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In Bed With Adam Part One

Title: In Bed With Adam, written for spn_adambang
Rating: NC-17
Author: nileflood
Artist & Beta: the wonderful _bluebells
Genre: Slash
Pairing(s) / Character(s): Adam/Michael, Dean/Castiel, hints of Sam/Gabriel, hints of Dean/Gabriel, staged Dean/Adam
Warnings: barely-legal, porn, pseudo-incest, stalking, violence
Word Count: 16,674
Notes: I want to thank _bluebells again for all the help she's given me both in beta'ing this and also providing the amazing art. But my thanks also goes out to bellacatbee who encouraged me to join in the first place, who gave me guidance and helped me when I'd written myself into corners. Without her help I would not have been able to finish this story.

Summary: All Adam wanted was to be a normal teenager. Do normal things like date and throw some house parties and maybe have his friends around to watch marathons of Indiana Jones films. The only problem was that his best friend had a major crush on Adam's big brother, rendering any social situation they share totally awkward. Oh, and Adam's career as an internet porn starlet. Things weren't so bad, at least, until Michael stepped into his life and everything was thrown into chaos.



Adam’s hips lifted, body trembling as those familiar fingers worked their way over the length of his cock, feeling it throb in his hand, the head leak against the pad of his thumb. He wasn’t going to last long, not with the vibrator inside of him, filling and spreading him, but he wasn’t ready just yet, not yet. He rocked down on it, groaning and biting at his lower lip, chewing at it and he tried to change the angle, tried to drag it out just a little bit longer. It was all for nothing, though; there was only so much his body could take, even at eighteen, because a second later he was throwing his head back, the long white socks sliding down his legs as his body tensed and his eyes closed.

“Oh god, oh god, oh- oh-“

That was how he came, spread out on the bed, his hand stroking over himself, the vibrator whirling away inside him, his toes curled into the sheets and his free hand clutching at the pillows. It felt good, so good, even as the pleasure turned into after-shocks and he could feel the ache spread through his body. A good ache, an ache he liked, an ache that made him feel tired and sated and content.
“That was so good. Felt so good....” He murmured, his hand dragging from his spent cock, over the mess on his belly and the over-sized football shirt, also splattered with come. He had no idea what he looked like, but he could guess. He knew he was probably blushing too, but his cheeks were already red from the effort and he doubted anyone would notice.

He stretched himself out like some sort of cat, his full lips slightly parted and as he turned his head, eyes dark and beautiful, a sinful smirk spread across his mouth. His fingers were covered, wet and sticky, trailing half-way up his chest . He glanced up, just as he pressed the tip of his finger between his lips, making a delighted noise of pleasure, and licking the rest of his fingers clean.

“Aa-aa-and cut it there, Adam.”

Dean switched off the camera, already plugging the USB cord into the computer and transferring the video across for editing before it would be uploaded that night. He didn’t see Adam roll his eyes and reach down, pulling the toy from his body with a grimace, and then shoving his hands through his hair. He felt sweaty and smelly and now the recording was over, he had homework to finish for tomorrow.

“Are we done? No close-ups, no live chat?” He asked, getting off the bed and grabbing a robe to wrap round himself.

“Yeah, I think we’re done,” Dean muttered, tapping at the computer. He wasn't brilliant with technology, but he had learned to edit and upload the videos, because Sam refused to help him anymore. But considering the state of their bank account, Adam knew that there was nothing to complain about.

It wasn't enough to go to medical school yet, but it wasn't bad, even if Dean was taking the biggest cut. He said it was because he had to work the hardest, all Adam had to do was get off, but Adam didn’t actually believe him. Dean’s cut went on the bills and keeping the car going, so Adam guessed it was fair. Although, frankly, Adam’s stuff brought in more money than Dean’s videos, even the ones Dean made years ago, when he’d been young and cute and, well, a twink.

“All right. I’m going to get a shower.”

And with that, Adam was gone, moving out of the studio and through the door that was otherwise kept locked, into their dining room. It was like stepping out of one world and straight into another, because Sam was cooking and whatever it was, it smelled delicious. The radio was on, and if Adam hadn’t been covered in his own come, stretched and sore with lube all over his thighs, well, it might have been any normal household. But it wasn’t.

Nothing about their lives was normal, nothing about it was ordinary and nothing about it could ever, ever be revealed to their neighbours. It was a nice, suburban neighbourhood, with big front gardens and the occasional clichéd white picket fence. Most houses had modern family cars, SUVs, parked in the driveways.

Adam and his brothers had a classic car, but that didn’t make them freaks. Most people here lived with their spouse, their kids and their dog, and that was nice and normal. The Winchester brothers didn’t fit that pattern, but no one really mentioned it. Maybe they gossiped, maybe they talked about John Winchester, the father that was never there, that had taken off somewhere and never showed his face. Adam didn’t care if they talked about it, they could say what they wanted, and they probably did. But if John Winchester, the drunken absent father was the only skeleton in their wardrobe, Adam would have been happy. That would have been okay.

But it wasn’t.

The extension that Dean had built onto the back of the house, it wasn’t an office like they told people.

Sam’s pre-law course wasn’t paid for by the inheritance of some long-lost family member.

Dean didn’t just work down at Bobby Singer’s scrap-yard because he liked messing around with cars. Well, maybe he did work down there because he liked messing around with cars, but he could have done more, so much more. Bobby told him so. Sam told him so. Dean could have sold sand in the desert, but he said didn’t want to wear a suit to work and he didn’t want to sell his soul to the devil.

Adam could understand that. Though, sometimes he wished that Dean had decided to look after his brothers in a different way and not started making amateur porn when their father spent his money on beer and not groceries. But Dean had been pretty, he’d made money, he kept making money. He dropped out of high-school to look after Adam. He worked at the scrap-yard in the day and he made videos at night.

When Adam had been eighteen, he’d found out. He’d freaked. Who could blame him? Dean’s insistence that he was only gay for pay hadn’t helped. But that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because, while Dean was smart, Adam was smarter. He was used to guys hitting on him, he was used to the way they looked at him. And he knew that Dean wasn’t the twink he’d been once-upon-a-time. Dean denied every word of it, refused when Adam asked to be videoed, refused to let Adam get involved at all.

