two to make out on screen.
That was utterly terrifying.
Castiel finished the episode and sat there in the darkness for a fair amount of time until his reasonable side gave up and he reached for his laptop. He needed Dan and Carlos to make out now. He needed fanfiction.
An hour later he found himself disturbingly aroused and disgusted at the same time.
Something was wrong with all those pieces he had read.
Castiel Novak didn't have much of sexual experience of his own as he hadn't really met anyone who would match his standards but he instinctually knew that the real thing didn't work the way those authors described it.
He felt the familiar sense of mission.
***
Dean Winchester couldn't contain all his emotions. He adjusted his hair and clothes and then zapped himself to the place where the perfect description of anal sex was being born.
He found himself in a smoky room stuffed with old furniture, books, clocks and strange brass devices. The old parquet squeeked under his boots and he heard a movement.
The smoke started fading and soon he found himself facing a man who owned a pair of the most piercing blue eyes Dean had ever seen.
He was sitting on a chair that must have remembered his great granfather, he was wearing big glasses, loose sweater of a strange shape and he had a pipe in his hand. He didn't look too shocked by Dean's presence, he just measured the intruder with a careful gaze and slowly let a ring of smoke out of his mouth, closing his eyes. There was a very specific aura about him and Dean immediately felt lost.
"How can I help you?" asked the man after a while, smiling politely.
He had a really deep low voice and Dean forgot his own name.