Chapter Text
The absolute last person Dean thought would knock him up was his tailor.
The tailor who had fitted his suit for Sammy’s wedding, which was in about six months. Dean stared at the little plastic stick with the two blue lines and regretted that he thought he’d get that particular bit of tailoring taken care of early. Done and dusted. Except that now it was pretty much clear that the suit that he’d had so carefully hemmed and adjusted, so that the pants broke on his shoes just so and that exactly half an inch of shirt cuff showed under his suit jacket would never be worn to the wedding.
***
It was a beautiful suit, not the sort of thing Dean normally wore. Dean was a mechanic. He wore a coverall far more often than he ever wore a suit, but Sam had bought him this one so that he’d have something nice to wear to the wedding. They weren’t doing rental tuxes. Sam’s bride Eileen thought those were stuffy and tacky. And they were getting hitched on a beach in California, so tuxes would be formal overkill. Hence, the suit he’d been given. Like men’s suits often did, the sandy brown tropical wool suit had arrived needing hemming, both pants and sleeves.
Juliet’s- home of the sharp dressed man. That was the name of the tailor shop run by one Fergus McLeod, and it was just down the street from where Dean lived, only reason he picked it- the convenience.
The man, who said that people called him Crowley normally, had been a little stuffy, a little authoritative, like people who normally sold nice suits, always seemed to be, but he marked up Dean’s wedding suit with chalk, promised to have it ready in less than a week, and showed him a few shirts and ties that Dean could buy to make the suit work for other situations as well.
Then, he asked, “I’m about to close up shop. Would you care to go out for a drink?”
Well, Crowley, had been nice in his way and Dean didn’t have anything going on that night, so he said, yes, why not. Crowley was kind of handsome, dark haired, yes, a little balding, but not bad. A little short, but Dean was kind of used to being around Gigantors like his brother so everyone else seemed short. Crowley had a sly, dry wit and he was a gentleman. He asked about Dean’s life, didn’t get a superior attitude when he found out about Dean’s job. Nor did he do the other response which was to ask if Dean could take a look at his car and tell him what was making that rattling noise. In short, he was good company for an evening.
So, drinks had turned to dinner and dinner turned into another round at the bar. Crowley bought him high class Scotch and didn’t seem to act like Dean owed him anything for it. In fact, it was Dean who proposed that their evening go on longer. At his place. In his bed, specifically. Crowley seemed pleased with the idea too. Dean’s roommate (and best friend) was gone for a couple of days, so they would have plenty of privacy.
They weren’t far. They’d only gone a couple of blocks from the tailor shop, which was only a few blocks from Dean’s apartment. They walked the short distance and Crowley held out his hand. Dean’s slipped into it much easier than he thought it would. His hands were warm, had their calluses in strange spots compared to his own hands.
Dean had an apartment on the second floor of an old Victorian mansion. It was a huge, mainly yellow frame building, with white gingerbread trim and a big, fenced in yard. There were round turrets and elaborate porches, tall brick chimneys, the whole nine yards. There were about six other apartments in the building and he’d never gotten around to meeting his neighbors, nor paid much attention to them. He worked hard. He spent more time at work than he wanted, seeing as how Bobby was giving him a chance to do a couple of classic car restorations in the evenings in addition to his normal work in the daytime.
“Interesting, we’re neighbors,” Crowley said. “You live with the grouchy brunette and his tiny offspring in 2C?”
“Cas and Jack? Yeah,” Dean said. “We’re roomies.”
“I live in 1C. The back unit.”
“That’s the one with the dedicated deck space,” Dean said. “There’s some red head that lives there. I see her sunbathing sometimes.”
“Mother does not live with me,” Crowley said. “She comes over to walk Juliet for me and takes advantage of my amenities.”
Well, a man’s relationship with his mother was his own business. Dean wondered who Juliet was, but then remembered the red head letting a giant standard poodle into the yard, calling the beast Juliet. Interesting that the man had named his shop after his dog.
Dean was starting to wonder if it was a good idea to invite his neighbor in for a one night stand, but he was horny and not thinking logically. He was thinking with the part of him that wanted to get wrecked and pounded and that part of him thought Crowley was an awfully good idea. It wasn’t fully in charge though.
