Dean got hammered by the Sexuality Hammer, not in the hormone fueled rage of adolescence, but in the illusionary calm of his mid-twenties. Or, more literally, he got grabbed by a giant proverbial dick, pulled from hell, and then had an unexpected fixation of literal dicks.

Hell, Dean himself hadn't really thought anything was wrong until he'd been caught staring at a gas station hotdog station for too long. There'd just been something so hypnotizing about those weiners, all smooth and aglow with pinpricks of grease, rotating sloooowly on the rollers. They were just so long and shiny and thick and delicious looking.

The seam of his lips dropped open when his facial muscles relaxed. His chin dropped a fraction of a fraction of an inch. Just enough that a hint of his front teeth peeked out.

Hotdogs glistened under the heat lamp.

Like hot, oiled muscles.

Like hot, oiled, rippling muscles on a sun-tanned man.

A man who had a hard, aching weiner to slide into Dean, all pinned under him. And Dean'd grab onto the guy's bare back, maybe try to dig his blunt nails into the hot, sweaty meat. God, it'd probably feel so intense, wouldn't it? He'd be at the guy's mercy, getting fucked like all those girls he'd done before, like he used to fuck Cassie until she was a shaking mess, screaming for it and so into it that she'd only make those hot little punched out noises or gutteral grunts.

Maybe he'd even make a hot little, high-pitched gasp. Really egg the dude on.

Maybe he'd get to stare up at some pretty blue eyes or something. Cream himself right there if that was the case.

"Excuse me?" One of the Gas'n'Sip employees asked him, wearily holding a tray of fresh hotdogs, waiting to plop them on the hot rollers, "Are you going to get one or can you move out of the way?"

"Right," Dean cleared his throat, ignoring the half-chub in his pants. Don't look down. Don't make it obvious you just got hard over weiners. Don't make eye contact-

He smiled at the employee, who was still squinting at him.

"Right, yeah, I just-" Dean snatched up three dogs, slipped into buns, and scrambled towards the cash register, "I'm just gonna."

"Oh..kay…" The guy muttered.

Dean paid with his card and scrambled to the car where Sammy was already waiting on the hood of Baby, reclining against her windshield while he tore through a bag of trailmix. The kind that didn't have chocolate, but had an overwhelming amount of cranberries. Desperate to make himself feel normal, and ignoring the 'what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck' running through his thoughts, Dean instantly took the chance to pick on his brother.

"Nasty," Dean told him.

"It's good for you." Sam said. "God knows when the last time you got fruit was."

"Linden, Indianna. Strawberry rhubarb."

"Desert doesn't count, asshat."

"Ha, you said ass." Dean sat down near the end of Baby's bonnet and fished out his hotdogs.

That was when he realized he'd forgotten to grab any condiments. He ate them plain and luke-warm. The buns were somehow soggy.

He'd lost his half-chub at least while gobbling away at some half-decent beef weiners.

"Oh, yeah!" The busty Asian beauty moaned theatrically, legs spread ridiculously wide enough that Dean was sure it was uncomfortable. But they needed the camera angles.

Her body glided back onto the man she was riding, her thick thighs jiggling deliciously. Just the thought of feeling them under his hands had Dean hissing, fisting his dick tightly at the base. Bounce. Jiggle. Bounce. Jiggle. She had a large birthmark on the inside of her thigh, above her knee, somewhere that Dean would have kissed before eating her out.

"Gimme that meat!" She growled, flushed and low-pitched.

The tiny red skirt that was bunched up around her waist got ripped away when the guy grabbed it too harshly. Or maybe it was one of those rip-away ones. It was cheap shit either way. But then the guy reached between her legs and started rubbing at her clit - a little too rough, Dean critiqued to himself - and started trying to dirty talk.

It was so bad that he ended up muting the video until the camera changed angles.

And.

Hm.

The sound went back on.

She cried out, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, gimme that fucking meat!"

