This is unapologetically nuts, and dedicated to BobbleHeadedJesus.

Dean needs this job. He knows that. He is thirty credits from finishing his modern art module, and ok, he only took it because he thought it would be easy, and he had kind of enjoyed making sculptures out of car parts. Still, now they've announced that he has to do some work under an established artist – or he'll fail. Which Dean can't afford to do, because he needs this module to make up the rest of his degree, with which he can get into a graduate programme for automotive design.

So, yes, Dean really needs this job. He holds onto that when he gets off of the bus out of town, only to find himself miles from anywhere and surrounded by woodland.

Maybe 'established' artist was a bit of a stretch.

Castiel Novak is kind of a darling of his tutor, and it was Professor Shirley that set him up for this interview. But now Dean is walking down a wet track in the middle of fucking nowhere (and even if it isn't the middle, he's pretty sure he can see it from here) running wet from the rain and wishing he'd taken a Lit module instead.

Worse still is the sign he finds on the high automated gate in the enormous brick wall that surrounds the property. Dean groans in despair, resting his head against the sign, so that, to any stranger walking behind him, it would now read – NUD-IST PREMISES.

That was all he needed. A shut in eccentric artist with a keen interest in nudism.

Dean pushes the buzzer by the gate, mentally reminding himself again that he REALLY needs this job.

"Hello?" a deep voice, sounding vague and distracted greets him.

"Hi...I'm Dean, I'm from KU and I'm meant to be interning with you?"

"Ahhh...hold on a second." The voice asks him, then the gate buzzes open and Dean goes in.

A scruffy figure in a dark green robe and cotton pants comes haring down the wide lawn from a large, three story house. Dean waits for the guy to reach him, thanking Christ and all the smurfs that the guy had bothered with clothes.

Running naked guy, in cold weather – so not something Dean needs to see.

"Castiel Novak." The guy says, pushing his shaggy dark hair out of his eyes with one hand and offering the other (spotted with pink and mauve paint) for him to shake. Dean takes it and to his credit manages to ignore the pink and white candy striped cannabis leaf tattooed on the back of it.

"So, Chuck sent you?" Castiel doesn't wait for a reply, just puts an arm around Dean's shoulder and guides him up towards the house. "Good, good – the last intern left a week ago...well, got fired a week ago. Becky somebody – very weird." They cross the lawn and go up to the door, flanked by two primitive pillars that don't even reach all the way to the little roof over it. The door is a dizzying sky blue with a glow in the dark knocker, and Castiel pushes it open to reveal the hallway.

"Jacket." Castiel points at the hooks. "Shoes." A gesture to the shoe rack. "Pants and shirt." He waves a hand at a clothes rack.

"Yeah...I'm, not so much with the uh...naked thing." Dean manages.

"Never?" Castiel seems genuinely surprised.

"Only when it's really really necessary." Dean says firmly.

Castiel shrugs, hands going to his own robe and untying it briskly, leaving it on the clothes rack. Dean is thankful that Castiel doesn't dispense with the pants.

"Anyway..." Castiel leads him down a canary yellow hallway, through a violet kitchen and into a lime green study with red and yellow faux fur chairs. He takes a seat in one and offers the other to Dean, who has been temporarily blinded by all the acid bright colours and the tie-dyed curtains. "I expect you'll want to hear a little bit about what you'll be doing here?"

"Yeah, that'd be great." Dean smiles, he can tough this out, the guys just a little bit of a kook. It'll be fine.

Dean wonders if he eats human flesh.

"Well, currently I'm preparing for an exhibition, an installation piece." Castiel says seriously. "It's fairly complex in terms of the mechanisms required and I'm afraid I'm not good with technology."

"So you want me to rig it up for you?" Dean guesses.

Castiel looks ecstatic that Dean has caught on so fast. "Yes! I have a lot of other things to do – things for the gallery opening to be precise." He winces. "It is quite demanding...so you'll mostly be working alone."

Thank fuck, Dean thinks.