But when Adam got an idea in his head, he didn’t let it go and, eventually, Dean grudgingly let Adam post a video on Dean’s crummy little forty dollar "build-your-own" website.

It took Sam almost two hours to explain what “you have exceeded your bandwidth” meant. And that was how “In Bed With Adam” had got off the ground.

That had been months ago. Now Adam was updating the site at least twice a week, doing live-chats and trying to maintain some semblance of a normal teenage life.

He ran up the stairs, towards the bathroom and stripped. It was for the second time in an hour, but this time it wasn’t slow or seductive. He dumped the clothes in the basket and got under the water as fast as he could, scrubbing at his skin with something tropical-scented. It wasn’t his favourite, Sam had probably bought it, but Adam didn’t care too much; it washed the dirt from his skin and made him feel better. He could forget about everything, could erase the last hour from his mind. There was no sign around his neck advertising him as an internet porn starlet, there was no scent of sex that hung around him. He was just a normal kid.

He climbed out of the shower, wrapping himself in a towel and padded back to his room, wondering if he even had time to start his homework before Sam called him down to eat. He didn’t get the time to finish the thought, never mind start his homework, the instant messenger on his computer pinging loudly.

CastielNovak01: : I have finished the history paper for Professor Zachariah. I would appreciate your constructive criticism :)

Then again, what hope did he have of being a normal teenager when his best-friend was Castiel Novak? None at all. There had never been a geekier, more socially awkward kid in the entire world, but that didn’t make Cas bad. He was actually sort of fun, in his own way. Besides, he was probably the only best friend that would have stayed oblivious to what Adam was actually doing, the only houseguest that didn’t try and take a peek beyond the locked door.

Adam just shook his head at the message and turned away, dropping the towel and finding fresh clothes from the pile on his bed. There was another ping, and Adam turned, boxers pulled half-way up his legs.

CastielNovak01: I would however suggest you close your curtains in the meantime.

He rolled his eyes again, finished dressing, and moved to his window, unlatching it. “Cas, why don’t you close your own?” He called across the gap between the houses, the slender, blue-eyed boy that lived next door almost hidden behind his computer monitor.

CastielNovak01: Because I am not naked, Adam.

And trust Cas to prefer to write an answer than speak like a human being.

Knowmefromadam: you should close your curtains. dean walks about naked all the time
CastielNovak01: I have seen your brother already, Adam
CastielNovak01: Adam?
CastielNovak01: Adam, I am sorry. I realise what I have said was inappropriate. But your brother appears unable to shut the bathroom blind before he showers and I unintentionally glanced out of our own bathroom window while brushing my teeth.
Knowmefromadam: okay. you saw him in the bathroom.
CastielNovak01: I did. I am sorry, Adam.
Knowmefromadam: okay. it’s okay, cas. just don’t do it again, it’s kinda creepy.
CastielNovak01: you won’t inform your brother, will you? I think he will withdraw his offer to drive us to school if he feels I have in some way violated his privacy and I would not wish to cause him embarrassment.

Adam made a face, unimpressed. Dean had probably left the blinds open on purpose, hoping to be spied on. He wasn’t exactly Mr Subtle. An avalanche was probably more restrained than Dean. Adam wasn’t going to tell Dean, but only because it would probably make Dean’s attempts at flirting even worse. There was no way that Dean was ever, ever going to stop offering to drive them in, not if Cas sat up front with him.

“Adam! Food!” Came the muffled shout from downstairs, making him jump and completely derailing his train of thought.

Knowmefromadam: don’t worry. i’m not going to tell him. Send the file over. Got to go for dinner. brb


Adam didn’t mention it to Dean, just as he promised, but the next morning when Cas arrived with his school bag thrown over his shoulder, he seemed almost disappointed that the Winchester household was the same as always. He settled down at the kitchen table, politely declined Sam’s offer of breakfast, but took the cup of coffee that Dean passed him with something close to reverence, the beginnings of a blush appearing on his otherwise colourless face.

“Are we going to school or not, you two?” Adam demanded, irritated, because Dean had settled into the chair next to Cas now, his whole body turned towards the high-schooler.

Cas just had to see that Dean was interested in him, he had to. He and Adam had taken the same sociology class, they knew this stuff. But Castiel just seemed blind to it - as blind as Dean was to Castiel’s obvious crush, but it was best that way. Otherwise, Dean probably wouldn’t bother to try and restrain himself. And that would make everything awkward.

“I suppose we should endeavour to be on time....” Castiel said, voice soft and sort of breathy, those big blue eyes moving from Dean to his backpack. But before he’d reached down to pick it up, he jumped with a sudden “oh” of surprise and, for a moment, Adam honestly thought Dean had stroked his hand up the boy’s thigh, under the cover of the breakfast table.

But apparently not.

“There was something I wanted to tell you! Sam, my older brother Michael will be home from law-school over spring break, to look after the house while our parents are away. Would you like to meet him? You can discuss universities. I thought it might be of interest to you.”

“You’ve got an older brother?” Dean asked, a frown crossing his face. It was news to Adam, too, but Castiel didn’t talk about his family much.
“Two, but neither lives at home any more. Would you like Michael to come over? If it’s too much trouble, of course, please forget I mentioned it.”
Sam shook his head and finished drying the breakfast things. “No, he should call round. I’d appreciate it.”

That was the last word on the matter, at least while Adam dashed around and piled all his books into his bag, grabbed his lunch money from the table and then pulled on a jacket. By the time he was out, Castiel was already in the car, in the passenger seat with Dean leaning against the side of the car, his door open. He looked casual, as if he was just waiting around for his kid brother, but there was something in his stance that made Adam think otherwise; that maybe Dean had been leaning into the car and flirting until he’d heard the front-door open.

