Title: we crash and we roll
Authors: _mournthewicked & obstinatrix
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Dean/Castiel
Word Count: ~ 12,300
Warnings: Mentions of underage sex.
Summary: After Cas set them straight about heaven's non-interest in the issue, Dean and Sam, with intermittent Cas, have fallen into something of a routine. Everything is awesome and becoming familiar, until the day Cas shows up and asks for something unexpected. (Sequel to like a slow fire burn.)
Notes: Apparently we were not quite done. As always, thanks to kamikaze_redux for the beta!
Dean would have wised up and gotten over the whole incest taboo thing a lot quicker if he'd known how good Sam's mouth felt on his dick first thing in the morning. It wasn't that it didn't feel good, too, in the midnight hours, Sam blowing him sloppy and eager under cover of darkness, because, yeah, they'd done that on and off for years, and yeah, Dean liked the taste of weed in Sam's mouth under the tang of his own come. There was just something gratifying about waking up to the warm sensation of his brother's mouth working its languid way up the length of his cock, nothing between him and the feeling but a lingering haze of sleep that he soon shook off.
And sure, okay, there was something nice, too, about being able to look down the length of their unmade bed and see Sam there, shaft of sunlight casting a long stripe across his body, hair fallen forward into his eyes. Sam has too much freakin' hair -- Dean still stands by his conviction that it's an occupational hazard -- but he can't deny that it looks kind of dorky-sweet in the mornings, rucked up on one side in an epic bedhead, even if he'd never admit this out loud. It's kind of useful, too, for Dean to thread his fingers into, pulling as he rolls his hips up, setting the rhythm. Sam's good at this -- better, actually, when he's not all uncoordinated with some kind of toxic substance -- but everyone can use a little guidance, and Dean sort of likes the little sounds Sam makes when he tugs at his hair, makes fists in the thick of it at the sides of his head.
So, yeah, if Dean had known how good this whole regular morning sex thing would be, he'd probably have gotten over himself a hell of a long time ago. Blowjobs on demand sure as hell beat out jerking off in the shower for the best way to get his morning orgasm.
Not that it's always just blowjobs, either. Before, unless they were feeling particularly adventurous, it usually was: Dean's mouth on Sam's dick against the door of some seedy motel room; Sam's hand on Dean's cock, jacking quick and all wrist, the sound of their breathing banking up in the dark. Unless it was some kind of special occasion, they didn't often dare go all out.
Now, though, time constraints don't seem to apply. They don't have to get everything done before someone starts to sober up, realize what's actually going down here, because they both know exactly what this is, now, and they're both -- pretty much -- okay with it. This thing, whatever it is, it's fucked up and dirty and illegal in all fifty states, but Dean's kind of over thinking of it as wrong. Cas seems pretty sure Sam's not about to end up right back in Hell just because big brother touched him in the bad place, and that's good enough for Dean, because this -- this is just the way they are. The longer it goes on, the surer Dean becomes that it's actually just the way they've always been, even if they were too uptight before to just screw normal and get on with it. This is just Dean, breathless under Sam's pinioning weight, pulling his brother down to him by the hair so their foreheads touch, lifting his hips into Sam's slow thrusts. This is just Sam, eyes on Dean's as he shifts his pelvis in a swiveling grind that hits Dean in all his secret places, works him to climax in a way that's deep and swelling and like nothing Dean's ever felt before.
Dean doesn't want to be a freaking girl about it or anything, but this is good. He and Sam, like this, they're good.
They even laid down some ground rules one night, after a pizza and a few beers. Sam’s cheeks were pink like they get when he’s really embarrassed and it makes Dean laugh, because his brother has one of the dirtiest mouths he’s ever heard when they’re in the thick of it, but when they’re fully-clothed he’s like a virgin on prom night.
No sex during a hunt. That’s the big one. From the moment they decide to take a case until the moment it’s over, they’re all business. They don’t need their dicks getting in the way of their job.
And it works, for the most part. Except that it took them nearly two weeks to get rid of a goddamned nest of vamps in Iowa, of all the fucking places, and it’s the longest he’s gone without Sam making him come since they started this whole thing for real.
They go to a bar to celebrate, but they don’t last long. Sam keeps mouthing the rim of his beer bottle in this deliberate, cockteasing way of his, and Dean’s swelled against his seams, ready to burst with want. They’re in a fucking honkytonk bar in Iowa, but Dean doesn’t give a fuck. They just took out twenty bloodthirsty vamps with nothing but a pair of machetes and their own wits, so something like a couple of homophobes eyeballing them from the pool tables isn’t even something that registers on Dean’s radar.
“Outside, Sammy.” Dean’s voice is authoritative, leaves no room for discussion. Sam would usually balk at this tone, protest the nickname, but not now. Maybe he sees the flash of want in Dean’s eyes, the sheen of spit on his lower lip, but he stands up so quick that his knees hit the bottom of the table. “Eager little brat.”
Dean winks, clicks his tongue, and then saunters out back. There’s an alley next to the bar, a thin line of dirty pavement that separates them from the cigar shop next to it. There’s no one out there but the place reeks of smoke and vodka, cement sticky with spilled beer under his boots.
