miss california. (_mournthewicked) wrote,
miss california.
_mournthewicked

fic: like a slow fire burn [collab with obstinatrix] (part two)

[part one]



“Get up,” Dean commands, voice shattered and throat sore. But he’s not done, not even close, and he shifts back on his knees. His mouth hangs open, wet and swollen, and he swallows hungrily when Sam and Cas scramble up onto unsteady feet. “Mm, there we go.” Dean puts a hand on their hips, pushing them together until Sam has to toss an arm around Cas’s waist just to keep from falling over.

He gets a hand around both of their dicks and it’s easier now, to stroke them both, pull Sam’s cock into his mouth while sliding his fist down Cas’s. His own dick is so hard that it aches, drooling steadily against his thigh, but he ignores it and pulls back. He angles Sam and Cas how he wants them, slightly turned in towards each other, the spur of Sam’s hip slotting in above Cas’s like some obscene puzzle.

Sam nearly crumples when Dean brings their cocks together, slick, over-sensitive heads brushing, thick gobs of precome mixing between them. Dean groans and flattens his tongue against them both, dragging from one cock to the other before trying his best to greedily pull both into his mouth.

“Holy shit, Dean - fucking take it.” Sam pushes forward and the corners of Dean’s mouth burn, lips stinging from the stretch. But he sucks as best he can, spit leaking freely from his mouth, coating his chin and hands. He flicks his eyes up, looks at them both, at their awe and approval. It makes him proud and he presses the tip of his tongue up between their shafts, catching their combined fluids and dragging the mixture hungrily back into his mouth.

“He loves it,” Cas says, gravel-rough voice tinged with something dirty and wonderful. Cas says his name then, making it sound like a prayer and a curse all at once, over and over as Sam cups Dean’s cheek in his hand, traces the stretched-raw curve of his lips with the slick pad of his thumb.

There's only so long he can stand it, the raw, filthy stretch, but it's enough to have Sam and Cas trembling before Dean pulls off, closes his lips for a moment and rubs them, barely parted, across the spit-slick heads of their cocks.

"Dean," Sam whispers. Dean hears in his voice that he's close, has heard that tone too often to mistake it, and suddenly there's nothing he wants more in the world than to feel Sam come undone like this, to set him twitching against Cas.

"Sssh," he breathes, and then he's angling his head, leaning in almost sideways to suckle at the side of Sam's cock. It's kind of unorthodox, but it does the job, to judge by the way Sam staggers and jerks, and the heavy vein on the underside of Sam's cock is pulsing hot and thunderous under Dean's lips. Cas is whimpering above them, tight and strained, but Dean's done all the multitasking he can manage until his mouth stops aching; drags his mouth up Sam's cock in a lax wet slide from root to tip.

It's not until he hears Cas cry out that he feels the lack of Sam's hand, the cool place on his cheek where it had been. Glancing sideways, he locates it wrapping around Cas's cock, jacking it slowly through the mess of slickness that's Cas and Sam and Dean's saliva together.

"Holy shit," Dean murmurs, lips moving lightly against the tip of Sam's cock as he forms the words, and Sam laughs jaggedly as his hand speeds up, squeezing and twisting, working Cas like a pro.

"What's the matter?" Sam says, but it's clear from the sex-rough, weed-dizzy rasp of it that it's a rhetorical question. Sam knows that Dean's fraying at the edges with pleasure. "Just - makin' it easy for you, Dean." His fingers draw together, then part as they jack Cas's cock, wet slipping sounds so close to Dean's ear. "You want Cas to come, right?"

"Sam." Cas's head goes back as he stumbles into Sam, fingers clenching into the flesh of Sam's waist. Dean would say something, but his mind is coming apart, and the look on Cas's face pretty much has it covered. Besides, Sam doesn't seem to be done.

"Yeah," he breathes, "want Cas to come. Cas wants to come too. God, he's close, Dean." And Cas is trembling everywhere now, shivering and biting at his mouth, legs going liquid all down his thighs. "So close, and he's gonna come all over your face, isn't he?" A swift stroke, a thumb to the sensitive head that makes Cas jerk forward, blurt a pulse of precome. "Dean."

"Fuck, yes," Dean spits, the words wrenching out of him on an avalanche of heat as he turns his face and presses, nuzzling at the shaft of Cas's cock.

"God," Sam pants, "shit," cockiness dropping out of his voice like a false bottom, and apparently that's all Cas can take, the stutter of Sam's hand enough to finish him off.