“Get in, wonder-boy,” Dean said, shaking his head in reply to Adam’s raised eyebrow. It wasn’t as if Dean was going to publicly admit that he liked Cas at any time soon. Dean was adamant he wasn’t gay; making gay porn just paid better. Adam didn’t make any comment either way; after all, his brother might be okay with him making porn, but Dean would probably freak out about Adam liking cock off-the-clock.

Dean should at least admit to himself that he liked Castiel, because it was painfully obvious to absolutely everyone else. The ride to school was always peppered with Dean’s attempts to flirt or seem suave and charming; letting Castiel pick the radio station, laughing when he thought Castiel was making a joke. More often than not Adam had to interrupt and tell his brother that Cas wasn’t joking, if Dean really wanted to know what Castiel was doing that day, Castiel would photocopy his schedule.

Today was no different. Adam was about to turn on his iPod and try to ignore Dean. He’d given up trying to stop Dean hitting on Cas, ever since his friend had said he didn’t mind Dean talking to him about old music and cars and whatever Spanish soap opera Dean was hooked on now.

Adam didn’t get a chance to turn on his music, not before Dean pointedly cleared his throat and said, “You can bring your brother round, Castiel, but call first, won’t you? We’ve got some stuff planned over summer break. Days out and stuff. Decorating. Just give us a heads up.”

Adam wished the back seats could have swallowed him at that point, but as it wasn’t likely to happen, he just ducked his head until the embarrassment died. There was no way he could possibly be a normal teenager, not when he had to warn his friends to call before they came round in case he was busy being filmed filled with dildos, or stroking his cock through a pair of lacy French knickers, or his brother had requisitioned the kitchen table and their entire supply of whipped cream to do a scene with one of his actor friends.

But Castiel was no telepath. He just accepted what Dean had told him with one of his rare, sweet smiles and nodded, setting a pale hand onto Dean’s arm. “I’ll be sure to call you, Dean, before I come over.”

How Dean didn’t spontaneously combust or drive them into a tree, Adam didn’t know, but Dean kept control, flashing a smile back.


And that was it, at least until Spring Break actually got underway.

He had practise exams to sit, papers to write, scenes to film. He went to school, he did his class projects, he and Cas went out to the diner for burgers the night it was Dean’s turn to cook. Spring Break sort of snuck up on him, even though he was expecting it.

The first Monday morning Sam wasn’t shouting him awake was like heaven, and Adam just lay back, staring at his ceiling and enjoying the warmth of his bed seep into his bones. This was what life was for: lazy Monday mornings with nothing to do, no bus to catch or over-due homework to rush, no need to try and think sexy thoughts and psych himself up for a scene he didn’t feel like doing.

It was only the smell of waffles that stirred him some time later, his stomach rumbling and it wasn’t hard to believe that he’d drifted back off to sleep. It was the first day of his vacation though, he could afford to be lazy and, if pulling on some clothes and going downstairs for waffles was all he was going to achieve that day, he couldn’t blame himself. The smell filled his nose and made his mouth water, forcing all other thoughts from his head as he slumped down into a free seat at the table and began shovelling food onto his plate.

“I told you waffles would make him get his ass out of bed,” Dean said, grinning like the smug bastard he was, his elbows on the table. The smile didn’t last, not while he eyed Adam’s breakfast, and it was plain to see he was considering stealing some for himself. He made no move though, not until Adam had cleared half his plate. “Cas phoned while you were asleep. He’s bringing his brother over today. So you better put something on that you didn’t wear yesterday. Tonight we need to do some more shooting.”

“Whatever.” Adam's eyes went heavenwards, and he stuck out a waffle-coated tongue, making his brothers’ faces twist with disgust. Then he was out of his seat, heading back up the stairs and into the shower. He seemed to spend far more time in it than any other teenage boys he knew, and no doubt he would be back in there several times more that night, if Dean had his way. It wasn’t hard work, he wasn’t behind a checkout every evening, but he wanted just one day, one day off. Maybe he’d say he felt sick after Castiel and his brother went home. No way would Dean want Adam spewing all over his precious camera equipment.


It was just past one in the afternoon when Castiel’s familiar knock sounded on the front door. The weather was warm, warmer than it had any right to be so close to Easter, but that meant Dean had taken the opportunity to get the barbeque set up, and put beers in the cooler. Sam was getting burgers out of the freezer, and that meant Adam was the one who was left to get the door.

“Hi Cas,” he said, on autopilot as he stepped clear, letting his friend in. He was still trying to think up ways of avoiding filming that night, so his attention wasn’t as focused as it might otherwise have been, but Castiel didn’t seem to notice, stepping into the entrance hall.

“Good afternoon, Adam. This is Michael, my brother. He’s a student of law, like your brother. I thought they should meet.”

Maybe he said it to refresh Adam’s memory; maybe he just thought it was a polite means to introduce Michael. But Michael needed no introduction, at least not in Adam’s eyes. Adam had never, ever, seen a man like that, not even on his affiliated websites: he was tall, broad in the chest but not overly so, dark-haired like Castiel, but he was wearing an easy smile that Castiel would never, ever be able to replicate.

Adam’s throat was dry, tight and, although he knew at this point he should say something, anything, he couldn’t. Castiel looked concerned, not used to his friend’s sudden quiet, but the pressure of Cas’s hand on his shoulder seemed to clear the fog in Adam’s head. It didn’t calm the beating of his heart, though, or wipe the stupid smile from his face.

“Oh. Michael. Yeah, come in. Dean’s out back, with the barbeque.”

As the man stepped into the hallway, Adam wasn’t sure if the smile on his face was only friendly or flirtatious.

He let the door swing shut of its own accord, making the house rattle, and Sam made a startled noise from the kitchen. Adam didn’t care, rushing forward to walk alongside Michael. The man dwarfed him, though living in a house meant he was used to being dwarfed. It was just different when you were being towered over by a handsome stranger.

“This way!” He said, ignoring the fact that Castiel was already walking towards the backdoor, drawn towards the sunlight and the music from Dean’s radio that drifted through the air.

