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Little Pink Houses

Summary:

Deputy Dean Winchester has seen some interesting things in his time, but dealing with a tiny house on Fergus Crowley's property might just be the strangest, especially when the snarky, kinda gorgeous protester who owns the thing answers the door buck ass naked. Dean's life might never be the same.

Notes:

I'm so happy to share this fic, which was written for the winner of my auction for Fandom Trumps Hate, the amazing Christy. I so enjoyed brainstorming this story with her and all the inspiration she brought to the table. I loved writing fic for a good cause and I think the story this became is pretty fitting.

Cas's tiny house in this fic is inspired by many but the ones I looked at most were over here at Tumbleweed homes. I'm incapable nowadays of not naming a fic after a song: this one is after the song of the same name by John Mellencamp. And the setting is in the vicinity of Rapid City, South Dakota.

Chapter Text

“There is a house on my property.”

Dean scrunches his face and looks sidelong at the phone receiver braced between his ear and shoulder.

“Well, I should hope so, Crowley, seeing as it’s mighty uncomfortable to live in open fields.”

“I don’t need your color commentary, moron, I need you to get down here in your paddy wagon and get the offending structure off!”

Now, Dean had dealt with Fergus Crowley before. Obnoxiously smart, British and rich as fuck, he currently owns half the county and is buying up more and more each day for some business venture which he assures the chamber of commerce will turn the tides for their little Podunk corner of South Dakota. Not that Pennington County is small time, it’s home to the second biggest city in the state and more prairie dogs than you can swing a jackalope at. And Crowley, all snarls and stiff upper crust accent or whatever, sticks out like a sore thumb. The guy has never treated Dean or other members of the county sheriff’s department with anything less than contempt, so Dean can't be blamed for being less than accommodating.

“Listen, Fergus, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dean says, glad that the asshat can’t see him rolling his eyes. Sheriff Mills can though, and she gives him a glare from where she’s leaning against her office door. “Can you be more specific? Maybe start with which of your properties you’re talking about?”

“The acreage off old Kennedy road. The thing is down by the stream.” Crowley says it like Dean should know this already.

“Okay.” Dean sighs and steels himself. “Can you describe…the house.”

“It’s a bloody cottage!” Crowley yells back and Dean startles and drops the receiver. Jody raises an eyebrow as Dean scrambles after the thing, a muted torrent of insults issuing from where it dangles on its cord. “…get it off today! Moron!” Crowley finishes as the line goes dead.

“And fuck you too, lemony bastard,” Dean mutters to himself as he hangs up the phone, looking down at his pathetic notes.

“Deputy Winchester, you wouldn’t be speaking ill of one of the pillars of our fine community, would you?” Jody asks, appearing beside Dean.

“Uh…No, Ma’am. I was just…”

“Because the correct term is limey bastard,” Jody says with a twinkle in her eye. “And I personally think that he’s more of a blowhard.”

“Does this mean I don’t have to drag my ass down to remove a house from his property?”

“Unfortunately, no. Go check it out.”

"Victor is still in court on the...thing..." Dean tries. Not that he always needs a partner, but it's safer. But Jody knows there's not a lot to fear on this call and her face says as much. 

"Go find the mystery house." Jody gives Dean a sympathetic smile and a pat on the shoulder.

“It probably blew here from Kansas in a tornado and fell on his sister,” Dean grumbles as he heads to the door.

 

It takes Dean nearly twenty minutes to make it to the property in question and then to follow some muddy tire tracks down towards the stream that Crowley had mentioned. As he comes around the final bend Dean slams on the breaks and blinks. By the stream, plain as day, is a fucking house on wheels. It’s bigger than a garden shed, but it’s definitely one of the smallest houses Dean has ever seen. And the weirdest. Weird enough to call in.

“Hey, Charlie, this is Dean.”

“Hey, Deputy. Find any wild geese yet?” Charlie’s cheerful voice rattles back over the radio.

“I found something. Looks like Crowley wasn’t nuts and there is…some sort of unauthorized structure here on his property. I’m going to check it out.”

“You need back up? I can send Dorothy.”

“No, it doesn’t look like a threat but I wanted to let you know,” Dean says, peering at the mysterious little house through the window of the truck. It’s tall and narrow, about the size of a Winnebago or RV but it’s a house with a door a tiny porch and windows (with flower boxes). The walls are unpainted wood but the roof (where it’s visible under the solar panels), trim and doors are shade of pale pink.