Sam follows him and Dean grabs his arm, spins him around and slams him up against the dirty brick hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. “Dean,” he gasps, but that’s all he gets out before Dean crashes their mouths together, tongue demanding entrance as his thigh slots up between his brother’s legs.
Sam falls into it instantly, groaning low against Dean's mouth as his hands come up, settle on Dean's back and haul him in. Dean's been half-hard for a while, ever since Sam started up all that shit with the freaking beer bottle, but one good suck at Sam's lower lip and he's all the way there, hard and aching against Sam's thigh. Shit. He's not used to this anymore, going so long without getting off, and jacking it in the bathroom barely even takes the edge off. His body's gotten spoiled, probably, but what it really wants is this, Sam pressed close, all raw heat and muscle, and Sam's mouth on Dean's, wet and wanting. It's not gentle, their teeth clicking painfully together as Dean's fingers find Sam's hair and tug, forcing him closer, but neither of them wants gentleness right now. Dean can feel Sam's dick, the hot, fat line of it in his jeans, and it's exactly as insistent as his own right now. Sam wants to get off, mouth opening filthy wide against Dean's, hips lifting to grind their dicks together, and Dean's pretty sure he can help him with that.
The ground is hard and cold when Dean's knees make contact with it, but it's easy enough to ignore the jolt in his joints when Sam's hand comes up to cradle Dean's cheek, thumb tracing the curve of his mouth. "Fuck," Sam groans, "Dean, yeah, Dean --" and he's coaxing, pressing fingers between Dean's lips, seeking out the wet inside. Dean grins, slow and hot, enjoying the adrenaline rush glancing down his spine at the desperation in Sam's voice, the thought that he's about to suck his little brother off in a public alleyway. There's nobody here right now, but, God, there could be; someone could show up in the middle of things and hear the way Sam gets when he's desperate, hear what a filthy slut he is for Dean's clever mouth.
Shit. Dean's on the edge already, heat coursing under his skin. His cock is pushing painfully against the zipper of his jeans, hard and straining. He leans in impulsively, rubs his face against the bulge of Sam's cock where it's trapped in his pants. Sam groans again, and Dean suddenly can't go another second without hearing it now for himself, hearing what Sam wants.
"Sam," he murmurs, turning it into a low hum that vibrates through Sam's jeans, against the shaft of his cock. "What do you want me to do, dude?" Another press, mouth opening hot against the shape of him, breathing on him damply through the cloth. "C'mon, you want it, you gotta ask for it."
"Shit." Sam's voice is thready, now, his fingers fluttering over Dean's cheekbones, his jaw, the column of his throat. His hips piston forward against Dean's face in a stuttered motion that's mostly involuntary, Dean can tell, but he recovers himself quickly enough, drawing in a short, shallow breath. "Shit, Dean, you know what I want. Want your fucking -- mouth, want you to -- to suck me."
Adorable, Dean thinks, the way Sam always starts out shy. Five minutes from now, and it'll be all gonna fuck your face, Dean and choke you with my dick and yeah, take it. But this Sam is still in transition, and hey, he did ask for it. Dean's not exactly in the mood to hold out on the guy.
He gets Sam's jeans open quick enough with the ease of long practice, taking a second to press his palm to the thrust of Sam's cock where it's leaking through the fabric of his boxers before those go too, the waistband snapped under Sam's balls in one deft flick of Dean's wrist. And then there's just Sam, the whole thick length of him, blood-hot and smooth and smelling of sex, and Dean can't help the way his mouth goes wet, jaw clenching against a rush of want.
"God, Sam," he breathes, appreciative, hands coming up to grip Sam's hips, holding him still. "So fucking hard for me, Christ." And then he's leaning in, flattening his tongue against the slit just to feel Sam twitch before he opens his mouth, takes the whole head of Sam's cock inside.
Sam groans, this dark desperate sound as his fingers scrabble at Dean’s scalp, pulling the short strands between his fingers. Maybe he’ll let it grow a bit, he thinks idly, give Sam something to hold on to. Dean’s fingers find the grooves of Sam’s hips, thumbs pressing in as he curls his clever tongue around the leaking head of Sam’s dick, shoving the tip of it down into Sam’s slit hard enough to make him gasp and twitch.
“Mm, yeah. That’s it, Sammy. So fucking wet.” He sucks on the fat, purpled head of Sam’s cock with a lewd slurp, humming as he takes Sam in deep enough for him to nudge at the back of his throat. Dean swallows, muscles fluttering greedily, and looks up at Sam through his lashes. Dean’s sucking slow, tongue wriggling wetly against the underside. He’s bobbing up and down almost lazily and he sees Sam’s eyes flash, hot and dangerous.
Dean opens his mouth wide, loosens his grip on Sam’s hips and sticks his tongue out as far as he can. He stops moving, just lets Sam rest fat and heavy on his tongue, leaking wet and bitter against his taste buds.
“Dean -- goddammit.” And then Sam grabs him by the ears and shoves, sheathing himself in Dean’s throat with a wanton groan. Dean swallows uselessly, eyes fluttering closed and nails digging into Sam’s sweaty flesh as he starts to thrust. “What you fucking do to me. How bad you want my cock stuffed down your throat, Jesus.”