"Oh, I'm -- Dean -- " is all he manages before it hits him like a blow to the stomach, sets him spurting across Dean's cheek, spattering his upper lip, the swell of his lower. Sam's moaning low as he works him through it, coaxing out spurt after long, white spurt, and Dean is paralyzed with how much he aches, curls out his tongue and lets himself be marked.

“Beautiful,” Cas pants, reaching out with shaky fingers to cup Dean’s cheek. He rubs his own come into Dean’s lips with the pad of his thumb, traces slick patterns along his jaw. Dean clenches, shifts restlessly and turns to face his brother. Sam’s stripping his own cock now, eyes obsidian dark. Dean tips his head back, lets his mouth fall open and sticks his tongue out in an obscene invitation. “So hungry for it.”

Castiel reaches over to curl clever fingers, slick with spunk and spit, around the base of Sam’s cock. Sam lets out a shout, angling his dick down so he spurts freely onto Dean’s willing face, thick ropes of it clinging to his lips, coating his tongue. Dean doesn’t swallow yet, wants to put on more of a show. He juts out his swollen lips in an exaggerated pout, tongue peeking out to push even more of the bitter mixture past the swell of his lower lip.

“Jesus, Dean.” Dean grins wide and knowing and flicks his tongue out to lick at the corner of his mouth, and Sam's breath hitches. “Don’t - don’t you fucking dare.”

Sam drops to his knees and grabs Dean’s chin in his hand, fingertips slipping in the slick mess there as he drags him in for a kiss. Sam practically eats at his mouth, snagging his bottom lip between his teeth to suck it clean. Dean moans, tilts his head back and gives himself over to Sam’s mercy, lets him bite and suck at his mouth and chin.

Dean looks up when Sam works across his jaw to see Castiel watching them, lips parted and chest heaving. Dean looks at him pleadingly, reaches out and snags his hand to drag him down.

Cas curls himself over Sam’s shoulder to press a kiss to Dean’s mouth. It’s almost soft for a moment, but then Dean’s hand is tangling in the dark mess of his hair and dragging him in, tongue sweeping into Castiel’s mouth so he can taste the mess they made of him.

For a long, hot moment, Dean's caught between the twin sensations of Cas's tongue in his mouth and Sam's lips on his jaw, moving hotly across his cheek, sucking his own come and Cas's from Dean's skin. Cas is, Dean thinks dazedly, a quick study in everything, or maybe Dean's just too fucking turned on to be fussy, but at any rate his mouth is tingling under the onslaught of Cas's kiss, every nerve alight. He's shifting involuntarily, hips straining forward in Cas's direction, and Cas's hands are everywhere, palming Dean's shoulders, his back, his ass. Dean's so hard that his cock is twitching with every sweep of Cas's tongue, and when Cas's hand finally, finally skims the tip of him, he's about ready to sob with desire and relief.

And then it -- stops, and Dean does sob, then, or almost, detaching his mouth from Cas's to lodge a protest. "What --"

Sam's hand is curled firm around Cas's wrist, his eyes hot and dark on Dean's, intense. "Oh, no," he says, and he's looking at Dean, but he's talking to Cas, low and instructive. It's evident that Dean is not involved in this conversation, and that shouldn't be as hot as it is, but Dean's dying here, Jesus, and everything's hot.

"All this waiting," Sam goes on -- almost purring, the bastard -- "least we can do is make sure he comes good, huh?" Sam's hardening again already, cock lengthening slowly against his inner thigh, and Dean feels himself clench emptily, wanting it. "He likes to come with something shoved up inside him -- don't you, Dean?" Sam leans close, breath ghosting warm along the ridge of Dean's cheekbone as his fingers skim his stomach, faint rake of nails along the inside of his thigh. "Like to come with something shoved up your ass?"

"Jesus," Dean spits, and he's rocking in place, thighs gone liquid with desperation. "Yes, Jesus, would you just --"

Sam's ready for him, one arm going easy and strong around Dean's waist as he lowers him to the floor, smooth and soft, gentle like he isn't putting Dean through hell, here. Cas follows, wide-eyed and breathless, and Dean allows himself a pulse of pride at how pink his mouth is, how debauched from Dean's kisses, before he gives in, collapses onto his back. "Sam --"

He's lifting his hips, restless, and Sam knows, God, what he wants, what he needs. The first touch of fingers to Dean's balls, though, skipping his cock, is unfamiliar, and Dean doesn't have to open his eyes to know that it's Cas's hand there, nudging lower as Sam leans down, all his stupid hair tickling the inside of Dean's knee. That's Cas stroking his perineum, the sensitive place behind his balls, as Sam trails his mouth up Dean's thigh in a hot line, shoving it up, up with his forearm.