“Be careful then,” Charlie replies. “Call if you need help.”

“Roger. Over and out.” Dean climbs out of the Sheriff’s truck and adjusts the badge pinned on his brown uniform, as well as his gun belt. “Sheriff’s Department,” Dean calls as he knocks. He hears a shuffle. He can’t imagine that whoever is inside will take too long to answer; not like there’s a long way to go from anywhere. Sure enough, the door swings open in two seconds.

The first thing Dean processes about the guy that greets him with a friendly, if confused, expression, is that he’s gorgeous: messy hair, a dusting of stubble on a strong jaw, and blue eyes that should be illegal. The second thing is that he is completely fucking naked.

“Sir, I – holy crap!” Dean tries so hard to avert his eyes before glancing at the guy’s junk and completely fails. Well. He's not Jewish then. Dean blushes and chooses a point at the top of the pink door to focus on and starts again. “Dude, where are your pants?”

“In the drawer. Can I help you, Officer?”

Dean swallows. Of course the hot naked guy has a voice like sex made audible.

"Deputy."

"Is there a difference?" 

Dean glance down for a second, catching glimpses of tan skin and blue eyes as he tries to keep his cool. "I'm with the county. That means...never mind. We received a, uh, complaint at about an illegal structure.”

“This isn’t a structure, technically. It’s not permanent or attached to the ground,” Nudist McNoPants deadpans and Dean makes the mistake of looking at him again. Fuck, That's a nice dick and a good stomach and...Okay if he can focus on the eyes maybe they can talk. Nope. Looked at the dick again. Back on the eyes. Fuck they’re nice eyes too. This is a disaster.

“Okay, an illegal co-CAR. Illegally parked.”

“My home isn’t a car. It’s technically a recreational vehicle.”

Dean steels himself and manages to keep eye contact with the guy as he sighs. “Whatever it is, you have to move it.”

“No.” The completely blasé defiance in the guy’s face and tone is enough to finally get Dean’s mind (mostly) off of his naked body.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m here to protest the proposed fracking that Fergus Crowley intends to begin on these lands, though I’m just getting set up.”

“The proposed what now?”

The guy gives a put-upon sigh and Dean cannot believe that someone with no clothes on can make Dean feel like he’s the idiot.

“Fracking. It’s a method of drilling for natural gas that’s wreaking havoc on our natural world. It causes earthquakes and –”

“You got me at 'drilling, and not the fun kind,' okay.” The words come out before Dean can think better and of course he looks down again and of course the guy catches him and of course he looks at Dean with a raised eyebrow. “Why the hell are you naked?”

“Is this pertinent to your investigation?”

“No, I’m just –”

“You don’t think it’s acceptable for a man to be naked in his own home?”

“Your home is a garden shed on wheels.”

“Even if that weren’t a gross over-simplification, I don’t see how that’s relevant to how I spend my time while in it or my presence on this land.”

Dean sighs and looks up to the clear blue sky, mostly trying to find some calm and avoid the urge to throttle this guy. And okay also to keep from checking him out more. He was really in shape.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to –”

“Castiel.”

“What?”

Dean finds himself looking at the guy again, thankfully (or not) caught by his intense blue eyes. “That’s my name.”

“You got a last name?’

“No.” Jesus Christ this guy had cracked some magic code for being completely obstinate and annoyed at the same time.

“That was a rhetorical...Everyone has a last name!”

“I used to, but legally I don’t anymore.” The guy seems more than a little pleased with himself and gives Dean a smug, lopsided smile that makes him even more attractive. Which is just unacceptable. Dean is an officer of the law trying to do his job and he can’t waste time getting distracted by the cute naked guy.

“Bullshit.”

“Do you want to see my ID?”

Dean’s not sure if this is a trap. It’s probably a trap. “Well, I’ve seen everything else,” he smirks and Castiel rolls his eyes.

“Please come in. Before you warn me: Yes. I’m aware that inviting an officer into my home removes certain constitutional protections of my privacy. And no, you don’t need to make the joke you’re thinking of.”