The cock she was bouncing on was fine. Dean started stroking himself. Stared at the glistening close up of her pussy getting fucked by some dude. He went a little faster, paused when it felt too dry, grabbed a bit of lotion, then went back to jerking himself off. The guy in the video was decently thick. Pleasantly thick. A little too long, like porn stars tended to be, so he couldn't bottom out the way Dean loved to, and the thought of it sent a little shiver up his spine. He'd had hook-ups who had sighed in pure relief when he was pressed deep inside of them, and that had always stroked his ego. Just another service he did for the unsuspecting public. Killing monsters. Helping poor horny women everywhere.

Long story short, Dean's own meat was perfect. The faces women had pulled, the moans and grunts he'd pulled from them - mmmm.

What did it feel like to have a dick in them? It had to be good, if even half of their pleasure had been authentic. He focused on the feel of himself in his hand, decently big and long. He eyed the dick that was full-frontal on his computer screen. It was thicker than he was. Was that still good? Or was the stretch too much? What did the stretch even feel like? A girl had told him once that she liked the initial burn-and-stretch the most. Had called it the best part of sex.

Would he like the burn? Or would he want to get fucked only after he'd been turned loose and relaxed, soupy with lube to keep it an easy glide. Could he take the guy on the screen? Could he handle the meat? Maybe he was a meat man in more ways than one?

The woman on the screen got tossed into a different position, braced on all fours, and wiggled her hips back onto the guy enthusiastically. Dean came over his own chest and stomach when he realized that Cas could toss him around, angel strength no match for Dean's sturdy build.

It meant nothing, Dean told himself, what guy hadn't fantasized about a buddy at least once?

The free continental breakfast at the hotel had pancakes, cereal, waffles, powdered eggs, apples, bacon, and sausage. Thank God for Bobby, Dean thought to himself, grateful that they'd gotten new fake credit cards from him. Even Sam was in a good mood, humming to himself while he picked through the food offerings. Thank God for complimentary continental breakfasts.

It was worth the rare splurge for a hotel instead of a motel, half-worried about catching bedbugs.

He grabbed several slices of bacon and three sausage links.

Oh, maple syrup!

He drizzled some over his entire plate aside from the eggs which he dumped some hot sauce on top of. Delicious. Hearty. Meant for the rugged men out there.

Half-way back to the table, Dean hesitated at the cereal station because, hm, it'd been a while since he indulged in Applejacks, wasn't it? Cereal and milk, timeless classic.

Balancing the stacked high plate on the counter, he prepped a bowl and uncapped the whole milk carton that was sitting in a recess to keep cool. The sides of it felt a little wet to his touch, so at least he wasn't going to get an upset stomach from off milk. He started pouring when he looked at his plate.

Three sausages.

Maybe he should grab another one, just to take advantage of the free food.

They were a good size, considering, and he could probably fit one in his mouth without a problem. Just down the chute so to speak. They gleamed with fat and he had a container of whipped butter next to them for extra, extra greasy goodness. He could suck 'em down real fast.

Suck. Lick. Saliva. Oral. Deep throating.

He could suck a dick. It'd be… interesting to feel the drag of a cock on his tongue. Over his lips. New. Maybe he could lap at it while it was in his mouth, try to swirl his tongue over the tip, make Cas groan and shake over him. Or, hm, when he got bored of going down on him, he could feel that in and out, in and out, in and out, of a slippery, full, hard sausage slip in between his ass cheeks, into his asshole, until the ring of muscle turned pink and he would be a moaning, pleading mess just begging for it, really begging for more, more, more-

Dean's eyes grew dark and his eyelids rested at half-mast. Some blood flow redirected itself. Cereal crackled lightly as it moistened. Milk ran over the edge of his cereal bowl.

"Dean!" Sam yelled.

"Huh-wuh?" Dean jerked upright, sending a spray of milk over the table-top."Oh, shit!" He splashed more milk over the floor when he jerked in surprise.

"What's wrong with you, man?" Sam asked, brows all scrunched up.

He was going to get all wrinkly. Just between his eyes. He'd end up looking like a clown, and, oh right, he was afraid of those. Hm. Dean opened his mouth to tease him about his clown-wrinkles when Sam lurched across the table to wrestle the milk away from him. At some point he'd zoned out and more milk had ended up on the floor.

"Get off me," he grunted, pushing his brother away, but let go of the milk.

Sam fumbled with his big hands to grab it, but the carton dropped to the floor sounding like a fat kid belly flopping into a pool.