"Dean," Cas gets out, low and broken. Dean can tell from the sound of it that Cas must be getting there again, wants to see it in the shift of his body, the darkness of his eyes. But that would require coherence, pulling himself up on his elbows to look, and Dean doesn't think he can manage that just now, not with Sam's thumb tracing over the pucker of Dean's asshole, bypassing Cas's hands to make circles over the clench of it.

"Here," Sam whispers, "Cas --" He's demonstrating -- something, Dean can't tell, and he doesn't even care. Just wants to get fucked already, but it's no good pushing Sam when he isn't ready. Sam does everything in his own fucking time.

Even still, the slick curl of a tongue is a shock, and more so when he feels Sam's hair against his knee again and knows that the mouth is Cas's. Fuck, Cas's tongue, circling him there, and Sam's voice is a mantra in Cas's ear, God, yeah. God, like that. He loves it. Loves getting eaten out like a girl, loves getting fucked open on somebody's tongue. Dean clenches his eyes shut and moans, and moans.

Cas works him open wetly, tongue greedy against the tight clench of Dean’s asshole. “Get him wet,” Sam’s instructing, breath hot against Dean’s inner thigh. “So I can - yeah, that’s it.”

And then there’s a finger pushing in, long and dexterous, and that’s Sam stroking his insides and Cas licking at the place where he’s speared open. Sam murmurs something too low for Dean to hear over the blood pounding between his ears, and then Cas spits on him, hot and slick, licking around Sam’s fingers as he slides another in.

“Fuck, more, more. Want it, fuck me.” It takes Dean a moment to realize that it’s him begging so desperately, legs spread wide open on the floor of some dirty motel room. He’s begging but he doesn’t care, not as long as it’ll get him fucked.

Sam’s fingers slide out and Dean whines, pressing back against Castiel’s questing tongue. And then Sam is there, hair tickling Dean’s balls as he presses his mouth to Dean’s perineum, tongue dragging down until it meets Cas’s at his hole.

Fuck.” Dean pulls away and flips over, using all his strength to get up on his hands and knees, ass thrust out invitingly. “Fuck me.”

“Look how bad you want it, Dean,” Sam says it against the swell of his ass and Dean hisses when his teeth sink in. “Begging for it like that.”

He tsks and then says something else to Cas, a low whisper that makes Dean growl. The noise turns into a sharp keen of pleasure, his whole body jerking forward as someone grabs his cheeks and spreads him open, two mouths licking at his hole.

When they pull back, he feels the emptiness like a burn, feels himself slick and open and ready, spread for Sam's cock. The next thing he feels, though, is something new, a slick, tentative nudge that isn't what he's used to, and then Cas curls his fingers around the spurs of Dean's hips, and, shit, Dean realizes. "Shit," he breathes, "Cas."

Sam's voice is hot against the rise of Dean's ass, nipping at his waist, at the shallow of his spine. "Cas is gonna fuck you," he whispers roughly, "gonna get you all opened up and ready for me, aren't you?"

"Yes," Cas hisses through his teeth, and his hips jerk forward, spearing Dean open, a couple of inches at first before he pulls back, fucks forward shallowly, sinks a little deeper in. "Dean --"

It's his first time, Dean thinks, through the haze of how good this feels, the fat shove of Cas inside him. This is Cas's first time, and it's Dean he's fucking, Dean's body clenching hot and tight around his dick. "Cas," he gets out, "come on, you don't have to, it's okay, just --"

"Harder." Sam cuts in over him, commanding, sure. "Cas, fuck him harder, I got you. Yeah."

Another snap of his hips, and Cas is fully sheathed, cock splaying Dean open all the way to the tip, the head of him bumping up against Dean's prostate. It's good, pushing all Dean's buttons from the inside, and his cock is drooling slick and desperate on the carpet, puddling beneath him, leaving a little wet stain. Not that Dean cares when Cas pulls back again, voice tangling in his throat, fucks back in, and he may not know how but his body fucking does, picks up the pace after an abortive thrust or two. Behind, Sam's breathing's gone ragged and short, and Cas just keeps fucking until he's set up a rhythm, pulling a little further out of Dean with every drag, shoving a little harder in against the sweet spot.