“Cas!” Dean called, raising a barbeque fork in salute and gesturing them towards the chairs by the table. “Nice to meet you, Michael. Why don’t you grab-“

“Would you like a beer, Michael?” Adam interrupted, earning a puzzled face from Dean, though he was soon distracted when Castiel moved to stand with him.

“I guess so.” Michael said, still wearing that same smile, as if he was slightly amused, but Adam saw the way the man’s eyes flickered over him, from his face down, and they continued to watch as Adam turned, bending down to grab two ice-cold bottles. Thank god that he’d pulled on an older, tighter pair of jeans.

Michael’s eyes were still fixed on him when he straightened up, wandering back over with the slightest sway in his hips, passing one of the beers over to Michael, and opening the other. “I know I’m not twenty-one, but Dean lets me have one, on special occasions.” Although part of him, the part of his brain not lust-addled, told him to be quiet, he couldn’t.

“So, normally, you’re a good boy?” Michael asked, leaning back, and Adam took that as an invitation, sitting on the picnic table opposite and resting his feet on an empty chair as he laughed.

“A good boy?” He said, biting at his lip, and then Sam was there, batting him off the table so he could set down the salad and plates, taking the bottle off his younger brother and sending him inside to pick up the other bowls.

When he emerged, Sam had sat next to Michael and the two of them were talking about colleges and courses and professors, and Castiel was still with Dean (“No, Dean, I don’t want a beer. Really.”) which left Adam by himself on the other side of the table, pouting around the mouth of a fresh beer as the others settled around him. He would have excused himself and gone upstairs to play some emo music at full volume, but he felt eyes resting on him, and as his head turned, his gaze met Michael’s.

Sam was still talking, a monotone in the background, the music was some forgettable song and whatever Castiel was saying made no impression on him at all, because, in that moment, Michael looked at him, the corner of the man’s mouth tugged upwards in a grin, one that sent sparks down the length of Adam’s spine and straight into his belly. He ducked his head, swallowing another mouthful of beer, and when he looked up again, a second later, Michael’s attention was still focused on him.

And then Dean had to ruin it. He ruined it completely, heartlessly, in the rudest way he possibly could: he reached across the table, setting a plate of burgers down, and that broke the spell. The music became louder; suddenly Sam was asking a question on bar exams, Castiel was settling down next to him, too close, and Dean was telling him to fetch another bottle. That was the moment, ruined forever. But for that moment, for those brief seconds, Adam’s life had been perfect.


By the time Michael and Castiel had gone home, it was too late to film anything, and Dean had too much beer to insist they get up early the next morning to catch up on what they’d missed.

After the two had gone and everything was tidied away, Dean’s hand caught Adam on the back, “Well, you got what you wanted, no filming today.”

Adam could only make a noncommittal noise in reply. He wanted to film now. He just hadn’t before. There had just been something in Michael’s eyes, something in that smile that had lit a fire in the teen’s belly and somehow he had to deal with it. Now he was turned on, doing a shoot would have been perfect, it would probably have been one of the best he’d ever done, but as it was, he excused himself as fast as he could and dashed up the stairs as if a whole pack of wolves were after him.

He even remembered to pull his curtains closed this time, pulling off his clothes as fast as he could. He’d never gotten naked so quickly, crawling over his bed and grabbing the lube from his bedside cabinet. And he couldn’t wait any longer, he was already on his hands and knees, his backside in the air and his cock was heavy, not hard yet, but there was that stirring there, the ache in the muscles of his thighs.

He sucked in a breath, spreading his legs a little further apart and coated his fingers in the flavourless goo, reaching down and taking hold of himself, the silkiness and warmth of his hand making his breath hitch. What would Michael look like, if he watched him do this? Those eyes would drink all of him in, the darkness of Adam’s nipples, pebbled in the cool air of the room, and the red swell of his cock, the way it stiffened as Adam imagined a larger hand covering him, stroking him with a firm, steady rhythm. The idea made his heart flutter, and, more importantly, his hole twitch, demanding his attention.

He stroked over himself again, the throb in his dick fiercer now, and he couldn’t wait any more. He rolled over, onto his back, grabbing the bottle and coating his hand again, bending his knees and reaching past his jutting cock. It was almost impossible to keep himself from whimpering as the tip of his finger brushed over the tight, clenching ring of muscle, but he bit it back, forcing his hips to stay still as he brushed over himself again, feeling his body react as slowly he eased the tip of that finger in, and then another. It was good, so good and he knew Michael would tell him so. Michael would say how tight and hot he was, Michael would fuck him on his fingers and tell him just how much he wanted Adam on his cock.

God, Adam wanted that. He wanted Michael, tall, broad, handsome Michael above him, between his thighs, pressing in. He’d be big, Adam just knew it, and he pressed his fingers deeper into himself, twisting and spreading his hole as his free hand grabbed at his cock. The head was weeping now, pre-come hot and sticky against his skin and, as he stroked, he let his fingers fuck him, sliding in and out as he squirmed on the sheets, sweat dripping from his skin as he fought for more. It wasn’t enough, not yet, not deep enough, not big enough, and Adam found himself panting, desperate. His hand clutched at his cock, harder this time, stroking from root to tip and then he was coming, jerking himself roughly and sobbing as his fingers hooked inside his hole.

It wasn’t enough, but he’d come and, as he lay on the comforter, trying to catch his breath, he knew he didn’t have the energy to go downstairs and take some of the toys out of the studio. He’d force Dean to down coffee until he was sober, and then they’d film.


The phone rang the next morning before Dean was out of bed, and Sam must have already left to head over to the library, because it rang and it rang and it rang, and just as Adam got down the stairs, almost fallen over in his haste, the damn thing stopped. It went to the answering machine, but whoever it was hung up before the automated voice even asked them to record a message after the beep.

Adam cursed, turning back on his heel and already up the first three steps before the phone rang again. This time he got it on the second ring.