There it is, Dean thinks, humming happily as Sam rolls his hips. His fingers curl under Dean’s jaw, angling him up and thumbing at the corners of his mouth, smearing the spit there. Dean’s throat feels raw, lungs burning with a distinct lack of air, but there isn’t much in the world that would make him pull away from Sam fucking his mouth.
A cool rush of air whips past Dean’s heated face, making Sam hiss at the sting of it on his wet cock. The air crackles and Dean twitches in his jeans at the scent of it, faint ozone not unlike the smell of fresh copy ink. Dean can’t even walk into a fucking Kinko’s anymore without his cock stiffening up, and it’s all because of --
“Cas,” Sam says on an exhale, and grunts as he grabs the back of Dean's head and fucks in deep. Dean pulls off with an obscene pop, lips and chin slick with spit and precome as he turns to grin at the new arrival.
Castiel is standing less than two feet away, one eyebrow only just barely arched. His eyes are dark, though, and Dean knows that look by now. He presses his wet mouth to the spur of Sam’s hip in a teasing kiss before he turns his attentions on Cas.
“Hey Cas.” Dean pauses to lick at the corner of his mouth, knowing exactly what he looks like, and his chest swells triumphantly when Cas’s lips part on a silent gasp. “You here for business or pleasure?” Dean cocks a brow, dirty grin stretched wide and hopeful as Sam’s dick strains towards his bruised mouth.
He doesn't know what he's expecting -- some flustered comment, maybe, evading the point, or a duck of Cas's head as he capitulates to his embarrassment, stutters out some echo of what he wants. Cas has done this several times since the night everything changed, and it always follows pattern. Cas will get shy; Cas will, maybe, pretend to have some kind of important business decision that he needs the Winchesters' help in making. Then, somewhere along the line, Cas will end up with a mouthful of Dean because Dean got tired of watching him prevaricate. This is the way things go, and sure, there's more than one way for them to start out, but there's only one way for them to end.
Now, though, Cas doesn't seem about to do any of the usual things. His head is still stiffly upright, pupils bled out into the dark blue of his irises, and even as Dean watches, grin faltering, Cas lifts one arm, extending it towards them. Dean barely has time to wonder what the hell he's about to do before he's doing it, fingers curling firm around the nape of Sam's neck, low sound of want escaping Cas's throat.
"Cas," Sam breathes, half-confusion and half-lust, and Dean can't resist leaning in to rub his open mouth against the head of Sam's cock, little kisses to the tip that make Sam shiver and leak. And then Sam makes a rough-edged noise of approval, and Dean looks up the whole long length of him in time to see Cas pressing in, slanting his mouth over Sam's in a kiss.
Cas has learned quickly, and the kiss is instantly fierce, Sam's lower lip caught in Cas's teeth, their tongues flashing wetly in the space between their mouths. Cas's free hand settles soft on Dean's head, carding gently through the hair at his crown as he licks at Sam's mouth, sucks on his tongue, and Dean feels lust coil itself around his guts, grip him like a fist. "God, Cas," he mutters, "tell us how you really feel."
This isn't the way things usually go, but Dean is 99.9% sure he doesn't care. When the world dissolves abruptly around them, recalibrating itself as a motel room, that last 0.01% of doubt disappears.
"Shit," he says, "I guess that means pleasure, huh?"
When Cas breaks away from Sam, he's red-mouthed and panting, eyes blown dark, a flush high on his cheekbones. "Dean," he says, "do you really think I would ever choose to visit you on business when I knew you were engaged in sucking your brother's cock?"
Which, frankly, is a pretty good point Dean hadn't considered before, but mostly he's distracted by the way those words sound in Cas's mouth, the dirty goodness of cock graveled out over Cas's tongue. "Guess not," he concedes dazedly, and Cas smirks -- full-on smirks -- before he's on Sam again, biting at his mouth, tonguing at the kiss-bitten curve of it.
Dean pulls Sam’s cock back into the wet cradle of his mouth, pleased by the broken whimper he spills into Cas’s. Cas, whose cock is hard in his slacks, nudging the back of Dean’s head as he gets squeezed between them.
Dean will never admit out loud that he loves being in this position, on his knees between the two people he cares most for in the world, but he does. Dean Winchester might be a badass, but he’s a badass that loves cock, goddammit. He turns his head a bit to feel Sam pressing against the slick inside of his cheek, looks up through his lashes to watch Sam grab Castiel’s face with both hands, forcing his mouth open wide so he can lick his way inside. Dean reaches back to grab a fistful of Cas’s stupid trench coat, tugging urgently. Cas, to his credit, doesn’t even break away from the firm, possessive hold he has on Sam’s mouth. He just rubs his thumb across Dean’s temple and suddenly there’s nothing between them, all of their clothes in a tangled pile a few feet away.
“Never fucking gets old.” Dean’s grinning, spit-shiny curve of it tingling as he pulls away from Sam’s dick. He curls his fingers around the length of it, jacking slowly as he spins on his now-bare knees to mouth at the head of Cas’s cock. He hears a set of moans, muffled by a kiss, and Dean shudders as he fists Sam’s cock, sucks Cas’s down.