"God," Sam mutters, "look how he loves it. Look at him taking your cock, Cas. Look at him --"

"Stop looking," Dean cuts in, "and fuck me, Jesus."

But Sam only laughs in his throat, hand curving around Dean's body to find him, fingers making a tight ring around the base of his cock. "Scared you're gonna come too soon?"

"Bastard," Dean spits, but Sam's right: like this, he isn't. Like this, there's just Cas, not as big as Sam, but big enough, fucking him open, moaning against his nape. "Sam, you can't -- "

"Oh, we can," Sam corrects him, silky and low, and there's something in it Dean doesn't like, although he can't place it; can't think through the steady thunder of Cas's cock into his body enough to wonder what Sam can be planning.

Cas fucks in, pulls out -- and then he's still, still pulling, and Dean feels a whine break out of his throat as he clenches on nothingness, clenches on air. He knew Sam was up to, up to something, but, God --

"Sam," he protests, "please!"

A shift, and then the next thing he feels is Sam's finger, tracing a whorl around his fucked-open asshole. "Told you he'd get you ready for me, Dean," he puts in, nonchalant as a walk in the park. "You want me to fuck you?"

Dean's half-livid, strung out and empty, wanting anything, but God, Sam can't treat him like this. Sam can't expect him to just drop every last vestige of his dignity, and say, and say --

"Shit," Dean curses, "yes. Yes. That what the fuck you want me to say, Sam?"

Sam's laughter is thick in his throat over Cas's taut moan; Sam's hands are big and firm on Dean's waist. "Mmm," he hums, soft assent, and then he's shoving in, the whole fat, familiar girth of him, and it's like there isn't room for anything else inside Dean, indignation shifting aside to make room for Sam's cock, fuck.

"Fuck," Dean whimpers, "fuck."

Sam only smiles against his nape and fucks in deep. Dean pushes back eagerly, ass canted up at the perfect angle for Sam to fuck into. Dean moans, the sound tearing from his throat as he pushes back against his brother’s hip.

“Can’t leave Cas out, can we?” Sam punctuates the question with a harsh thrust, shoving Dean forward enough that his knees burn and his palms scrabble against the worn carpeting. “Gonna suck him while I fuck you, Dean. Stuff you full at both ends. You want that?”

Dean bites down on his lip hard enough to sting, trying to hold on to the last vestiges of his dignity, but Sam pulls his cock out with a wet pop, leaving Dean clenching and empty. “I asked if that’s what you wanted,” Sam says darkly, and suddenly there are two fingers in his hole, twisting up and pressing deep.

“You feel so good, Dean.” That’s Cas’s voice, Cas’s fingers moving in and out of him in a lazy sort of rhythm, working him like he knows exactly where to press. Then Sam’s pressing his cock head between the digits, stretching Dean open wide, almost too wide, and Dean drops his forehead to the carpet with a needy moan. “So tight.”

“Go on, Cas,’’ Sam breathes, one hand letting go of Dean’s hip. Cas’s fingers leave him and Dean feels his muscles clench down around Sam’s cock, sucking him in deep. He hears a wet noise, slick lips and tongues on each other, and he knows that they’re kissing behind him, eating the taste of him from each other’s mouths. Then Sam: “Get your dick in his mouth, Cas. He wants it, loves being full.”

“Cas,” Dean breathes, allows himself the small plea. Because he does want it, wants his brother and his angel to spear him at both ends, stuff him full and own him. “C’mere.”

Somewhere in the back of Dean's mind, he's aware that this is not exactly hygienic, what Sam is suggesting; aware that he's gonna get the chemical taste of lube overlaying everything else until he's licked it away and there's only Cas in his mouth. It's not the most appealing thought, but when Cas shifts towards him on his knees, it's easy to push it down as he cranes his neck to nuzzle the cut of Cas's hipbone, the base of his cock. Cas looks fucked-out, debauched, and everything in Dean wants to mess him up a little more, suck him till he's moaning and there's nothing left between them but spit and come, Cas's blood thumping under his tongue.

"Cas," Dean repeats, leaning in, but Cas forestalls him with a hand on his shoulder as he knees up in front of him, thumb stroking over the tendon sweat-sheened in Dean's neck.