“I was not…” Dean doesn’t bother finishing as he steps into the main part of Castiel’s little home. It’s…surprisingly roomy. There’s more than enough space for the yoga mat set up in the center of the main area. There’s a comfortable looking chair and shelving and in one corner is a tiny kitchenette and a door that must lead to a bathroom of some sort. Above those is a loft that Dean guesses Cas sleeps in and another smaller one across from that for storage or something. There’s lots of light and everything is clean and cozy and…well, kind of beautiful down to the daffodils in a tiny bud vase mounted to the kitchen window frame. The place even smells wonderful.

“Wow.”

“Better than a garden shack?” Cas asks, prompting Dean to turn around just in time to see his ass as takes a wallet off a little shelf and pulls out a driver’s license. It takes him a second to realize what Castiel is talking about due to the perfection of that butt.

“Oh, uh. Yeah. It’s…nice. Shut up.” Dean snatches the ID from the smug nudist in front of him. “California. Of course. Now the naked yoga makes sense.” But it definitely says just ‘Castiel.’ “Well, that’s going to make writing your citation easier.”

“What kind of citation?” Well at least that got a reaction out of the guy, if only annoyed disbelief.

“I told you: illegal parking.”

“There’s no sign,” Castiel huffs.

“Okay, public indecency.” Dean’s pretty pleased with that one but it barely ruffles Castiel.

“I haven’t left my own home.”

“Vehicle.”

“And public nudity as protest is protected free speech.”

“Trespassing then.” The intensity of the argument is getting Dean’s blood pumping, that and the way Castiel’s eyes are practically glowing in defiance. Dean’s annoyed, but also maybe…excited.

“Cite me then, I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean takes a deep breath through his nose, trying to find some chill and failing. The guy’s eyes are boring into Dean, but he can’t look anywhere else because getting a boner right now will seriously undermine his credibility.

“Okay. I will.” The threat doesn’t have near the impact Dean had hoped.

“But I won’t be paying any fine, as an act of civil disobedience.”

Dean throws up his arms and gets out his citation book anyway. “This is going to require you to leave within 24 hours,” Dean mutters as he writes and Castiel sighs in a way that brings too much attention to his chest. He’s got a little mole above his left nipple…

“I thought I made it clear, I’m not leaving until Mr. Crowley cancels his planned rape of this area’s natural resources.” Dean just shakes his head and keeps writing. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect a tool of the oppressors to understand or care about that.”

“Hey! I care,” Dean says, bristling and nearly dropping his pen. “And I am not a 'tool of the oppressors.' What the fuck does that even mean? I’m just doing my damn job.” Castiel just raises an eyebrow as if to say his point has been made and Dean scowls. God, that eyebrow does things to Dean that make it really hard to keep to his train of thought, but he manages. “I do what I do because I love this place and I want to protect it and the people that live here. At least I’m not some tree-hugging, naked-yoga-doing California cliché who probably doesn’t know the second thing about the land he thinks he’s protecting.”

“Better than an over-compensating stooge of the military-industrial complex that thinks he can strap on a badge and no one will notice him checking out the other wannabe cowboys.”

“I’ll have you know that the other wannabe cowboys don’t mind at all when I check them out and I don’t have anything to overcompensate for, buddy.” Dean stepped aggressively into Castiel’s space at some point in the last minute and he can’t remember when. He glares down at the other guy and tries not to think about how the just outed himself. Though, continuously looking at the guy like her wants to devour him (cause he does) probably gave that away.

“Is that so?” Castiel asks, stepping even closer so that Dean can feel a whisper of heat from his body and very pointedly looks down at the front of Dean’s dark brown pants. His interest and intent is clear and Dean’s sure Castiel can feel his heat too because his cheeks are on fire. “I may have to be convinced.”

“Well some of us don’t go wandering around with our junk hanging out."

Castiel looks straight at his crotch again.“Pity.”

“And at least I’m not…” Dean searches the gorgeous face a few inches from his, trying to think of a fitting insult for this weirdo who’s taken Dean’s day from boring to an exercise in every kind of frustration (including sexual). “Short.”

God fucking damnit.

“You were doing better when you were trying to convince me of your…proportionality.” Castiel smirks.

This is bad. This is very very bad and wrong and also really fucking hot. Dean licks his lips and Castiel's eyes follow the movement with interest that's unmistakable.

Dean is so screwed.

“You really wanna know how proportional I am?”

Without ceremony Castiel places his hand right on Dean’s clothed dick and gropes with intention. “Hmmm. Adequate.”

Well, now Dean’s really mad. “Adequate? I will show you-” Dean starts scrabbling at his gun belt and Castiel clucks.