“Dean.” They both say his name at the same time, on a soft and sweet exhale, and Dean feels like he’s king of the goddamned world. It could feel dirty, being on his knees like this, but it never does. It feels powerful, and sexy, fucking right and a world of other adjectives that Dean will never say out loud, but he loves this, every wet, messy second of it.
Cas definitely isn’t lacking, but he’s not quite as big as Sam and he tastes a bit better, not as salty. Dean swallows him down easily, humming a disjointed little melody as he thumbs at the sensitive spot under the head of Sam’s dick, nail catching on his slit just enough to make him jerk, precome blurting out to slick the way.
“Bed, bed, Dean, Jesus.” And he loves it when Sammy gets like that, so fucking desperate that he nearly forgets how to speak unless he’s saying something filthy.
They tumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, and Dean takes a second to be grateful that he and Sam have taken to getting a king now and again, the better to spread out and fuck imaginatively on. They're all of them pretty big guys, and while they're not above pretzeling up when the situation demands it, it's always more comfortable to be able to make out and touch and rut without the fear of someone falling imminently off the edge of the bed. This bed is big, and even when Sam starfishes his limbs in the center of it, there's still room for Dean to shove up against his side, room for Cas to straddle Sam's thigh as he hauls Dean up by the hair to be kissed.
Fuck, but Dean loves to be manhandled like that. Not that he'd ever admit it, but he thinks they both know. Cas is freaking strong, his hands holding Dean relentlessly still as he fucks his mouth, stroking his tongue over the flat of Dean's. They're vicious kisses, fierce and hard, and Dean lets himself groan into Cas's mouth, rubbing the head of his dick against the hot, smooth skin of Sam's thigh. Cas is good at this, learned from the best, and Dean feels like he's melting under the onslaught.
Beneath them, Sam, never one to be left out, is shifting, too, big hands palming Dean's shoulders, the length of his spine, sliding down to grip his ass and squeeze. Dean squirms, trapped between the two of them, and Cas makes a sound of protest in his throat, one hand going immediately to Dean's waist and bracing him there. Fuck, he feels like prey, the two of them stronger than he is, and if they wanted to overpower him, he couldn't stop them. The thought skips a trail of sparks down his spine and he jerks forward, smearing a thin line of slick against Sam's thigh as Cas sucks on his tongue. Fuck, yeah, he's gonna get fucked tonight.
Dean’s mind is alight with positions, all the different ways the three of them could fit together, what they’ve tried, what they haven’t. But it’s too much for him to think about, already too much in the thick of it for something like rational thought. He just wants something in his ass, maybe even in his mouth at the same time, a tight grip on his cock. There are ways to make this happen.
Dean pitches forward, rubs his belly against Cas’s cock, bites down on his bottom lip and tugs. Cas makes a soft noise and Dean reaches around to drag his fingertips down around Castiel’s shoulder blades, his angel bones, in a way that always makes him shiver.
“Missed you, Cas,” Dean says, and it’s easier to say with lust coating each word than it is fully-clothed, the haze of arousal masking the bone-deep truth of them. Castiel smiles, Dean can feel it against the slope of his jaw, and he pulls back just to see the curve of it. Dean kisses the swell of his lower lip before licking his way inside, kissing him wide open before pulling away.
Dean leans back against Sam, thighs parting on the rumpled duvet. Sam catches him easily and Dean falls between his legs, slick head of Sam's dick painting marks at the dip of Dean’s spine. Dean pulls his knees open, displaying himself for Cas with Sam serving as an enticing backdrop.
“C’mere, Cas.” Dean’s voice is husky, deep and low enough that Sam lets out a little growl and licks at the whorl of his ear, hands sliding up the length of his arms. But Castiel doesn’t move, still sitting back on his haunches and observing Dean with dark eyes, head cocked curiously. It’s enough for Dean to flush under the scrutiny, and he rolls his hips a bit, enough to provoke Castiel into action without damaging Dean’s pride. But still, for all the lust in his stormy eyes, he doesn’t move aside from curling his fingers into loose fists, eyes fixed on Dean’s groin.
"Cas?" Dean prompts, warily. Cas shakes himself, gaze moving slowly up towards Dean's chest, but he doesn't seem to dare to meet Dean's eyes, and there's something like a flush licking across his cheekbones.
"Dean," Cas ventures, after a minute's silence, "I -- " He pauses, tongue curling out to dampen his lower lip before he goes on. "Are you always on the receiving end, as it were?"
The words come out sounding capitalized in Cas's mouth, and behind Dean, Sam's breathy sounds against Dean's nape transmute abruptly into a snort of laughter. Dean, blinking at Cas in confusion, is too stunned to react. Cas tilts his head to one side, looking perplexed.
"It's just," he begins, and then stops again. Dean's just about to open his mouth and ask him to come on, Cas, spit it out, when Cas shifts forward, spreading his thighs. A second's hesitation, and then he's straddling Dean's hips, the base of his dick brushing the tip of Dean's as he lowers himself down. "I thought," he explains, soft and careful, "that perhaps you might fuck me this time, Dean." Slowly, and with a brazenness that has nothing coy to it, he rolls his hips in a lazy figure-eight, rubbing himself against Dean. "If you'd like to."