“Winchester household, how can I help you?”
“Is that Adam?” A voice said, and if he hadn’t recognised it earlier, he might have been freaked out. But he was sure he knew who was on the other end.
“Michael? Yeah, it’s me. I’m sorry, Sam’s out. I think he’s gone to the library, but I’ll tell him you called-“
“It wasn’t him I wanted to speak to. I... I really liked meeting you last night. I was wondering if we might get more of a chance to chat before the end of the week?”
Adam couldn’t speak, swallowing hard and finding his voice only after Michael had said hello worriedly down the phone. “I’m sort of busy this afternoon, but if you’d like... we could go out and pick up a coffee or something. Dean’s meant to cook tonight and he’s not very good at anything that isn’t barbecue.”


Adam waited a few hours before he woke Dean up. He was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, chattering excitedly and, to a still hung-over Dean, seemed every inch a very talkative little monkey. He whirled around the kitchen like a tornado, making coffee and putting bread in the toaster and getting the butter out of the fridge and all the while telling Dean about ideas he'd had for videos.

Dean had never seen Adam this excited about a shoot, ever, and while he wanted to take advantage of that, he also wanted his head to stop feeling like someone was putting together an IKEA wardrobe inside his skull.

He was getting breakfast made for him though, and breakfast made by Adam was only second best to that made by Sam. With something greasy in his stomach his beer and barbecue induced hangover might just fade enough to allow them to get a couple of decent takes.

"What the hell got into you?"

Adam grinned, he'd been grinning constantly since Michael had agreed to pick him up that evening. He wasn't about to tell Dean that. As much as he loved him, Adam knew that Dean wouldn't take the news well. He didn't believe his brother was gay, he wouldn't want him dating a guy the same age, never mind someone several years older.

But what he didn't know couldn't hurt him, and considering that Dean had leaned across the table to turn up the radio instead of waiting for Adam's answer proved he didn't care too much. He probably just thought that Adam had beat a level on a computer game.

"After breakfast, we'll do your video. Go get ready. I'll be there in five."


Adam was ready when Dean came in, already stripped naked. The cameras were set up, the green light that blinked proclaiming everything ready to go. Dean's headache was hardly gone but apparently that didn’t matter, Adam had already gone through their box of supplies, toys, bits of costumes and batteries, and set down a thick leather cord on the bed.

“I thought it would be hotter if my wrists were tied,” Adam explained as Dean raised an eyebrow. “It’s got more hits before, you can’t argue with that.”

And that was true. Dean sighed, pulling his t-shirt over his head and kicking off his jeans and boxers, leaving them out-of-shot as he pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Fine, wrists.”

Adam couldn’t actually look at his brother while Dean stood there, winding the cable around his wrists; not too tight, but enough, enough to make it look tight. There was something about being tied up by your naked older brother that was wrong, so very very wrong, but Dean had always refused to get any other actors in to do scenes with Adam, and there was a limit to how many videos of masturbation his fan base would pay to see. Dean was the one that pushed dildos into him, called him filthy names and stood in for all those men who wished they were the ones there. But that was all Dean ever did, despite what the emails their received might ask them for.

Adam was looking away now, glancing to the laptop behind the cameras, taking deep breaths and imagining it was Michael there instead that was touching him now. Handsome Michael, strong, naked Michael tying him up, pushing him down on the bed, spreading him open. He probably shouldn’t be going into this with those fantasies, those desires, but he wanted it too much, the ache was too real in him and the scene would be all the better for it. He was sure of that. Just like real sex with Michael would be better than any toy.

“Ready?” Dean called, and Adam hadn’t realised his brother had moved away, his fingers poised over the keyboard. Adam nodded, and then there was the three long beeps, seconds apart, that signalled the start of the recording. Adam was already feeling a little hot even before Dean spoke, already feeling the blood rushing down to his cock.

“You are such a dirty boy,” Dean said, his hand moving over Adam’s cheek, stroking down as Adam gasped, goosebumps forming on his skin and his nipples tingling in the cold air. His body was on fire, Dean’s hand working leisurely down, following the line of Adam’s breastbone, the man’s fingers splaying as they got to his abdomen, getting closer and closer to Adam’s cock, to the overly-sensitive, shaved skin. He gasped again, hips bucking forward, wanting more, some sort of friction, something, anything, to help revealing the pressure building in him.

It didn’t help that Dean pulled his hand away, forcing Adam down onto the bed, the air escaping his lungs in a rush. He didn’t get any time to recover either, not as Dean forced him onto his knees, pert round ass in the air.

“Such a little slut, Adam, such a bad boy,” Dean said, voice lower now, his hands moving over the curve of Adam’s flesh, the skin pale and unmarked and Adam was expecting it, but that didn’t stop him making a sharp noise of surprise as the palm of Dean’s hand struck him. Heat flared over his ass, shooting straight into his cock, jumping too as he bit at his lip and pressed himself up in the air, offering himself up.
“I’m bad, I know I’m bad. But I can’t help it, I have to have something in me.” He breathed, lifting his head and he knew the microphones would pick it up, would pick up every noise he made and the ringing as Dean spanked him again, harder, over the same cheek. The mark couldn’t have been too obvious yet, but Dean didn’t stop, his free hand grabbing at Adam’s hip and holding him still. Adam was glad of that, because Dean was also stopping him falling forward as he was spanked again, his hole twitching and his cock hard and hot between his legs. “Oh, oh god....”

He groaned again, knuckles going white as he tried to grip at the bed-sheets, rocking himself forward and then back to meet the next slap across his ass, gasping out as his body trembled, skin bright red, he was sure of it. He didn’t need to turn his head to see that Dean was hard either, he knew it from the way his brother breathed, he could feel it from the way Dean touched him now, the intensity of his hold. Adam was sure he would bruise, but he didn’t care. He wanted more of it, needed more of it. He wanted to come; his cock was too hard now, aching and desperate. Just a little more, just a bit more friction....

“Michael, please!” He cried out, and then suddenly the spanking stopped.

“Fuck, Adam....” Dean breathed, stepping away and pushing his hair from his eyes. "You've just ruined the entire take. Michael? Seriously? You’ve known the guy for ten minutes."