“No, leave it on, it’s arousing.”

“Oh is it?” Dean looks down just in time to catch Castiel’s dick stirring to life. “Oh.”

Dean’s had situations escalate in his time on the force, in all sorts of way. Once he was called in for a domestic and ended up making balloons at a kid’s birthday party. Another time he was off duty and ended up arresting two guys fighting over a ham. Shit happens on the force. But he really couldn’t tell you how he got from telling a werido to move his fucking house of some jerk’s land to unbuttoning his fly so a naked weirdo can pull out his rapidly hardening dick.

“That’s better.” Castiel comments, and Dean tries to scowl instead of hitching his breath. The guy’s hands are soft and huge and really nice.

“Screwing around with me isn’t going to get you out of the citation, you know,” Dean mutters.

“Does this count as assaulting an officer?” Castiel asks back, still cool and smug. Dean gets his hand on the guy’s dick just to see if he can get him to show some emotion besides annoyance and superiority (that’s totally an emotion). Surprisingly it works, and Castiel’s eyes go wide and his breath speeds up.

Dean has to really concentrate on jacking Castiel off to the best of his ability, but it’s really fucking hard because Castiel is doing things with his long fingers that have got Dean weak in the fucking knees already. They’re close now too, chests and arms knocking together as they fist each other’s cocks and for one second Dean has the insane urge to kiss this fucker. Not just kiss him but also grab him and push him against a wall and fuck him in the world’s tiniest kitchen three feet away. Instead Dean just keeps up the attention on Castiel’s dick and grits his teeth to keep from coming too soon, even though he can feel the orgasm creeping closer because Castiel will never let him hear the end of it if he doesn’t last a little longer. Like he’s reading his mind Castiel starts twisting his hand just right and goddamnit.

“Fuck, I’m gonna…” Dean’s not even sure why he’s warning the guy. Common courtesy maybe.

“Go ahead and come,” Castiel says, his voice low and right in Dean’s ear. “I’m right with you.”

That does it. Dean comes with a noise that’s only somewhat embarrassing, and considering the situation, really not bad at all. He’s more focused on the low, sexy as fuck moan that Castiel gives just as he grabs Dean’s shoulder for support and comes all over Dean’s fist.

They’re panting hard as the step back from one another. Castiel’s chest is flushed and his eyes are shining. It’s hot as sin and if Dean hadn’t just gotten off it would have him hard again.

“Sorry for the mess,” Castiel says. Dean looks down to the splash of come on his dark pants and it’s only a little disturbing that he has no idea whose it is. There’s a few drops on the woven rugs as well.

“Yeah, your whole house is dirty now.”

Castiel scowls. At least the friendly exchange of handjobs means Dean’s not so shy about checking out Castiel’s ass again as he takes the four steps to the kitchen and wets some towels. Cloth dish towels to be precise.

“Of course, you don’t have paper towels.”

“You don’t have to use it if you’re going to be snide,” Castiel says but hands it to Dean anyway.

Dean does his best to clean up but there’s still a very obvious stain on the front of his pants. “Damnit.”

“See where wearing pants gets you.”

“Shut up.”

“Maybe cover it up with another spill.”

“Oh yeah, that won’t be even more embarrassing,” Dean snaps, but he’s already wondering what might work best. Water? Coffee?

“There’s a good place for milkshakes down on Broy road,” Castiel muses.

“Rufus's joint? Yeah, I love that place.” Castiel’s face lights up with a genuine smile and Dean’s insides do a funny sort of somersault. “Wouldn’t want to waste something that good though.”

“How green of you.” The jibe doesn’t have the same bite as before and the warm look in Castiel’s face makes Dean avoid eye contact before he starts blushing again. The discarded citation on the floor catches his attention. Right. He was here for work. Jeez, he is seven kinds of moron today.

“So, uh. Don’t uh…ignore that,” Dean stammers as he retrieves the paper and offers it to Castiel. “The fines will go up.”

“I’m aware. Not my first rodeo, Deputy…” Castiel’s eyes fall to Dean’s badge. Shit. He gave a guy a handjob while working without even introducing himself. “Winchester. How fitting.”

“Dean.” He thrusts out his hand to shake before remembering what it was covered in two minutes before. Too late to retract. Castiel takes it anyway, looking suspicious but interested.

“Nice to meet you, Dean.”

“You too, Cas.”