“Holy shit,” Dean blurts out, hips jerking up against Cas in surprise. It’s not exactly Dean Winchester Smooth, and he swallows hard as he reaches up to grab Cas’s narrow hips. “Uh --” Cas rocks down again, one hand going past Dean’s head to tangle in Sam’s hair. Sam’s practically vibrating against Dean, one arm wrapped firm around Dean’s belly, hips rocking against his lower back almost furtively.
It’s not like Dean has anything against topping. Sam asks for it occasionally, and there’s nothing quite like sinking deep into his brother’s ass, so fucking tight, miles of legs wrapped around his waist.
But this is Castiel. When this whole crazy thing started between the three of them, Dean rolled with it, of course he did, but it was too good to even consider anything more. Maybe unconsciously he never thought he could have it, so he never bothered thinking about it.
But... yeah. The thought of climbing on top of Castiel, of working him open on his fingers, asshole clenching down and sucking him in -- yeah, that’s definitely something he can work with.
“I can absolutely do that, Cas.” Dean’s hand slides down the sloping line of Castiel’s back, fingers lightly tracing the cleft of his ass before dipping into the shadowed place between his cheeks.
“Good,” Cas replies, nodding once like he’s pleased with himself. His eyes drift from Dean’s to fix at a spot over his shoulder, on Sam’s face, and Dean hears his brother let out of a soft sigh when Castiel cups his cheek. “I want to have you too, Sam, if you’d like that.”
“You’d -- Cas, you’d let me fuck you?” Sam sounds awed by the mere suggestion, voice wavering almost like he’s being offered a gift that he’s not sure he’s worthy of. Dean isn’t stupid. He knows that for Sam, being with Castiel like this means more than just getting off, even if he’s never said anything of the sort. Cas, for Sam, has been some kind of heavenly olive branch all along, a path to moral peace hovering just out of reach. Sam thinks he's a fuck-up, irredeemably wrong, and Dean can argue till he's blue in the face, can demonstrate in every way that Sam's his whole damn world, and Sam will never be convinced otherwise. Besides, it's kind of hard to present yourself as a beacon of moral good when you're screwing your kid brother and trying to use it as proof that he's worth loving, that he's something decent and pure. Dean feels that way sometimes, in his sappier moments -- that Sam's the best man he's ever known; that taking Sam inside him is an honor beyond words -- but, shit, saying it would hold no water. In his darker moments, Dean's ready to bet, Sam thinks he's dragging Dean down with him; that he's a righteous man sucked into Sam's inferno.
Cas, though. Cas is a different matter. When he said Sam was an abomination, Sam took it to heart and brooded on it for months. Dean was never much of a guy for praying, but Sam sees what Cas does in a different light, craves his approval, yearns for his light. The fact that Castiel is willing to touch him is enough to make him glow all over, the stress in his shoulders slackening, unraveling. Now, Cas is willing to let them in, and while it means a good deal to Dean, he knows it means a hell of a lot more to Sam. For Sam, this is like a promise of absolution, like Cas is offering to swallow up Sam's darkness, and Dean can feel the way Sam shivers in reaction. Dean is Sam's brother, his eternal North star, but Cas is something greater, some messenger of a God whose approval Sam craves, and Dean can't help but be grateful that Cas is willing to give this, to let Sam in, cleanse him of the sin he's created in his mind.
"Sam, of course," Cas says, threading his fingers into Sam's hair, and Dean's stomach twists at the look of pitiful gratitude on Sam's face. "I want you in me. I want you both in me."
"Cas," Sam breathes, and his voice is reverent, low and thin with want and disbelief. "God, thank you. Yes."
“Yeah, yeah. But dibs on first,” Dean says, elbowing Sam gently in the ribs just to try to dispel a bit of the tension, ward off the feelings before the three of them start making mushy declarations at each other. Sure, it’s fine for them to have the feelings. Shit, Dean’s glad they do, but that doesn’t mean that they have to sink so low as to talk about them.
It’s time to focus on the matter at hand, namely the angel in Dean’s lap, rocking and squirming like, well, like Dean when he wants to get fucked. His legs are open wide, pale insides of his thighs locked on either side of Dean’s hips, sweat gleaming on his breastbone.
Dean’s popped a few cherries in his day, but this is Cas, and he isn’t some blushing virgin. Cas is badass and powerful, fought his way through the armies of Hell to get to Dean, so he’s not about to disrespect him by treating him like some fragile, breakable thing. If Castiel wants to get fucked so bad, Dean’s going to damn well fuck him.
Dean grabs Cas by the shoulders and shoves, knocking him backwards and pushing him down onto the bed. He allows himself one long, slow grind against the swell of Sam’s cock, a promise of later, and then surges forward and out of his grasp. He lands on top of Castiel, damp cocks trapped between their bellies, and Dean can’t help the shudder that runs through him when Cas opens his legs for him, making room for Dean’s hips between his thighs and humming his assent when Dean sets about sucking a bruise into Cas’s throat.
“Talk to me.” Cas splays his hands, fucking sexy hands, low on Dean’s back and pulls him in, arching his back in a sinuous curve that makes Sam suck in a breath behind them. “I want to hear what you’re going to do to me.”