"What kind of mechanism does it involve?" Dean asks, the practical side of his brain taking over.

"It's hard to..." Castiel licks his lips and frowns. "I'll have to show you." He says, standing up quickly and going to a door on his left, he opens it and Dean follows him into a blessedly white space – so white that for a second he thinks the whole house has been a kind of purgatorial nightmare and now he's landed in Heaven.

Except he figures Heaven would have less penises.

And probably way fewer vaginas.

The far wall is covered in casts of what looked at first like bright pink and purple flowers – but which Dean quickly recognises as female genitalia, painted the same acid trip colours as the rest of the house.

The sides of the room have trestle tables, one of art materials, and the other of psychedelic erections.

Dean stands stock still, unsure as to what he should be thinking, let alone saying, right now.

"Well, here it is." Castiel gestures at a stage-like contraption with three white walls. "What I need is a reproduction of the initial model, only about 200 times bigger, with the plastic tubing and the pump under the stage and up through the sculpture." Castiel gestures strangely, fixated on the empty space. "But, it needs to look aesthetically perfect and...but not too perfect." He adds quickly. "Kind of...classic and...classy."

"And...what is it going to be?" Dean asks, voice slightly strained.

"A giant phallus that jizzes paint." Castiel says, perfectly seriously.

Dean blinks at him.

"So the pump needs to be primed to..." Castiel struggles with the word for a second. "Spurt...as opposed to just...pour."

Dean wonders if this is what giving birth feels like. I.E – horrible, but you can't stop it, or turn back time so it never started.

"Ok..." He manages to say.

"I know it's weird." Castiel tells him. "A lot of people don't get it, so don't worry."

"Is the whole collection..." Dean lets the sentence trail off.

Castiel bounds from the podium and tugs his arm, steering Dean towards the wall at the back of the room.

"Yes. This is the feminine half, all casts of various women..." He points erratically at the collection. "for instance...prostitute, prostitute, stripper, prostitute, ex-wife, her sister..." he pauses. "That was actually done before my wife became my ex-wife..." he lowers his voice conspiratorially, "She used it as evidence for the divorce." He points again. "Then, my sister, her roommate, our mother, my step-mother...and another prostitute...you get the idea."

"Yeah." Dean said quietly. What the hell had he stumbled in on?

Castiel leads him to the table of erections.

"This is the same deal?" Dean attempts to head him off at the pass. "Just...random guys?"

"Oh, God no." Castiel shakes his head. "These, are all from people I've slept with."

Dean looks at the table, and the hundred some penises on it.

"...wow." He mutters.

"Don't go thinking I get out much, because I don't." Castiel says pleasantly. "Most of them were interns."

Dean freezes.

Castiel claps him on the shoulder.

"No pressure."

The he's off again gesturing to some shelves above the table, where around fifty more phalluses are arrayed – some juvenile, some flaccid, others erect, some painted with pictures, others with bright paint, leopard print and floral designs from copy paper. Some are painted with a view to realism, the flushed heads and swollen veins outlined and coloured in shocking realism, an almost painful level of arousal.

Dean kind of lingers on those, because ok, this is weird, but they are getting him just a little hot.

"And these..." Castiel gestures, "Are all mine."

"Like a...personal collection?" Dean asks, still unable to tear his eyes away from a truly impressive erection where the veins have been added in gold, the flared head lovingly sculpted.

"No, they're me." Castiel corrects him cheerfully. "My penis." He adds, as if there was any danger of Dean's not getting it.

Awkward.

He tries to change the subject by picking up a kind of button like thing from the table.

"And this is?"

"A paisley anus." Castiel tells him. "Also mine."

Dean puts it down hurriedly.

He can't really think of anything to say, fortunately, Castiel is pretty chatty.

"I've been doing it since I was about fifteen, a couple of studies a year, when I get bored..." He regards the collection speculatively. "Course, I only got circumcised a year or so ago..." He glances at Dean. "For the aestheticism, not for any real medical reason." He explains. "Though, sometimes I wonder if it didn't appeal more before." He cocks his head to one side and Dean prays that his isn't about to ask his opinion. "And I'm kind of less sensitive now." Castiel says instead.