"Dean," Cas murmurs, "just --" And then his fingers are curling around himself, covering the mess of slick that's Sam's come and Cas's and some of the lube Sam managed to sneak in there somewhere. Dean's opened his mouth already to take it before Cas pulls his hand away again, and underneath he's -- clean, nothing but the smooth hot skin of his shaft, slit glistening in the head of his cock.

If Dean wasn't already so turned on that he feels like his skin is coming off, the weight of that demonstration would have served to crank the heat up to eleven. Jesus. It's easy to forget, sometimes, that Cas hasn't always been just Dean's Cas; that he's Castiel, powerful being of light. This man, this -- person -- is an angel of the motherfucking Lord, and he's about to shove his cock down Dean's willing throat.

"Fuck," Dean spits, heat shooting fierce through his stomach, making his cock jump. He strains his head forward, parting his lips to suckle the head of Cas's cock, and this time, Cas allows it, hitching his hips closer until Dean can take him in, hands going to the crown of Dean's head.

Behind, Dean's dimly aware of Sam saying something -- "Shit, Dean, look at you, so fucking hot like this, taking it for us, God --" but it's as if the reality of it, of finally having both of them inside him, has overwhelmed him beyond the point of conscious thought. Sam had slowed graciously while Cas was positioning himself, but now he's thrusting into Dean again, hips pistoning fiercely back and forth, and Cas is jerking, too, spasmodic, long strokes of his cock over Dean's tongue. Between them, Dean's ensnared, pinned like a butterfly, and God, it's good, Sam pounding into him as Cas pulls out, the two of them establishing a flawless rhythm that requires very little contribution from Dean. Sam's hands on his hips, Cas's on his head -- he's sensitized everywhere, like every brief touch is wired directly to his cock where it's drooling on the carpet. Dean wants to come, fuck, does he want it, but he wants almost as fiercely for this to never stop, wants to swallow both of them into himself.

Dean’s arms are trembling, thighs quaking with the effort of keeping himself upright. Knees rubbed raw by the carpet, but the prospect of sore muscles and burned skin doesn’t even register in his mind, too caught up in the fire inside of him, burning him from the inside out.

Cas’s hand is nearly reverent on Dean’s face, thumb rasping across his jaw before pressing in at the hollow of his cheek to feel himself there. The sounds Cas is making might just be his undoing, Dean thinks, as another broken, guttural moan drowns out the obscene sound of skin on skin. Sam thrusts in hard, grinding the flat of his pelvis against the swell of Dean’s ass, fat head of his cock pressing mercilessly against his prostate. Cas follows his lead, holding the back of Dean’s head and shoving, bruising Dean’s throat as he swallows, muscles fluttering around the thick press of Cas’s cock.

Dean’s dimly aware that his eyes are wet, tears forming when he slams them shut against the sudden onslaught of pleasure. He’s strung tight like a bow, balanced delicately on the edge of a blade. They’re filling him up, shoved deep as they can go and it’s so good. Dean’s messy-wet between his legs, cock leaking furiously and leaving slick trails against his skin.

“Yeah Dean, fuck, look at you choking on us.” Sam’s voice makes his stomach quiver, makes him clench his ass and swivel his hips a bit just to hear his brother cry out. He wriggles the flat of his tongue against the underside of Cas’s cock, swallowing uselessly against the saliva leaking from the corners of his mouth.

He can’t breathe - can’t, can’t feel anything besides this intense pleasure, satisfaction that he’s giving as much as he’s getting. Sam and Cas both grind in impossibly deeper, and the gasping breath Dean takes when Cas finally pulls out feels like the first he’s ever taken, like he’s been reborn in the firm grip of their hands.

Cas's hand slips to Dean's shoulder, grasping for purchase, and Dean watches him seize up and spurt like he's seeing it in a mirror, the first dribbles of come pearling out of his own cock under the impetus of the vision. Cas is moaning, and, finally able to breathe, Dean moans too, fingernails digging into the rough fiber of the carpet. Cas is gorgeous like this, fucking wrecked as his cock spends itself against the corner of Dean's slack mouth, over the rise of his cheek, and Dean's shattering at the feel of it, coasting towards collision, but not quite -- not quite --

And then Sam's hand is on his hip; Sam's big, capable hand, skirting the cut of Dean's pelvis, curling around the base of him as Sam pulls out, fucks in again, and that's fucking it, that's all Dean can take. He grits his teeth on a scream, back going tense, muscles shaking in his arms, dick jumping between his legs and blurting out slick on the carpet. "Jesus," he spits, and in front of him Cas is whimpering, keening as he empties himself all over Dean's face. "Shit --"

"Dean," Sam manages, pulling out almost full length and slamming forward again, fingers jacking slackly up and down Dean's shaft, "you're so -- shit, I can't, nobody's as fucking hot as you," and then Dean can't bite his lip any harder for fear that his teeth will go right through it. He clenches, head dipping between his shoulders, and the sound that rips raw from his throat is riding the edge of a scream.