“Jesus.” That’s Sam behind him, breath punching out of him like he’s just ran a marathon, and Dean isn’t faring much better. Cas is -- he’s fucking shameless because he doesn’t know any better, knows only what those fucked up Winchester boys have taught him. Dean likes that, knowing that they’re the only ones who will ever get to touch Castiel, feel the weight of his cock in their hands and mouths. And soon, what it feels like to sink into him, to be swallowed whole by his Grace. Dean lets out a low, possessive growl against Cas’s throat, teeth closing over his fluttering pulse hard enough to bruise.
“You wanna hear me, Cas?” Dean licks at the curve of his ear, hand snaking down between them to press his knuckles to the smooth spot behind Cas’s balls. Cas nods, legs widening even further, making room for Dean and fuck, it makes Dean hot, makes him shivery all over. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, Cas. Me’n Sam are gonna lick you open, get you so wet, Cas. Gonna stretch you with our fingers until you beg for it, and then I’mma split you open on my dick, make you take it all.”
Castiel whines low in his throat, nails scrabbling against Dean’s back as he rocks his hips up, desperate for anything Dean’s willing to give, and fuck, that’s a powerful feeling. Seeing Cas like this, eyes dark with urgency and mouth kiss-bitten and bruised-looking, he can no longer remember why this never seemed like a good idea before. Cas looks good, breathless and writhing for it, whole body shivering at the sound of Dean's voice, and Dean wants to make good on his every promise, wants to palm Cas's thighs and shove them up to his chest, wants to lick him all over and taste him at his core. Behind him, he can feel Sam inching closer, and the image of the two of them crowding in together makes his heart beat faster, flush rising on his skin.
"God, Dean," Sam murmurs, and then he's there again, mouthing at Dean's nape, long, wet drag of his lips. "Yeah, gonna lick you, Cas. Remember, the way we get Dean all wet?" He's close, the vibrations of his voice resonating darkly all down Dean's spine, and Dean hears a half-vocalized sound escape his own mouth as Cas lets out a little whimper. Against Dean's neck, he feels Sam's smile.
"Yeah." Sam's relentless, once he's in his stride, so fucking dirty, and Dean thinks dazedly that he probably should take most of the credit for that, but so much of it's just Sam. Says this shit Dean couldn't even think up, not in the dirtiest recesses of his mind. Sam's hand curves up the trembling inside of Cas's thigh, and then he's pushing, urging the leg to bend up at the knee. "Gonna fuck you just like that, with our tongues, Cas. Dean used to do me like that, back when he didn't dare actually get on with things and fuck me. Thought he shouldn't." Another push, and Sam's other hand crooks around the other side of Dean, trapping Dean in the bracket of his body as he shoves up Cas's other thigh to join the first. "Guess he got over that, huh?"
"Shit, Sammy," Dean spits out, voice breaking, and Sam half-laughs behind him as he grinds forward, slick head of his cock shoved up against the cleft of Dean's ass as Dean's pushed forward, into the space between Cas's spread legs.
"Go on, Dean." Another nip, a flicker of his tongue to the pale soft place at the bolt of Dean's jaw. "You know you love this. Got him all ready for you." He rolls his hips, and Dean cries out, hears the sound echoed in Cas's mouth as Dean's cock slides against Cas's perineum. Behind them, Sam is a wall of strength, insistent and determined and filthy. "Come on, Dean, Cas is waiting. Want to see you lick him open, get your tongue inside him."
“Fuck, you’re dirty.” Dean turns to give his brother a long hard kiss on the mouth because fuck, he deserves one, and then settles down into the space on the bed Sam has carved out for him, bracketed by his strong arms and thighs. He’s holding Cas open like a present, Cas giving himself up like an offering, and Dean licks up the pearly fluids leaking from the tip of Cas’s cock. He rolls the flavor on his tongue and then dips his head, pulling Cas open with his thumbs and pressing his lips to the tight clench of him, rubbing back and forth in a teasing brush.
“Dean!” His name comes out of Castiel like a broken sob, all full of surprise, and Dean groans as he flattens his tongue against the rosy curl of muscle. The precome gathered on his tongue leaks out, wetting Cas’s hole and slicking him up. The tip of Dean’s tongue presses in, hot and insistent, and there’s barely any give. He’s tighter than any human has a right to be and Dean remembers with a sharp twist of want that he isn’t. Dean whimpers, so desperate and pleased to have his mouth on Cas, that he just settles in and goes to town, eats Cas out better than any girl he’s ever had in his bed.
“Yeah, Dean, that’s it. Lick him open.” Sam’s hand’s on the back of Dean’s neck, pressing his face into the spit-wet mess of Cas’s ass, nose pressed against his perineum. Dean practically growls, he’s so into it, tongue fucking into the tight clench of Cas like this is the only chance he’ll ever get. “You look so good with Dean’s head between your legs, Cas. He’ll take such good care of you. God, Cas, when he finally fucked me. Ate me out for what felt like hours, didn’t you, Dean? Took such good care of your little brother.”
Dean whimpers, mouthing at Cas’s hole even as he thinks back to the first time he ever fucked Sam, the pair of them drunk and stoned in some shithole house they got left in when Sam was a junior in high school, so young and eager. Cas is like that now, making all these harsh little sounds and pushing back against Dean like he had no idea it could feel this good, like he’ll let Dean do whatever the fuck he wants as long as he doesn’t stop.