Dean doesn't know if that's a win or not.

"So, if you want to get to it, I have a secretary from Utah freezing her ass off in my studio." He claps his hands together. "I'll just give you the model to copy – I need it to be about...eight...nine feet high? And it's just emulating the style and shape, should be easy."

"Ok." Dean says, eager to get rid of Castiel and get this ordeal over with.

Castiel reaches up to the shelf and picks up one of the more...anatomically correct models, passing it to Dean who takes it, reluctantly, into his hand.

"I'll see you in a few hours, all the supplies are in the back room." Castiel beams distractedly at the wall behind Dean's left ear, turns around and leaves the room.

Dean is left, holding a clay penis and wondering what the hell he'd done to piss Chuck off.

(-*-)

Dean has so far managed to stack lumps of clay, smoothing them into a vaguely phallic shape, and now he's collecting tools and attempting to copy the actual proportions of Castiel's penis.

If Sam ever finds out that he did this, Dean is never going to hear the end of it.

Castiel appears a few hours into his work, and it takes Dean about ten minutes to look up long enough to ascertain that yes, Castiel is very, very naked. In a tanned all over, unicorn tattoo on his ass kind of way.

"How's it going?" Castiel asks, coming over from his work at the trestle table and standing very close to where Dean is kneeling beside a nine foot copy of the penis which is currently about eight inches from his face.

"Good." He manages, through gritted teeth. "I might, you know, have to call it a day soon."

"Cool." Castiel says distractedly. "You have a ride coming?"

"I need to catch the bus." Dean shrugs.

Castiel whistles apologetically. "The last one kind of went by an hour ago."

"Shit." Dean, swipes a hand across his forehead, leaving a trace of clay there.

"You're welcome to use the guest room." Castiel shrugs.

Dean really, really wants to say no, but it'd take him three hours to walk home.

"Ok, great, thanks." Dean straightens his back with difficulty. Castiel looks critically at the sculpture. "It's not 100% done yet." Dean explains.

"Mmm...but it's coming along well." Castiel says, cocking his head to one side. He reaches out and touches the top of it lightly, fingers moving to scrape at the clay speculatively, forming the crown and the slit at the tip with almost hypnotic precision. "Better." He says decisively. "Dinner?"

"Huh?" Dean's trying hard not to check out the man's dick, but he's caught between looking at it in real life, and looking at the model, or the half finished sculpture.

"Food? The evening meal." Castiel explains.

"Food would be great. You want any help?" Dean asks politely.

"Nah. I can make hotdogs by myself" Castiel seems amused by Dean's frozen expression of horror. "Joke. I think I have sandwich stuff and a half an apple pie."

Thankfully, Castiel puts some pants on for dinner. They eat turkey and stuffing sandwiches on the floor of the studio, eating the pie from the metal plate and drinking beer from cold bottles.

"Can I ask you a question?" Castiel asks when they've finished.

"Sure." Dean says, feeling more relaxed, three beers down and he's feeling warm and tired from the work with the clay.

"Do you want to have sex?"

Dean chokes on the last of his beer. "You really just asked me that."

Castiel shrugs. "I want to have sex. You're here, you seem available – do you want to have sex?"

Dean wonders what the hell Castiel is on, or what he was on when he was a teenager that left him this way. And it is literally on the tip of his tongue to say no and get the hell out of there, but...well...

Dean could really go for some sex.

So that's how he and a nudist end up rolling around on the floor next to a huge clay penis.

And it's going pretty fine, really great if Dean's honest, and he's hard and aching like hell when Castiel kisses him deeply and jumps to his feet, erection bobbing near his stomach.

"Hold that thought." He whispers, then he's gone and Dean's lying on the studio floor with his legs open and a killer hard on, wondering why nothing can just be normal today.