"Christ," he's heaving, "Christ," and it's everywhere, fucking everywhere, his come spattering his stomach and his thighs and the floor and the fronts of Cas's legs. Inside him, Sam's still shoving deep, slam slam slam, but Dean feels him swelling, getting ready to blow.

By the time the muscles in Dean's arms finally fail him, Sam's there, hand flattening between Dean's shoulder blades and pressing him into the carpet for the last frantic seconds of it, "Dean, shit, shit --" and then Dean's full to his bones with his brother, again, always.

Sam pulses inside of him, a hot slick mess that leaks out over his balls as Sam fucks his way through his orgasm, quick little stuttered thrusts that leave Dean panting. Sam’s hand is firm on the small of his back, palm pressing into the base of his spine as he pulls out, a tortuously slow drag that would have Dean moaning if there was any air left in his aching lungs.

Sam’s fingers are at his hole, gentle, scooping up the mess he made and sliding it back in, tracing the puffiness with his fingertips before leaning in to press a kiss there. Dean whimpers a little, sensitive and sore, and Sam makes a soothing noise against his skin.

“Dean.” Cas sounds wrecked, hands sliding under Dean’s arms to pull him up like he weighs nothing at all. He tips forward, splaying his thighs across Cas’s, and Cas takes Dean’s cheeks in his hands. “You’re gorgeous like this.” A soft kiss, and then Cas is licking at the corner of his mouth, tongue tracing the curve of his lower lip before he sucks it clean.

Dean wraps an arm around Cas’s shoulders just to keep himself upright. His legs feel like jelly, useless underneath him, and he shivers as the sweat cools on the bare expanse of his back. But then Sam is there, up on his knees, hands curling around Dean’s hips as he presses his chest to Dean’s shoulders.

Sam’s lips press to the nape of his neck, trailing over to where it meets his shoulder and kissing there. Dean sighs, sated, letting his eyes slip shut as he relishes in the feeling of their mouths on him. Their lips meet at the bolt of Dean’s jaw, the slick sound of their kiss in Dean’s ear, and he turns his head to join them. It’s a mess of mouths, tongues brushing overworked lips and lapping up the bitter taste of come.

It shouldn't work, the three of them, but somehow it does, Dean teething at the swell of Cas's lower lip while Sam licks across his upper, Dean breaking away to suck Sam's tongue into his mouth. It's lazy, glorious, the three of them a tangle of naked skin, and Dean's so lost in it that it isn't till he breaks away to breathe that he realizes they're on the bed again, clean of sweat and come.

"Dude," Dean says, blinking at Cas, "that's a neat trick you got there, soldier."

The corner of Cas's mouth quirks up. It isn't quite a smile, but he's pleased, Dean can tell from the look in his eyes. "Much as it suited you to be covered in ejaculate, Dean, I wanted to leave the two of you comfortable."

"You're leaving?" Sam pulls himself up onto his elbows abruptly, jerking out of his lazy sprawl. His legs are still splayed a little open, languid, but he's concerned, and Dean frowns, too.

"Cas?"

"I have things to get back to," Cas points out, gently. "Believe me, I would rather be here, but my men..." He shrugs. "Still, I will return to them happier for this. Thank you." He inclines his head, and the gesture's a weirdly formal one, coming from a guy who's just had his cock in Dean's mouth.

"Sure," Sam says, though he still sounds a little slow and bemused. "It was, uh. Our pleasure." He sits up fully, runs a hand through his hair, and God, Dean should be too fucked out and too far recovered from the effects of the weed to feel a twitch in his dick at that, Jesus. He really is a slut.

A second later, Cas is fully clothed at the end of the bed, but the blush high on his cheekbones says he's not unmoved himself. This makes Dean feel marginally better. "If," Cas puts in, almost shyly, "you ever feel the desire for company when you come together like this, I would be honored."

"When we --" Dean breaks off, glancing at Sam and then looking swiftly back to Cas again. "What do you mean, when we come together?"