As far as Dean's concerned, he's in luck, because Dean doesn't ever want to.
He's always loved this, used to hate himself for it, the guilt and the creeping sense of dirtiness lending an edge to his arousal, making it sharper. He loves the sense of power it gives him, something about it more intimate even than sliding his cock into someone, knowing he's being let into something so secret with his lips and tongue. Sometimes, he'll do this to Sam even knowing Sam's gonna flip him over after, push Dean's legs over his shoulders and plow into him until he comes screaming. It's just that it's so damn visceral, the raw scent of Cas's dick and the strong clench of his thighs, the way his muscles shift, the way he's fluttering around Dean's tongue. It's everything, and Dean could fucking do it forever, little stabbing thrusts of his tongue until Cas is open enough for fingers.
By the time Dean can tear himself away long enough to push inside - crooking two fingers down against Cas's inner walls, pushing in slowly, angling for his prostate -- Cas is whimpering, shifting his hips, writhing frenetic and desperate on the bed. He's keening, low and high in his throat, and Sam is rubbing himself shamelessly against the swell of Dean's ass, hot and leaking precome. "Fuck, Dean," he breathes in Dean's ear, "look at him taking you. So fucking tight."
He is, too, the rim of him slick and pink where it clenches around Dean's fingers, and Dean bites back a sound as he spreads his fingers wide, leans in to spit into the space between. He's wet-mouthed with want, saliva pooling under his tongue, and he bites his lip as he watches it slide into darkness, leaving Cas's entrance slick and shining. "God," he breathes, "Sammy. Gonna get my dick in there." It looks impossible, but Dean knows better. "First time I fucked him, Cas, I thought it was never gonna fit. So fucking tight. Went down on him for hours, working him open, licking his insides."
Cas shudders, and Dean feels himself echo it involuntarily, sense memory and the sight before him banking up his arousal between them. Behind, Sam's hips stutter, and his voice, when it comes, is breathy and unsteady, too. "Fuck, yeah. It fit, though, Cas. Dean made it fit, his big grown-up dick stuffed all up in that little hole."
"God, Sam." Dean's wrong, so fucking wrong inside, but hearing those words in Sam's mouth still make his cock jerk hotly, blurting out a smear of sticky fluid. Sam laughs hotly, thrusting his dick against the small of Dean's back, slipping in the sweat there.
"Yeah. And Dean's gonna fit it in you, Cas. Got you opened up mostly already, and when he shoves in, you're just gonna take it. Gonna open up around him, let him inside you." He rocks his hips, short and sharp. "Huh, Cas? Gonna let him inside you?"
“Yes. Yes, please, Dean.” And to hear Cas beg for it, Dean can barely wait. Castiel opens his eyes, the blue of them dark like ink. “Sam,” he says, canting his hips up into Dean’s fingers. Sam curls around Dean’s body, pushing Cas’s leg up and out and pressing a kiss to the thin skin stretched tight around Dean’s fingers, tongue tracing the ring of it. Dean pulls his fingers out and lets Sam take over, thumbing at the corner of his mouth as Sam’s eyes slip shut. He’s making almost as much noise as Cas, hungry little sounds, and Dean’s arousal swirls in his stomach, punching out of him in short little staccato breaths. Cas is squirming, rolling his hips back against Sam’s face, and Dean does the only thing he can think of. He dips down to pull Cas’s balls into his mouth, one and then the other, rolling them on his tongue before dragging it down to meet Sam’s mouth. His lips are wet with spit and Dean bites at the corner of it, teeth digging in until Sam turns to kiss him, tongue fucking into Dean’s mouth in rolling thrusts.
“Think he’s ready, Dean?” Sam’s voice is breathless against his mouth and he nips at his lower lip, tugging gently. “God, Cas, you’re gonna feel so good. Still remember the first time Dean pushed his fat cock inside me. Fuck, I thought I was gonna choke on it. Kept trying to get it all in me while he held me down and made me take it slow.”
“Greedy little bastard.” Dean’s voice is ragged, and he licks at the corner of Sam’s mouth before turning his attentions to Cas’s hole, all wet and pink, stretched open and ready. “Thought I was gonna blow my fuckin’ load before I even got all the way in, you were so tight. God, Cas, you should have seen him.”
Dean lets out a breath as Sam licks almost languidly at Cas’s hole, humming against his slick skin like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. “He fucked me twice, on my back and on my belly. And now it’s your turn, Cas. Gonna get his dick wet with my tongue, get him ready for you. Gonna watch him fuck you so good, Cas, just wait and see.”
Cas's moan at that vibrates all through his body, making his thighs jerk, his hips buck upward, and Dean, fuck. Dean can't take it any longer, his brother's fucking filthy mouth and the wanton sprawl of Cas's body, this perfect, all-powerful being flung out over their bed like a skein of silk. Cas's breath is hitching in his throat, his ass lifting against Sam's mouth, following him as he pulls away. Dean bites down hard on his lower lip and fists a hand in Sam's hair.
There's no need for words, Sam shifting towards Dean immediate and predatory, pantherlike and massive. Dean still can't get over how big Sam's gotten, sometimes, and there's a twisted, needy part of him that heats up and shivers when Sam looms over him like this, Sam's big hands on his shoulders, pushing him onto his back on the bed.
