Okay, so this is D/C pre-slash… but total crack. It didn't start out D/C, but took a turn in that direction. Don't think I'll ever progress to proper slash though! I started writing this as a scene for Shine but it got a tad too cracky. And yeah, pre-slashy. Sue me, I've had a few… :-D

Warning Foul language and blasphemy up the wazoo. Spoilers up to end S5.


Spoken For


-Pick up, you fuckin' assbut.

-Dude, where's my car? In the parking lot, you think? Where the fuck are you? Well ask the barkeep, idiot. On a pub crawl with Crowley? Jesus fuckin' Christ. Put him on. I don't give a shit, put him on. Now.

-Crowley, what the fuck are you doing getting him hammered? Needs loosening up? Are you lookin' to get drilled? What do you mean, is that a threat or a promise… don't even fuckin' go there with me, and if you've—laying on of hands? If you've laid one cloven fuckin' hoof on him, I will cut your dick off with a plastic spoon and feed it to you whole. And I've had practice, believe me. No, not because he and I – stop right there, or so help me… because he's an angel of the fuckin' Lord, moron. Is, was, whatever. That's a technicality. Don't split fuckin' hairs with me, pal. Even if he is fallen, he's still officially an angel of the fuckin' Lord. Where are you? Well ask the fuckin' barkeep, idiot. Put him back on. Now.

-Are you cracked? Crowley? What the fuck were you thinking? Were you even thinking at all? How much have you had? Say the word phenomenon. No, not feminine. Phenomenon. Did Crowley hear you say that? No, feminine. Handsy? Where is his hand? Jes—only you get to touch that Cas, you moron. You, your wife and your doctor. Teethmarks where? Christ. Put him back on.

-Crowley, I have the spoon in my hand. In my fuckin' hand. I swear to God. Zip him back up. Now. And he better be joking about the hickies. Put him back on.

-Are you joking about the hickies? Man… yeah, when they're on your neck it's fine. How the fuck did he manage to mark your hip? Listen to me you moronic fuckin' moron. The pants stay on. If he puts his hands anywhere below the waist, you yell fire. Phe-no-me-non. Say it back to me. So I can gauge how smashed you are, what the fuck do you think? Fuh. Fuh for fuckin' fucktard fuckwit. Your new nickname. PHENOMENON. What are you drinking? Third bottle? Flames? A Flaming Orgasm? No, absofuckinlutely not. Have you had all that on an empty stomach? Well, what did you have? A plate of onion rings, a bucket-o-chicken and a twelve pack of Pabst. At the where? The Tastee Deelite Drive-Thru? I didn't know they served liquor. How much of the beer did you drink? Eight cans. Jesusfuck. What was the chicken like? Curly fries? Oh he did? Put him back on.

-Cas says you had the burger. What was it like? Pesto fries? They good? What about the onion rings? There's no way, man. No fuckin' way. Better than the Outback Steakhouse Bloomin' Onion? Demons lie. Therefore, you're lying. Put him back on.

-Did you ask the barkeep? Well wave a fifty at him, moron. Trousers without… leather trousers without what? God. Put Crowley back on.

-Butless fuckin' chaps? You took my guardian angel to a gay bar? Dancing? He's doing the discofox? Donna Summer? He took off his shirt? I will have you for this. You are a fuckin' lampshade for this. Your buttock skin is my lampshade. Put him back on.

-You aren't wearing your shirt? No, wearing your tie doesn't mean you're still decent. And under no fuckin' circumstances are you to do any more discofoxing along to Donna Summer. No, not Chic either. The Bee Gees? Was it Staying Alive? Can you do that thing where he crosses his hands and points his finger like a gun? You can do that? You're showing me now… you're talking down the phone, how can you be showing me? You'll get a crick in your neck. No, definitely not The Village People. Especially not if it's YMCA. Did you hear me? I will fuckin' hurt you when I track you down. He's dressed like a construction worker? Don't even think about it. Cas. Fuck. Put Crowley back on.

-He says some blond guy dressed like a construction worker is licking his lips at him in a suggestive way and rubbing his thighs. Oh really? Cretin. Put him on.

-Yeah, this is he. Right. Dean. Yeah, like James Dean. Do I… well, I guess. A little. Better looking, actually, so I'm told. Darker hair though. Not so full on top. No, I buzz it myself. Third of an inch at the back, inch and a half or so on top. Waxy stuff. I dunno, L'Oreal or something. Megawax, black tube. Yeah, spiked at the front and slightly to the side. Uh. Levi's. How tight? Tight-ish, I guess. Workboots. Green. Six one. One seventy. Sixty seven Impala. Huh? No, he's just a friend. Yeah, I guess, if you like nerdy-looking types. Cerulean blue orbs? I never thought of them like that. No, I think it's naturally wavy. No, he doesn't color it, not as far as I know. He does? You do? Why do you think he looks sad? Really? Put him back on.

-Shaun says you look sad. How the fuck should I know? Well is your face, you know – lookin' like it usually does? All glowery? Of course it's a fuckin' word. How would you even know, you're pissed. Put him back on. No, Shaun.

-Not you Crowley. Shaun.

-Shaun? He always looks like that, it's his everyday face. Well – I dunno. He has a lot on his mind. He uh – used to be pretty religious. And his father, uh. Rejected him. Yeah, pretty cold. Bitter, bitter old bastard. Cas was doing his best, he was a good son. Sumbitch just wasn't there for him when it counted. Uh-huh. He did? Fuck, man. That's some pretty harsh stuff. I guess a lot of parents can't handle that. Only son? Yeah, complicates matters I guess. No! No! No, I think you misunderstood… just – I need to speak to Cas. Yeah. Put him back on.

-Okay, he thinks you're miserable because your dad disowned you when you came out. Just – don't even ask. I can't—what? Okay, put him back on.

-Shaun, what can I do for you, man? Oh you do? Just around the corner? And you want to… speak up, I can't hear you. Oh you're whispering on purpose? Why are you whispering on purpose? Because you want to do very bad things to my friend… oh-kay. Put him back on.

-Cas, under no circumstances are you to go back to Shaun's trailer with him. Put Crowley on. He's where? With—how many? How much taller and wider? Ouch. Yeah, I can believe he was smiling when he left. Oh really? Seven of them? Are you still wearing your tie? Really, in his teeth? On your lap? Pressing down and wriggling? Put him on.

-Yeah, this is he. Josh? Is it? Oh. Joshua. Right. Well, Joshua, I need you to get off his knee. Oh, Shaun told you that? Put him on.

-Shaun? Dean. Yeah, it's like this, see. Cas and I, we had this – yeah, a tiff. Yeah, that kind of tiff. Oh you know… he wanted to go out, I wanted to stay in. He's – fragile right now. Like a flower? Yeah, exactly like a flower. I dunno, name one. A rose? Yeah, he's a rose. You nailed it, that's so him. Uh… I hadn't thought about it actually. No, not pink. Sort of, I dunno. Orangey. No, more like – peach colored, you know… that orange that isn't really orange, more like – buff! Spoken for? Uh. Well. Yeah, I guess. No don't!

-Cas, uh. Yeah, I know he did. Well, uh. You know, I just was. I wouldn't go so far as—no! Don't tell them that. Oh Jesus fuckin' Christ. You're spoken for. Are you happy now? Fuckin' idiot. Where are you anyway? Ask the fuckin' barkeep, moron. I'll get a cab. But get the tie back. We'll need it. And you know what I said about you, your wife and your doctor? Well, I get to touch that too.


Thanks for reading! I'd love it if you left a review…