Adam flushed, cock drooping and he grabbed at the sheets, trying to cover himself with them, unable to sit down very comfortably while his backside was still so tender. “Shut up, Dean,” he bit back, the soft fabric almost unbearable against the still responsive head of his cock. Dean turned, skin peppered with sweat and while he wasn’t looking, Adam rubbed himself through the sheet, shudders of pleasure going through him, but not enough to make him come.

“Just... go away for five minutes, okay!” Adam shouted, annoyed and embarrassed.

Dean spun back round on his heel, blinking at his brother, and grabbed at his clothes. “I’ll leave you alone then.” And then that surprised, worried look was replaced by his tell-tale smirk, the one that he wore when he knew he was making his brothers squirm. “With your hand and Michael.”

He pulled on his jeans and was out of the door before Adam found anything he could throw.


Adam didn’t know if he’d been able to scrub the smell of sex from his skin. He’d been in the shower long enough for both Dean and Sam to start complaining, and he’d washed himself, doused himself in soap and shampoo, and tried not to shiver when he came out the steam-filled bathroom. He’d still not exactly told his brothers where he was going; he had no real intention to. But they hadn’t asked either, Dean had just shrugged and, considering it wasn’t a school night, Sam had only told him to be careful.

He took more care dressing than usual, pulling on one of his nicer t-shirts and then sliding another shirt over the top, trying to stay casual. They were going out and, yes, it was sort of a date, in so far as Adam was desperate to learn everything about the man that he could, to memorize every detail of him before the week was out and Michael would go back to college and Adam would go back to school. But that was all it was: a first date, a casual date to a coffee shop, no matter how much more it felt when he thought about it. From the twisting nervousness inside him, anyone might have thought that he was about to meet his childhood hero.

Dean was oblivious when Adam passed him on the way downstairs, at least to Adam’s efforts to make himself presentable. Then again, Adam was too excited to focus on what Dean was saying to him, something about guests, but it didn’t matter, because he was already at the door, rushing out into the night and down the path. Michael was already there, at the very bottom, grinning as he stood by the car. He was in a jacket, a shirt and he looked so smart and handsome that Adam immediately felt underdressed. But before Adam could even breathe a word about going back in for a coat (and changing into something more sensible than a Batman t-shirt), Michael smiled at him.
“You look great. I... I thought I’d end up over-dressed.”

Adam could only mutely shake his head, moving around to the passenger side of the car and fussing with the seat-belt to stop his fingers shaking. He wanted just to yank at that shirt, to send the buttons flying in all directions so he could touch, so he could see exactly what there was under the thin fabric. That was probably a little too forward for a first date though, and probably far, far too forward considering the age-gap.
But he sucked in a breath, calming himself and pushing the memories of his fantasies away, of the touch of skin on skin, slick with sweat and sticky with come. He even managed to talk about normal things, about school and what he wanted to do after, being a doctor.

Michael had looked at him then. Not like Dean who clearly wanted to laugh but couldn’t, not in front of Sam; not like Castiel who had just nodded as if it was a fact that needed no discussion. Michael looked away from the road and smiled. “A doctor? That’s amazing. I could never be a doctor. What made you want to go into medicine?”

And so it went on. There was coffee and a shared peach muffin, another coffee and laughter.

Adam found himself relaxed and enjoying himself. Feeling, well, like a normal teenager, on a date, talking about stupid things, the TV shows he liked and the books he read. It was perfect, or as near to it as anything in Adam Milligan’s life had been so far. He didn’t want it to end, he didn’t want to have to call an end to the night and be dropped off home. He was surprised it wasn’t a dream, but the coffee on his tongue was too hot and Michael’s knees pressed against his under the little bistro table felt too real to be a figment of his subconscious. And his subconscious didn’t create things like this. It didn’t go into such details, it wasn’t so... right.

But it was all too perfect to last, dream or not, and Adam should have known that. He should have known that it would all come crashing down around him.

“Hey... don’t I know you?” The words came from an unfamiliar figure who paused at their table, a man older than Adam but possibly someone Michael had known once before. But it wasn’t Michael he was looking at, it was Adam. He didn't even apologise for interrupting their conversation, for interrupting their date, he just stood there brazenly as if this was a perfectly acceptable thing to do.
It was when a slow grin spread over the stranger's face that Adam felt cold dread settle into his stomach, a horrible feeling washing over him and suddenly he wished he hadn’t eaten so much, that he’d not had most of the muffin and then several cups of latte. He wanted to be sick.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said, voice weak and frightened. He could feel the look Michael shot him, sudden concern, but he couldn’t meet Michael’s eyes, attention fixed on the man by their table, waiting for him to take the hint and leave.

But he didn’t.

“You’re the boy from In Bed with Adam, aren’t you? Are you recording around here?”

Adam wasn’t sure what happened then. His legs were trembling as they tried to hold him up, almost running to the door and trying to hold back the bile in his throat, unable to breathe or think.

It was almost dark, dusk falling quickly, and the cool air on his skin didn’t help, it just made the churning feeling in his stomach more intense. He steadied himself, hands shoulder-width apart on the roof of Michael’s car, sucking in air in uneven, trembling breaths, trying not to be sick, and so he didn’t see, or even hear someone approach him until the hand was on back.

He jumped, whirling around and, for a moment, he thought it was going to be the guy, wanting an autograph, wanting more than that, but it was Michael, looking worried and holding out a glass of water.

“I’ll... I’ll drive you home, if you like?” He offered, as Adam took the cup, forcing himself not to drop it as he took a swallow.

“Yeah... I think so. Thanks.”

And then Adam braced himself. He knew what was coming, he knew it would come soon, and although Michael had surprised him so far, had been kinder and nicer than he’d imagined, there was part of Adam, deep down, that muttered it’s all an act, he’s a douche, and now he feared that part of him would be proved right.

Michael cleared his throat, and the wave of nausea came back.

“In Bed with Adam?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Michael nodded, and left it at that. He didn’t ask anything else, and Adam didn’t feel like talking. He wanted to go home and scream into some pillows, and punch Dean, and let the ground swallow him up.