"Dean," Sam's murmuring, as his lips skim Dean's nipple, make a wet line down his sternum to the flat dip of his stomach. "God, you want this, don't you -- want my mouth, want Cas, want -- "
"Sam," Dean cuts in, because, fuck, he does, and this is not the time for talking. Hot as Sam's mouth is, Dean can think of better uses for it right now. "Would you just --" And he tightens his fingers in Sam's hair, shoves him down between his legs. Sam laughs dark and pleased in his throat, and Dean would protest, but a second later his lips are parting around the tip of Dean's cock and the laughter's still coming, the vibrations of it catching at Dean's skin, setting him alight.
"Sam." He jerks up, can't help it, but Sam's a fucking pro at this and he takes it easily. His mouth is hot and wet, familiar as the back of Dean's hand, and God, it's good the way Sam fucks down on a long, twisting stroke, pulls back up with his tongue against the vein, pushes it into the slit the way he knows Dean likes. So much spit, everything sloppy and slick, and that's the point of this, after all, Sam getting him all wet so he can fuck Cas on an easy, effortless slide. Jesus fuck.
He doesn't trust himself to last long, but Sam knows that, too; cups Dean's balls and pulls off when he's sure Dean's wet enough, his whole shaft shining. "There," Sam breathes, hot and soft, "he's ready for you now, Cas. All wet for you." He's talking to Cas, but his eyes are heated green on Dean's face, a smile tugging dark and teasing at his lips.
Dean reaches up to palm at Sam’s cheek, thumb rubbing across his bruised mouth as he gets up on his knees. Cas has his cock in his fist, thumb circling the head, and Dean growls out no before he can stop himself. Cas jerks, hands falling to the bed to fist in the sheets, and shit, he listened. “Cas, God, look at you.”
Sam has a hand on Dean’s back, petting mindlessly as Dean positions himself between Castiel’s legs. Sam hooks an arm under the bend of Cas’s knee, and he whimpers as Sam drags him open, exposing him for Dean. He’s so wet, shiny and slick, and Dean fists his bare cock and rubs the sensitive head of it against Cas’s stretched out hole, circling it teasingly with a patience he didn’t know he still possessed.
“Dean, don’t tease me.” Cas’s voice is rough and low on a good day, but this, Jesus, the rasping growl of it. “Fuck me now.”
A bitten off plea like that can’t go ignored. Dean rocks his hips forward, groaning low in his throat as the head of his cock pushes into the tight clench of Cas’s ass. He watches, fingertips stroking at the thin pink skin of Cas’s hole as he pushes in slow. “Oh, oh.” Cas is breathing hard, and he reaches up to slam his hand down onto Dean’s shoulder, haphazardly clutching the handprint-shaped scar he left there so long ago. It sends a thrill through Dean’s body and he thrusts, sheathing himself completely in the tight, welcoming clench of Cas’s body. “Dean.”
“Oh fuck, the two of you, Jesus.” Sam stretches out along Castiel’s side, sliding an arm under his neck to lift him up slightly. Dean can see his face better this way, the dark red swell of his lips, the sheen of sweat on his skin, hair sticking up in every direction. Cas is watching him closely, fingers digging into the mark on his arm as his other hand finds Sam’s hip. “How’s it feel, Cas?” Sam mumbles the words against Cas’s temple, one hand sliding across his chest to tweak at a peaked nipple. “Tell me how much you like being stuffed full of my brother.”
"Sam." Sam's name sounds almost as good in Cas's mouth as Dean's does, Cas's body arching off the bed like a bow as his hand shifts blindly up over Sam's stomach, finds his shoulder, slides into his hair. "Oh -- he's -- good."
"Yeah," Sam coaxes, low and heated, and his hand skates down over the plain of Cas's stomach, thumbs a hipbone, nudges at his cock. "Tell me. Tell me how he feels inside you." Cas is new to this, doesn't usually talk much, but clearly Sam is working around it, tugging it out of Cas slowly, unwinding the long thread of his desire. "You like it?"
"Sam -- yes." Cas is half sobbing, now, lifting his hips to meet Dean's thrusts, and Dean clenches his eyes shut as he pistons forward, fingers bruise-tight on Cas's skin. Cas is so eager, so fucking strung out, taking it like he's their fucktoy instead of an angel, and shit, Dean can't look at him anymore.
Sam, meanwhile, seems to have no such qualms. Dean could sink into his voice like warm water, and it just goes on, clever and beloved. "Yeah, you like it. Can see you liking it, Cas. That's my big brother's dick you've got in you. All shoved up in your tight little hole, and God, Cas, you look so good. Look so good taking him." A slide of skin, and then Cas is gasping, crying out sharply, and Dean can hear the slick sounds of Sam's hand working, jacking Cas's cock as Dean fucks into him.
"Want it," Cas manages, and it isn't eloquent, but it isn't hesitant, either, and that's enough to set Dean's balls pulling up tight, thighs quaking as his thrusts speed up. Cas is breathless, fucking back onto him like it's all he wants, like he never wants to stop. "Want him inside me, Sam, I need him."
"Yeah," Sam repeats, and he sounds almost soothing, something like sympathy in his voice. "I need him too, Cas."