"Not me." Dean called, putting a finger to his nose.

"Dean!"

"What?"

"Did all that porn finally fry the last your braincells?" Sam screwed the cap back on the carton, scowling as he did so. "You've had your head in the clouds a lot. What's wrong with you?"

It was a rhetorical question, because Sam turned and stomped off to the front desk to ask for a custodian. Dean put all his dick and cock related thoughts back into a box.

Dean knew he had a problem when he caught himself thinking about sucking and fucking a cock while watching a boring crime show with Bobby and Sam as they dug into the cheapest microwave dinners on the market.

Hell, the characters on the show hadn't even been talking about sex or anything sex related at the time. They'd been investigating the mystery of an elevator falling on a technician below and the lead investigator had said 'elevator shaft'. And then Dean had been lights out, thinking about cock, cock, cock.

Till the cock crowed in the morning.

Big cock, little cock, fat cock, skinny cock, cock glistening from slobber, spent cock, cock covered with cum, spitting cum back out on the tip while giving Cas bedroom eyes, giving him 'Can I ride your shaft, pretty please? With a cherry on top?' eyes.

About halfway through the commercial break Dean'd stealthily hid his partial erection, thanking God for the dim lighting and the way Bobby and Sam were carrying on. There was nothing more awkward than trying to ignore a boner. He felt like a boner. More like a total loser with his crappy ass Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes meal, while thinking about his best friend like a pervert.

A screw had gotten knocked loose when he'd been resurrected, he knew it for sure now. Because there was no way that he was thinking about dick or Cas like that. He loved women and all their assets. He loved how soft they were and the way they made him feel big and worth being around and how they smelled when really turned on. He liked women.

He liked women and he liked men. He really couldn't ignore it any longer. Maybe he had been out back together wrong all that time ago, because he wasn't sure if he'd ever been aware of his growing attraction to men. Or maybe he'd been so repressed and hell happened to him in more ways than just torture.

But Dean was a fish. Could be a fish when he really got pushed into it at least, because while liking dick still freaked him out a little, what it did do was open up a whole new world of pornography for him. It was suddenly a whole forest of untapped maple trees waiting for a regular old Paul Bunyan to come by. And Dean wore a lot of flannel.

He went from watching girl on girl and some vanilla man on woman action — Damn it he was't actually into that kinky, rough shit, alright? He tried to watch a couple videos here and there over the years but he'd get focused on the poorly hidden grimaces of the girls and one time he got caught up trying to imagine Lisa in the scenario and he got kind of grossed out. Sue him. Sammy was the one who liked that rough shit if the few times he'd walked in on him trying to fuck the lights out of girls meant anything. — to watching guy on guy, threesomes, bi curious males, moresomes, and orgies where the name of the game was getting as much action as possible.

Getting his rocks off to a guy getting plowed at the same time he was fucking a chick had been scary the first time. Staring at the slide of two cocks had been… he got orgasm flashbacks just thinking about it, even with the undercurrent of nervous taboo that rested heavy on his mind. But then after the fifth and then the sixth time, he'd wondered why he was worried in the first place.

Embrace cock; have orgasms!

Suck dick!

Get your dick sucked WHILE sucking dick!

Get rammed by a deliciously colossal memeber!

Have an infinite spank bank!

His dick had never been happier. It was his own God damn sexual revolution.

Now if only he'd stop getting hot under the collar at inappropriate times. And if only he could just stop the sex fantasies starring Cas. He'd jacked off thinking about Cas in tiny underwear struggling to hold in a hot member dozens of times. An imaginary Dean would be on his ass on the ground, legs kind of folded and spread out, and he'd smile up at Cas and go, "For me?" And then he'd put that member right in his mouth until he cried or Cas cried or something or other happened. That was about when Dean would come on himself anyway, so the scenario would sort of dissolve anyway. It didn't matter.

It was a nice and sleepy evening when Dean's brain spontaneously melted and he lost control of his mouth. Next to him in his own recliner, Castiel was watching Scooby-Doo with a look of concentration, all stiff. Dean had turned to ask him a question and had been struck, quickly and harshly, with how handsome he was.