He didn't expect Michael to pull the car into the Winchester's driveway, behind Dean's pride and joy. He expected to be kicked out onto the kerb. He didn't expect Michael to climb out of the car, too, to pause there in the darkness.


"Are you okay?" He asked, and Adam almost felt some of the emotional whirling inside him calming.
Michael was concerned. Michael cared, but he wasn't going to force an answer. He could have smiled.

"I'll be okay."

"Alright. Can I walk you to your door?"

Adam let him, even inviting Michael in. He didn't want to do anything, but curl into a ball on the couch. There was no reason he couldn't do that with Michael. Michael wouldn't care if Adam just wanted to watch old animated X-Men cartoons.

He was even looking forward to it, even though the sound of voices in the kitchen reminded him they weren't alone in the house. There was Sam, his steady voice low and measured as Dean's laugh permeated the air. There was another voice too, also laughing, loud and slightly rowdy. Adam didn't recognise it.

He inched towards the doorway, listening. He didn't want to burst in on them recording some sort of set, or preparing one because then, well, there wouldn't have been any point trying to ignore the truth about In Bed with Adam.

"Hells, so you're Cock of Death? I thought that was some sort of hoax. That's been all over the Internet for weeks!" the strange voice said to more of Dean's laughter and an embarrassed silence from Sam.

Adam couldn't hold back any longer, his curiosity getting the better of him. As soon as he was in the room Dean glanced up, waving his younger brother to the table and kicking out the free chair opposite for Adam. He settled into it, glancing at the fourth person there.
He was short. Maybe not short in the grand scheme of things, but between Dean and Sam, the man was short. Short, but smiling, the grin incredibly cheeky, and his eyes shone, a strange shade of amber. He wasn't like Dean, not traditionally handsome like him anyway, but the way he sprawled in his chair, so confident and at-ease that Adam knew he was in the industry.

"And this must be Adam. Good to meet you, kiddo, I've seen your work. Hot stuff. Not my sort of thing, but Dean's just told me your membership figures, you must be doing something right." The man grinned, raising the beer bottle in salute.

Dean grinned, radiating a weird sort of pride. “Yeah, this is Adam. Twerp, this is-“


Adam span, back towards the door, Michael’s handsome face was a mask of surprise and horror. “Gabriel! What on earth are you doing here?” Michael demanded, his fingers clutching at the door-frame as if it was the only thing holding him up.

Gabriel made a face, not surprised at all by his brother’s sudden appearance, or at least so it seemed, taking a swig from the beer bottle. The joy in his tone was suddenly absent. “I’m here on business, Michael. Not socially.”

Michael didn’t know or care, by the look of him, completely aghast, and he looked from Gabriel to Adam. Adam could see exactly what the man was thinking, it was written on his face, and it could only have been more obvious if he had worn a flashing neon sign. Adam didn’t know if he was more worried that Michael knew what he did, what In Bed with Adam was, or insulted because he thought Adam would sleep with whoever his brother brought along.

“Not with me! I work solo!” He protested, and then when Michael’s expression turned to confusion, he realised he was wrong, completely wrong. Michael had no idea what he was talking about.

“No, duh, Adam doesn’t do shoots like that. Me and Deano did some videos a few months ago. Thought we’d make some more. Don’t freak out, Michael. You know what I do, and I’ve seen your credit card bill, don’t act all high-and-mighty.”

Michael swallowed; his eyes were still on Adam, ignoring the others in the room, ignoring the accusation that Gabriel had just made. Adam couldn’t look at him, couldn’t force his eyes up from the floor. But he could feel Michael’s gaze. He’d yearned for it in the coffee shop, felt himself squirm happily each time Michael looked at him and grinned. All of that seemed a million miles away now, even if in reality it had been less than half an hour ago. There was silence for some time, Dean and Sam exchanging uncomfortable looks, but neither said anything.

Eventually, it was Michael that spoke.

“Gabriel? Do not come back to the house. You know that Father would not allow it.” And then he was gone, turning and letting the door shut with a click that seemed to echo throughout the house.

“Adam?” Sam said, when the youngest of them stood without another word, his chair scraping against the tiled floor.

“I’m going to bed. I’m tired.” Adam turned on his heel, stomping up the stairs.



Castiel sat on the couch, pale and wide-eyed as ever when Michael let himself back into their home, and unusually, there was no book open on his lap. He looked, honestly, a little shell-shocked, paler than normal, even in the unflattering yellow light from the lamp in the corner.
“He was here, wasn’t he?” Michael asked, feeling every inch the way Castiel looked.

“Yes, he was here,” Cas muttered.

As Michael came closer, he could see the empty ice-cream tub and the candy wrappers that littered the floor. Gabriel knew not to come visiting when Michael or their parents were home.

Adam had been tossing and turning for hours, feeling sick at the thought of Michael knowing about him, the stuff he did, because Gabriel had told him.
The guy hadn’t meant it maliciously, everyone just assumed that the secret was obvious, but it didn’t seem to be that way to Michael. Whatever was on his credit-card bill it wasn’t Adam’s site, he was sure of that. In the end, he was sick of feeling sick, unable to sleep, and he’d kicked off the sheets too many times. He wasn’t tired anymore, he’d not been tired in the first place - he’d just wanted to get away. But now he wanted something else, something else to focus on and to distract him.

He headed downstairs, not bothering to switch on the light, snatching the TV remote from the holder Sam insisted they used, and flicked the screen on. Then he launched himself onto the couch.

The couch that was surprisingly lumpy. The couch that made a sudden surprised, pained noise and moved under him, sending Adam crashing to the floor. In the blue light that filled the room, Adam watched a short, messy-haired creature fight its way out of the blankets, cursing. Then he realised.


“Yeah? What is it, kiddo?” The man managed, his voice surprisingly alert. Adam had expected him to be groggy, lazy, not this awake in an instant. He almost looked like he was ready to run if he needed to.

“Er... nothing. I guess I just thought Dean would make you stay in a hotel. He doesn’t let people stay around. Not, you know... actors.” Mostly because Sammy didn’t like it, and they didn’t have a spare room. But here was Gabriel, in an over-sized t-shirt (one of Sam’s? Really? But Adam was sure it was) sleeping on their couch. Well, not sleeping any more.

