(the top/bottom is flipped from your prompt but in this verse AU!Jensen is "rectum of the year" so it had to be lol)
____________________________
“Are they freaking serious with this?” Dean growls, propping the Jason-style hockey mask up on the top of his head as he watches Bald Guy and his bored crew setup.
“At least they don’t have you in twenty layers of knitwear. I’m sweating like you in a church right now,” Sam mumbles, pulling at the gigantic red scarf that is bundled up around his neck. Sweat beads on his brow and Dean wants to lick it---
Goddamn it, no he does not, thank you very much.
“It was bad enough when fake-Dad showed up. I almost pissed my pants.” Dean paused. “If I had been wearing pants, you know.”
Sam snickers. “Thank god Mr. Rectum of the Year got ‘no watersports’ into his contact.”
Dean hits him with the hockey stick as Sam yells “ow!”
“If you mention that one more time, I’ll bash your fucking brains in with this thing!”
“Hey, Jensen,” a prissy little voice purrs from behind them.
Oh god, please no.
Dean spins around to face his arch nemesis in blue, who is wielding a bottle of K-Y like a machete.
“C’mon, Jensen, it’s for your own good,” Fake-Cas smirks at him, waving his fingers in a lewd manner.
Dean pokes him with the hockey stick to push him away. “You get back before I break something, you creepy fake-angel motherfucker!”
Fake-Cas pouts. “I’ll be gentle this time. No pictures, promise.”
Dean hits him with the stick in the same spot he hit Sam.
“Back, fake-Cas, back!”
Dean doesn’t duck fast enough, as a bottle of lube hits him in the hockey mask.
Sam turns to him after fake-Cas marches off in a huff. He swallows hard and can’t quite look at Dean. “Um, so Dean. Don’t you think you might need the, erm…the lube, Dean, you’re going to need the lube.”
Dean’s tempted to let Sam stay embarrassed for another fifteen minutes just for kicks, but his own face feels like it’s on fire.
“Already done,” Dean mumbles.
Sam looks up, surprised. “What was that?”
“I said it’s already done, dammit,” Dean hisses, waving the hockey stick at his brother in a hopefully intimidating fashion.
Sam’s eyes go to half-lids, and if Dean wasn’t so pissed about, well, everything, he might be enjoying it right now.
“You lubed yourself up already?”
“I might have stuck a finger or two up there,” Dean admits, purposefully not looking at him.
Suddenly, Sam is all up in his space and knitwear is scratching Dean’s neck. “You did it all by yourself?”
Dean knocks him back and hits him with the stick again. “It’s better than letting fake-Cas stick something up there! Jesus Christ, this world sucks. I’m gonna kill that fucking angel dick when we get back. BAM--angel sword right to the face.”
Just as Dean is attempting to figure out a way to flee the scene completely, Bald Guy’s voice rings out through his trusty megaphone.
“Jensen, where do you think you’re going?”
Dean waves the hockey stick in the vicinity of the voice. “Fuck you, you bald perv! I’m done, you hear me, done!”
“Jensen,” Bald Guy intones, like Dean’s a child. “Do I have to call JD back to set to supervise?”
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2012-08-08 01:16 am (UTC)(the top/bottom is flipped from your prompt but in this verse AU!Jensen is "rectum of the year" so it had to be lol)
____________________________
“Are they freaking serious with this?” Dean growls, propping the Jason-style hockey mask up on the top of his head as he watches Bald Guy and his bored crew setup.
“At least they don’t have you in twenty layers of knitwear. I’m sweating like you in a church right now,” Sam mumbles, pulling at the gigantic red scarf that is bundled up around his neck. Sweat beads on his brow and Dean wants to lick it---
Goddamn it, no he does not, thank you very much.
“It was bad enough when fake-Dad showed up. I almost pissed my pants.” Dean paused. “If I had been wearing pants, you know.”
Sam snickers. “Thank god Mr. Rectum of the Year got ‘no watersports’ into his contact.”
Dean hits him with the hockey stick as Sam yells “ow!”
“If you mention that one more time, I’ll bash your fucking brains in with this thing!”
“Hey, Jensen,” a prissy little voice purrs from behind them.
Oh god, please no.
Dean spins around to face his arch nemesis in blue, who is wielding a bottle of K-Y like a machete.
“C’mon, Jensen, it’s for your own good,” Fake-Cas smirks at him, waving his fingers in a lewd manner.
Dean pokes him with the hockey stick to push him away. “You get back before I break something, you creepy fake-angel motherfucker!”
Fake-Cas pouts. “I’ll be gentle this time. No pictures, promise.”
Dean hits him with the stick in the same spot he hit Sam.
“Back, fake-Cas, back!”
Dean doesn’t duck fast enough, as a bottle of lube hits him in the hockey mask.
Sam turns to him after fake-Cas marches off in a huff. He swallows hard and can’t quite look at Dean. “Um, so Dean. Don’t you think you might need the, erm…the lube, Dean, you’re going to need the lube.”
Dean’s tempted to let Sam stay embarrassed for another fifteen minutes just for kicks, but his own face feels like it’s on fire.
“Already done,” Dean mumbles.
Sam looks up, surprised. “What was that?”
“I said it’s already done, dammit,” Dean hisses, waving the hockey stick at his brother in a hopefully intimidating fashion.
Sam’s eyes go to half-lids, and if Dean wasn’t so pissed about, well, everything, he might be enjoying it right now.
“You lubed yourself up already?”
“I might have stuck a finger or two up there,” Dean admits, purposefully not looking at him.
Suddenly, Sam is all up in his space and knitwear is scratching Dean’s neck. “You did it all by yourself?”
Dean knocks him back and hits him with the stick again. “It’s better than letting fake-Cas stick something up there! Jesus Christ, this world sucks. I’m gonna kill that fucking angel dick when we get back. BAM--angel sword right to the face.”
Just as Dean is attempting to figure out a way to flee the scene completely, Bald Guy’s voice rings out through his trusty megaphone.
“Jensen, where do you think you’re going?”
Dean waves the hockey stick in the vicinity of the voice. “Fuck you, you bald perv! I’m done, you hear me, done!”
“Jensen,” Bald Guy intones, like Dean’s a child. “Do I have to call JD back to set to supervise?”
Is Sam laughing? Sam is laughing, that bitch!