“So, before we go up, a couple of ground rules. One. Don’t be an asshole. I’m not moving out because you don’t like how things play out. Two. You gotta wrap it if you wanna tap it, even if you don’t stick it in that hole. Not gonna be baby-trapped by some guy. I provide the condoms and if I find out you’re trying to stealth me, I’m kicking your ass.”
“You’re a carrier?” Crowley asked. His voice was neutral, not disgusted, like some guys who thought they were getting the standard, regulation guy, then discovered he was the deluxe model with the extra parts. Nor was he on the other end of the spectrum, the ones who treated Dean like he was some kind of fantasy, a fetish. The ones who got off on their impregnation fantasies. Because while Dean wanted to have a kid some day, that day wasn’t now and certainly not by some dude who got off on that. Definitely not with a guy who saw him as nothing but the containment and life support system for a uterus, while thinking it was extra sexy that the vessel for the uterus was mostly, almost entirely, otherwise a man.
“Yeah. If that’s a problem or a fetish, do us both a favor and take a hike now,” Dean said, looking at the steps up to his place. “Same if you can’t put a raincoat on it.”
“No, not a problem, nor a particular enticement. An interesting diversion from what I thought was the situation, but not a problem. And a gentleman never complains about the dress code for a given situation. Shall we go up?”
They did. Five minutes later, they were in Dean’s bed and Dean was presenting Crowley with the little foil wrapped packages he kept around for these kind of occasions.
“Darling, perhaps I had better go downstairs for my own supply. These are all fine and well for the average man,” Crowley said. “But I require a better fit.”
“Lot of dudes think they need the XL and they just don’t,” Dean said.
Then Crowley took the final step in undressing himself and shoved his boxers down. And, holy crap. Yeah, the dude definitely needed the Magnums. His cock was huge. Like it was definitely nearly ten inches. Plenty girthy too. Dean dug around in the drawer of his bedside table. After a moment, he presented Crowley with the box of Magnums he kept around for just such times as this. He wouldn’t notice until much later that they were long past their ‘best by’ date, because sadly, there were very few men of Crowley’s stature and caliber around.
“Those will do,” Crowley said, smiling. “Now, do you mind kissing? Because I like a nice friendly feel to my meaningless fornication.”
There was plenty of kissing, even though Crowley’s well trimmed beard tickled a little. Before long, Crowley was lavishing plenty of attention on Dean’s cock with his mouth, not having complained about the condom that covered Dean’s cock. It was wrap up time all around, as far as Dean was concerned.
He was talented, could swallow Dean whole to the root and appeared to take great joy in getting Dean off, leaving Dean soft and sleepy and feeling almost affectionate. Grateful for such a good orgasm. So Dean didn’t say anything when, afterwards, Crowley’s fingers slid in the secret space between Dean’s legs, into his extra parts, as Dean thought of them. Dean normally stuck to getting fucked in the parts that wouldn’t get him knocked up, but it wasn’t that he’d never had vaginal sex. Anal was just better for rubbing his internal joy button. But Dean was wrung out, done. He wasn’t coming again for a while either way, so he let Crowley have his way, so long as he was wrapped up.
Dean was wrong about not coming again.
Crowley’s fingers were talented and they found the spot where Dean’s internal parts were most sensitive. He got Dean all wet and eager for it again. The instant that monster of a cock slid into Dean’s loosened, wet pussy, Dean’s cock stood up again and took notice.
“You’re very good with your hands,” Dean said. “And, uh, other things.”
There wasn’t a lot of talking after that. There was Dean stretched open on a huge cock that hit all the right spots inside of him and was only a little bit too big and uncomfortable. There was a lot of moaning and noise and squeaking of Dean’s bed frame. There was the way that Crowley fucked forcefully, but slowly and with intention, making sure that Dean was well satisfied in all ways. Only then did Crowley speed up and chase after his own orgasm.
Crowley knew how to handle himself too. Or so Dean thought. Crowley pulled out right after, gripping himself so nothing would spill, but then he cursed. And said, “Darling, you might want to consider emergency contraception. The condom broke on us.”
It had. The uncircumcised head of his huge, slowly deflating cock poked out of it. It hung like a loose, ugly raincoat around it.
“Son of a bitch!”