“Smart guy. Guess he just hopes Michael will let me go back home and everything will be rainbows and kittens,” Gabriel said, but it was obvious he didn’t really believe it was going to happen. He was grateful not to have to go find a motel. Gabriel shifted then, wrapping himself in the blanket and budging over, letting Adam sit down, too. “Come on, get up here. Can’t sleep?”

“Yeah. I... I had... I thought it was going really well. Enough to forget about... everything. I almost thought I was ordinary, for a bit.”

Gabriel’s mouth turned downwards slightly, curling an arm around Adam’s shoulder, squeezing gently. It was odd, unfamiliar but comforting enough not to make Adam pull away. “Maybe you just need to speak to him? Explain things? Michael is a stick-in-the-mud, but he’s alright, really....”

“He told you you couldn’t go home!” Adam protested, not believing a word of it.

Gabriel shook his head. “Our parents kicked me out; he wouldn’t want to upset them. And he’s trying to look after Castiel. He thinks I might be a bad influence.”

That made Adam feel a little sicker. He was Castiel’s best friend. He was... he was probably a much worse influence. But all this time, ever since they’d moved to the neighbourhood, he and Cas had been friends. They’d been science-fair partners, they’d gone swimming together, and they’d camped in the Novak’s backyard. Would Michael think he was a bad influence, too? Would he have to stop seeing his friend? Would Michael tell Cas?

He choked and tried to pull away from Gabriel’s hold. “I need to go over. I need to speak to him.”

“Michael really isn’t good if you wake him-“

“Not Michael. Cas.”

And suddenly it didn’t matter if it was five o’clock in the morning; it didn’t matter if he was in his pyjamas. He was heading out the door to the Novak’s house, banging on the front door. There were probably curtains twitching from other houses, trying to work out what the fuss was, but Adam didn’t care. He kept knocking until the door was opened. Not by Michael, thank god, but by Castiel, in his blue and white-striped night clothes that made him look like something from the 1950's.

“Adam?” He murmured, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Is there a problem? If there is an emergency, you should call 911.”

Adam almost rolled his eyes, but didn’t, pushing into the house and forcing the door shut, glad of the warm carpet after the cold concrete of the doorstep on his naked toes. “There isn’t an emergency. I just need to talk to you. It’s important.”

That seemed to wake Castiel up a little, and he moved deeper into the house, leading the way to the kitchen and switching on the coffee maker. He hardly ever drank it himself, Adam knew that, but he always offered a cup when people came round. “Is this about my brother?”

“No. I... Michael is nice but....”

“I did not mean Michael. I meant Gabriel. He also makes pornography, from what I understand.”

“No, Gabriel isn’t the pro- what do you mean, also? How did you know?” Adam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Castiel, little awkward innocent Castiel who didn’t know anything about sex, he knew about it. He knew about Adam. And he’d never said a word. Adam couldn’t believe it, but he couldn’t hold back the smile.

“It is simple, really. The IP address for your home computer and for the posts from the website Dean-god's-gift-to-man are the same, and therefore came from the same location. Adam, I do not believe that your brother’s actions are any reason why we cannot be friends, but I would appreciate it if we did not discuss the matter of his previous or current professional involvement with Gabriel.”

Adam said nothing. He could find no words, couldn’t stop his mouth from opening and closing like a goldfish as he tried to say something, anything. But something tugged at him, something more not right than the rest of the conversation he was having. “His previous involvement? Cas, how do you know about that? I didn’t even know!”

He’d never seen Castiel blush. He’d never seen any real, intense emotion cross his friend’s face before, but the red flush that appeared on Castiel’s cheeks was bright and undeniable. Castiel never stumbled to find something to say, some sort of excuse, but he couldn’t. The thought of telling an untruth was clearly too much for him. It was tragic, in its own way, but Adam liked his friend like this. Castiel wouldn’t ever lie, couldn’t lie, but he didn’t need to. He wasn’t the sort of boy that had anything to lie about. Until now.

“I... I may have used Michael’s credit card to subscribe to your brother's website.” His voice was hardly audible over the noise from the coffee-maker.

It took Adam a few minutes to work out that he was supposed to answer, that he needed to say something in return, though he had no idea what it should be. In the end he simply shook his head. “You know he likes you, right? He thinks he doesn’t.”

Adam didn’t think it was possible for Castiel go any redder, but apparently he was wrong. “He does not, Adam. That is a ridiculous suggestion. Dean has pointed out many times that he is only interested in women“. But there was something, something in Castiel’s eyes, some spark that Adam took to be hope. It was a stupid thing to let Castiel have any hope in- even if Dean was interested, there were ten years between them, and Castiel was Adam’s best friend, Dean was his brother, it was just wrong. He didn’t force the issue.

Castiel let the silence continue, turning away to pour Adam coffee, passing it over and watching as Adam took a swallow, gathering his thoughts.

“Did Michael... say anything about me, though? When he got home?”

Castiel would be the last person to know if Michael even wanted to see Adam ever again, if Adam’s life was just far too messed up for the aspiring lawyer to ever want to be involved with.

“I’m afraid he only asked about Gabriel before retiring to his room. I’m sorry, Adam.”

It didn’t come as a surprise at least. Michael was probably going to try pretending it hadn’t even happened. Adam couldn’t blame him. They’d known each other only a couple of days; they’d only had a couple of hours to talk. It meant nothing, no matter how hard Adam’s heart had pounded in his chest or how much he’d laughed when Michael joked, or how good it had all felt. It was just hormones, teenage hormones.

He crept back to his own home a few minutes later. He didn’t want Michael to wake up and come downstairs to find him there, there was surely only so much uncomfortable that could really happen in 24 hours, but Adam didn’t want to risk it.

When he arrived back, Gabriel was hovering, dressed now in his own clothes. Trying to radiate supportiveness, or so it seemed, but Adam wasn’t in the mood. He just shook his head, and took himself upstairs.