Cas looks a little nonplussed. His voice, when it comes, is slow, as if addressing a child. "When you and your brother fuck," he says, and Dean tries to ignore the little choking sound Sam makes in his throat. "Of course we know you do it, Dean. How could we not? How could you not?" He shrugs. "And how I, of all people, could fail to have recognized it after all that..."

"Okay, okay," Sam breaks in, and the tone of his voice has Dean half afraid for a second, before he sees that the corners of Sam's mouth are curving up, and that -- okay, that's just weird. "I concede the point, Cas. And if you -- you know -- want in." Sam hesitates, some deep-seated, geeky part of him cringing, which is a pretty damn good joke after all the filthy shit he was spouting before. "If you want, you can, you know. You belong with us just as much as Dean and I..."

Sam trails off, but Dean hears the rest of it all the same, knows Cas does too. You belong with us just as much as Dean and I belong together. And, points to Sam for not saying that pussy shit out loud, but Dean feels his stomach clench pleasedly anyway, something starved and stupid glowing there.

"Yeah," Dean puts in. On impulse, his hand creeps its way up from Sam's knee to his thigh, stops there and squeezes, and Sam doesn't push it away -- shifts closer, if anything, body relaxing again. "Any time, Cas, you just drop in. We're always happy to see you."

"Dean," Cas says, in that way he has of saying it like it's a sentence, a beginning and an end all in itself. Then there's a flutter of air, and he's gone, leaving nothing where he'd stood but a faint scent of ozone.

Ordinarily, Dean thinks absently, he and Sam would be either dressed or comatose by this point in the evening. They don't normally sit together naked like this, Dean's hand on Sam's thigh, Sam's arm around his waist. They don't, but sometimes, more than once, Dean's wanted to, and this evening has been anything but normal. Dean feels no desire to move away, and to his great relief, Sam seems not to, either. He breathes in slowly, feeling his chest expand, contract, and beside him Sam's warm and silent, a solid cradle carved out for Dean's body.

He's almost asleep in the haven of Sam's arm when he hears Sam's voice, feels him shifting. "Dean?" Soft, like he doesn't know whether Dean's still awake and doesn't want to disturb him if not. Dean smiles, fondness washing over him like a wave, and raises his head tiredly.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

Sam smiles back, and the warmth to it is so intense that Dean's left momentarily breathless. He doesn't know what he expected, but it wasn't this, all the years of protective love and attachment and want, all written plain in the curve of Sam's mouth. It wasn't Sam leaning in, big hand cradling Dean's jaw, to kiss him softly, a little, clinging kiss that tingles its gentleness all the way down Dean's spine.

"Oh," Dean breathes. It's half-involuntary, and his cheeks burn after, but Sam doesn't seem to mind, his other hand coming up to cup the back of Dean's head as he moves back in, lips parting against Dean's. Sam's kissing him, clear-headed and gentle and sure, and Dean's too exhausted to think about coming for a week, but God, he still wants this, Sam's mouth on his. Sam's mouth, for so long his unattainable holy land.

Sam thumbs at his lip and Dean yields, opens to him; lets Sam lower him down to the mattress. It's better here, anyway, the two of them horizontal, Sam's thigh between his, Sam's arms around him. Sam. Dean's missed tangling up with him in the night, the way they once slept chest to chest or chest to back against the monsters in the closet, the horrors in Dad's bottle of Jack. Sam breaks away slowly, pressing their foreheads together, and Dean remembers years of falling asleep like this, their knees curled close, their breath on each other's mouths. He wonders why they stopped. He wishes they hadn't.

"Sam," he murmurs, low and drowsy. "Fallin' asleep, man."

Sam strokes a hand over his nape, squeezing, gentle. "Go on, then," he says, and that sounds right. Maybe the world's fucked up and upside down, but he and Sammy -- finally, they're solid. Dean doesn't know how he's still managing to keep his eyes open.

"Dean," Sam tells him, "sleep."

He's woken at five in the morning by an acute need to pee, but Sam's tangled around him like the world's biggest five-year-old, and Dean doesn't want to move him, doesn't think he can bear to.

When he gets out of bed at nine, he feels ready to burst, but it's totally worth it. It always was.


[end.]


[sequel: we crash and we roll]
Tags: collab, dean/sam/castiel, fic, like a slow fire burn, obstinatrix is my soulmate, sam/dean, supernatural
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

  • 107 comments