Castiel comes back with a pot of warm Vaseline and strips of linen bandage marinating in warm plaster of Paris.

Watching Castiel carefully slick him up and wrap his cock in the bandages is one of the weirdest things he has ever experienced. But he'd be lying if he said the warmth and the light touches of Castiel's hands weren't kind of hot.

"How long does this take?" Dean asks.

"Not long." Castiel murmurs, absorbed by the work. He finishes up and moves agilely to straddle Dean's chest, leaning down to kiss him, his erection pressing between the muscles of Dean's chest. He kisses him, deep and softly, hands stroking Dean's sides. After a while he reaches behind himself and starts to open himself up and all Dean can do, is watch and feel his cock twitch under it's layers.

Ok, maybe he whines a little too.

Castiel breathing heavily, helplessly, by the time the plaster is ready to come off, and he sets the cast aside carefully. Dean is on him in an instant, and Castiel laughs quietly, wrapping his arms around Dean and moving eagerly to accommodate him.

Castiel is hands down the most energetic lover Dean's ever head. So much so that Dean is almost convinced that there are two of him, what the number of hands touching him and the mouths on his face and neck.

At one point Dean is pretty sure one of them shouts 'Woohooo!"

But he honestly doesn't know who.

(-*-)

Dean ends up staying with Castiel for a week.

A week of walking around naked, making a giant clay penis, eating candy and hotdogs and homemade bread and having amazing, puppy-like sex in pretty much every room of the house, and in every position either of them can think of.

He does not end up using the guest room, but he sleeps with Castiel in...what he can only describe as a platform in a tree, draped in silky, scarf like things.

Oh, and the tree is growing in Castiel's bedroom, and has kind of been pruned into a giant...

Giraffe.

But by that point Dean is too fucked out to care.

At the end of his time there, Dean kind of figures that their...whatever it is, is over. And Castiel gives him a going away present in a purple gift bag full of lime green tissue paper.

He has the idiotic idea of opening it on the bus home.

It's a silicone, real feel, copy of Dean's own penis.

There's a note tied to it with blue ribbon.

Because, if like me you have always wondering what it would be like to fuck yourself...

And because giving you a copy of my dick would be creepy.

-Cas

For his paper on 'What I got out of my internship' Dean writes exactly one line.

A dildo of my own dick, and a mild case of the crabs.

Chuck gives him an A.

(-*-)

Dean goes to Castiel's gallery opening, mainly, because it's being held in a disused bakery shaped like an enormous fibreglass pie.

And maybe, a little because he wants to see Castiel.

The collection is amazing, the penises are perfectly arranged on white plinths, the vaginas...

Ok, it's pretty weird. But they serve good pie, and Dean's vaguely proud of his rainbow-paint-jizzing-penis.

Which is a whole sentence he never thought he'd use.

What is surprising however, and which Sam spends twenty minutes trying (and failing) not to grin at – is the Winchester Exhibit.

For starters there's the Winchester repeating rifle with his cock (painted to match the antique stock) are the barrel, there's a plaster pie that he's fairly certain has his anus moulded into it (how Castiel had gotten that mould he'd never know) and a sculpture of what looks a lot like, and hell, what actually is, his penis, in Castiel's ass.

It's kind of flattering in a...totally weird way.

Even if one work is a sculpture of his torso and stomach entitled 'Cum Gutters'.

Castiel appears beside him as if by some kind of mad, hippie magic. He's wearing a red tail coat, lots of eyeliner and a black sequined mini-skirt. He kisses Dean on the cheek exuberantly.

"Dean! You came." He grins broadly. "Isn't is great?"

"Yeah." Dean smiles back. "Kinda weird seeing you in clothes."

"I promise I won't stay in them long." Castiel grins.

Then a weird thing happens, Castiel slips his hand into Dean's back pocket, and takes him over to his nine brothers and sisters, to introduce him as his boyfriend.

Which is just fine by him.

After everything, the third thing he got out of his internship? Was a high tolerance for crazy surprises.