"I wanna ride your cock, dude." Dean blurt out.

Velma went, "Jinkies!" absurdly loud, and Dean frantically grasped the remote and turned the TV down a notch. He hit the wrong button and set it to mute. Cursing, he tried to un-mute it and instead the volume started blaring loudly. In highlighter yellow, the volume bar screamed 65 at them.

Next to him, Castiel hadn't said a word but had gone blank as if Dean'd pulled his life support cord.

Shaggy screamed, "ZOINKS! OH, WHAT HIT ME?"

"ONLY ABOUT TWENTY TONS OF GRAIN," Freddy told him.

"Cas, buddy," Dean nudged the angel who still hadn't even blinked.

"WHEW! I THINK THE GRAIN SPRAINED HIS BRAIN." The single-episode character made a disturbingly accurate assessment of Castiel.

Grain. Chickens. Cock. Cock talk. It was the dick talk. He'd fried Castiel by talking about his fucking penis. About fucking said penis.

"Bud, say something."

Cas finally looked at him, eyes big and wide, "Is that a good thing?"

"Is that a-Of course that's a good thing!" Dean licked his lips nervously, a little hungrily, "I'd ride your cock right now if you let me."

"Really?"

"Really really."

Cas stared at him for a long time, so long that Dean almost backed down first and was about to start sputtering apologies, when he tentatively popped the button of his slacks.

Freddy's yelling was cut off when Dean finally found the mute button.

Hand caught between re-buttoning and unzipping his pants, Cas asked him, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded and stood; walked to Cas until he was forced to crane his neck back to look up at him. "Yeah, I'm really sure. You're gonna have to help me with it, since I've never done it before. But I've been thinking about it Cas, been thinkin' about it real bad."

His own cock was hard, harder than it'd been in a long while, and seeing Cas's own crotch all tented just made him harder. Pants and underwear got tossed aside. The fabric turned to limp trash heaps on the floor.

Dean crawled into Cas's lap. Jolted a bit when he felt Cas's hot cock on his skin for the first time.

"Dean," Cas grunted.

His blue eyes were dark black, pupil big, big, big, and Dean grinned down at him sloppily. He did that.

Dean reached down and stroked Cas's dick gently, stroking it into full hardness.

"Ready?" He asked.

Cas nodded and grabbed Dean's thighs. Welded his hands over Dean's thick and hair thighs. Slowly, a blue glow started up in Cas's eyes. The hazy warmth of grace licked at Dean's soul.

Feeling brave, he sank onto Cas. He took his time. Every agonizing second of it. It felt weird to feel the angry burn of his ill-prepared asshole spreading and widening to accommodate Cas, when just as quickly a soothing balm swept his aches and pains away.

Holy shit, those ladies were right about gasping at the first slide of cock into them. It felt like stoking a wildfire fire while simultaneously taking the first sip of crisp water after being in the desert heat for days. The unmanly noise he made would never be repeated.

They sat there together, breathing harshly, because every shift felt raw and sensitive.

Dean lifted himself up and then went limp. He moaned. Cas silently tightened his grip. Dean did it again. Lift. Relax. Lift. Relax. Lift-

Cas thrust his hips, directly into that sweet spot. Dean gasped and braced himself. Froze up. Cas thrust into him again and again at a punishing speed. It felt like riding a carnival ride from the breakneck speed. But between the soft glow of grace inside him and the relentless targeting of his prostate, it was all Dean could do to hold on for dear life.

The room turned loud with pants and the sticky-wet sound of lube. The frustrated groans when Cas would accidentally slip out. But the frustration always gave way to moans. They grew into frantic whines, Dean clutched tightly at Cas's shoulders when he orgasmed, wetness everywhere. All over Cas's fist and stomach. In Dean's pubic hair.

The thrusts grew rougher, more savage, more untamed, when Cas started chasing his own completion. It was less luxury cruise and more bumpy country ride.

Now Dean knew what it was like to ride cock. He wanted more of it. He kissed Cas but barely felt past his own frantic heartbeat and fading endorphins. After 40 minutes, Dean thought, he could go again. He could convince Cas to dick him down again, easy peezy. The Fuck Gates to Cock City had been opened and Dean was never leaving again.