inspired by @cryptomoon accidentally printing several pages of panty-clad Dean art onto her neighbour’s unsecured printer. never change <3
It’s a seemingly uneventful Saturday afternoon, and Dean is lounging on his couch, playing through Uncharted 2 for the third time and just generally living his best life. It’s been a long week of work, he’s been looking forward to the weekend for what feels like forever now, and god damn it, he’s going to enjoy it totally uninterrupted.
Or, at least, that was his plan.
Apart from the video game audio, his apartment is quiet, undisturbed—so when the printer in the corner of his lounge room suddenly whirs to life, he almost jumps a foot in the air.
Nathan Drake misses his jump and slips off the edge of a cliff, but Dean’s focus is now very much focused on the seemingly-haunted printer that is now happily whirring to itself and beginning to spit out sheets of paper.
“What the fuck?” he mutters to himself, setting aside his controller and swinging his legs off the couch. In all the years he’s owned his printer, and all the work paperwork he’s had to print off with it, he’s run a whole gambit of different problems, but this—his printer spontaneously printing something he definitely didn’t order it to… this is definitely different.
Dean takes a few steps closer and eyes the pages suspiciously. They’re not blank (but at least they’re not printing in colour, since that shit is expensive), and instead are full of words. Pages and pages of words. Where the fuck have they come from?
He pulls out a page at random and lets his eyes scan over the text, just browsing to see if anything jumps out at him as familiar.
Jacob bit down on his bottom lip, looking up at Ryan from where he knelt between the man’s spread legs. Slowly, he leaned forward, lips parted, and took the head of Ryan’s cock into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around Ryan’s cock, then bobbed his head further, taking more of the shaft into his mouth. “Fuck,” Ryan moaned, tangling his fingers into Jacob’s hair and holding him in place.
Dean’s eyes go saucer-wide.
His printer is printing… porn.
Someone is using his printer to print porn.
And not just any porn—this porn is very gay, very explicit, and… well, actually surprisingly well-written.
A muffled thump sounds from the apartment next door, followed by a male voice raised loud enough that Dean can hear him through the wall, but not enough that he can make out any of the words.
The printer continues to happily spit out its explicit contents, and Dean looks down at the page in his hands, then at the wall he shares with his neighbor.
Dean does what any self-respecting bisexual would do, and spends the afternoon reading his neighbor’s erotic novel.
Well, most of it, at least. Unfortunately for him, his printer stops printing at around the seventy-three page mark, leaving the climax of the story (so to say) uncompleted and unresolved. It’s frustrating, to say the least, and Dean is definitely feeling more than a little blue-balled.
Which is why, all seventy-three pages in hand, he finds himself knocking on the door to his neighbor’s apartment approximately two hours later.
Honestly, Dean isn’t entirely sure if this is the right thing to be doing. What’s the protocol for when your neighbor (who he’s only met once or twice, and is admittedly hot but quiet), prints out seventy-three pages of steamy erotic fiction with your printer?
Either way, as the door swings open, he realizes that it’s too late to turn back now.
The guy’s eyes go wide, and Dean watches as two twin spots of colour appear on his cheeks, deepening until he’s blushing fiercely.
“Hey,” Dean says, in lieu of anything else, because what the fuck should he say in a situation like this? “I, um. You.” He lifts the sheaf of paper in the air and waves it. “I think this is yours?”
The guy stares helplessly at the paper in Dean’s hand, as though if he wishes hard enough, he can will it out of existence. It becomes clear after a few moments that that isn’t going to work, though, so instead he just gives a long-suffering sigh and says, “Yes, I think you’re right.”
“Do you make a habit of printing out gay porn onto your neighbors’ printers?” Dean asks, a smile curling his lips.
“Not particularly,” the guy grumbles, reaching out a hand and taking the stack of paper from Dean. “In my defense, though, your printer was unsecured. I didn’t even know people did that, so. The blame cannot be placed entirely on me.” He pauses, fingers curving around the edge of his paper and mouth pulling down for a moment. “I apologize if it made you uncomfortable, though,” he says quietly.
Dean scoffs and shakes his head. “Dude, you serious? No way—it was actually really good. I was kinda mad that you figured out how to cancel it, though, ‘cause the ending didn’t print. That’s kinda why I came over here, actually—part of it, anyway. I’d like to know how everything ends, if you’ve got more of it for me to read.”
The man looks at him for a handful of seconds, scrutinizing—as though he’s trying to figure out if Dean’s interest is truly genuine. He must decide that it is, though, because his lips slowly curve up into a smile, and the defensive look in those blue eyes softens. “I do have more,” he confirms, taking a half-step back out of his doorway. “Would you like to come in?”
“I’d love that,” Dean says with a grin. “I’m Dean, by the way. Should I just keep referring to you in my head as ‘hot guy with an even hotter novel,’ or…?”
“Castiel,” the guy says, and god, that name sounds sinfully good in that deep voice of his. A shiver runs the length of Dean’s spine. “My name is Castiel.”
