Hello, Christy here, this blog is just for my Supernatural fanfics. I have an Ao3 under the same name. My main tumblr is bendoverandbiteyourgag (nsfw). My writings are multi ship and kink friendly. Feel free to drop by the inbox with any questions or just headcanon chat, but I have to close off prompts for the moment to work through some backlog. Please enjoy your stay. <3
Hi, I just need to tell you that Shuck It has had a lasting impact on my life and I can't thank you enough for it! I love everything about it, it's been a source of amusement and (probably too many) corn references. I reread it a few times a year and just need to tell you that you're a fantastic human being for writing it lol.
I mean this kind of thing just amazes me and I feel viscerally transported to so many nights of drunk fueled porn writing and the fact that my ouevre still lives in infamy is so. It’s just damn touching man. Thanks <333
hey, I was trying to read your meanstiel fic, and it says "keep reading" so I tapped it but it sends me back to the same post? like instead of giving me the full fic it gives me the portion up until the "keep reading". also I'm using on mobile,, I closed the app and tried again and I have no clue what to do but I'm desperate to read it because you're an amazing writer,,,, also it's been doing this with the Sam/Jimmy/Cas one and another, I forgot which one
Oh well that sucks. D: I’ve had problems before with links not going to the right places from the masterlist pages, but idk if I’ve ever heard about ‘keep reading’ lines misdirecting. It works when I try to use it, but I’m on a laptop, not mobile. I have no idea if anyone else has had this problem? I wouldn’t know how to fix anything, so honestly I’d just suggest going through my Ao3. Same username, bloodandcream. It’s easy to search through the ships on there, so, maybe try that? Sorry tumblr sucks. :I
to be given, for @burningwicker, sentimental au one night stand Sadreel drivel
Sam hadn’t expected anything that had happened that night. He’d expected a few drinks and some awkward conversation with the group of friends that Garth had dragged him out to meet. He had tried his best to stuff his anxiety down and be good company, engage in some conversation, but he hadn’t actually expected someone to talk back to him. To challenge him. To engage him in a discussion of politics and personal responsibility and ethics. And after several glasses of wine Sam had not expected to enjoy himself, to be charmed.
God what was his name.
That’s right. Gadreel. Gadreel bought a few shots for them, after they’d broken away from the group, and the conversation was stimulating but Sam couldn’t stop staring at him. He had a square, boxy face and a strong jaw. Taller than Sam was, maybe it was the hunch that he had been sinking into, but Gadreel was broad and proud in his stance and he commanded Sam’s attention.
It was a fling. Or it should have been a fling. After taking a cab to an apartment with Gadreel, dropping half his clothes in the hallway with his shoes, stumbling to the bedroom with this near stranger, the simple act of finding arousal with someone he didn’t know smacked Sam across the consciousness but he wanted, he was hard and aching and he wanted.
So he asked, and he was given.
But that wasn’t the least of things which he hadn’t expected.
Soft and pliant, wrapped in cool sheets and sore in the loose sort of way that promised an achy morning, what Sam hadn’t expected was to be kept up for hours. Talking of not much at all. And everything at once.
Gadreel didn’t press him for conversation, yet seemed so genuinely curious that Sam wanted to oblige him. In trivialities such as his thoughts on modern art, and things that were not trivial in the slightest like how much Sam missed his brother and the things he’d left behind.
Answering with sympathy without the overly sweet tinge of false concern, Gadreel answered him in kind with his own short and detached stories of the distance in his family, of absence. Slowly, Sam relaxed, still with a sense that he shouldn’t trust, but with an inescapable need to be understood, and before he knew it the dawn was coming through the windows and he could hear birds.
Wanting more Sam asked for something comforting. Least of all did he expect Gadreel to hum, arms tightening around Sam as they shifted pressed against each other unwilling to release the soothe of contact. And then he sang, in a gruff conscientious voice, a melancholic lullaby.
Sam, off-kilter in uncharted territory, fell asleep to the warbling strains of a passing lover baring himself with the undeniably human need to share and be known.
Okay look I might be a little too drunk to write at this point but I love you and I'm going to give you some sentimental drivel that doesn't make much sense at all okay. <333
Once again it is a holiday I did not know about and most of the shops and museums are closed. I have wine and an itch to write, but none of my polybingo wips are going anywhere. Send me some prompts! Please send prompts as a ship and a single word prompt (poly ships and compound words/phrases that are a single idea are acceptable). Ex: Wincestiel+potatos, DeanxAaron+kissing, SamxMeg+domestic service, that sort of thing.
Will your prompt get filled? Who knows, try your luck. As usual they will be filled according to my fickle whim.
what he had, prompt for @citrusjava, Dean and the first days after Sam left for Stanford, mature, ~1k words
A truck horn blared on the freeway outside the motel, followed by the angry beep-beep of a smaller car’s horn, and Dean scrunched his face up against the noise, his whole body hurting. Traffic went on, wheels thumping against pavement, the rumble of bad mufflers and squealing brakes that needed replaced. Dean rolled to the shady side of the bed and burrowed his head under a pillow.
It wasn’t too long until there wasn’t a shady side of the bed.
The flimsy curtains were drawn and didn’t offer much resistance to the morning sunlight. Dean’s head throbbed in time with his pulse. His whole body throbbed. He needed to piss and his mouth felt like dried scraped shit, so he stumbled out of bed to the bathroom.
Gulping palmfuls of tepid water from his hand, Dean splashed some over his face, ran his fingers back through his hair. His eyes were red-rimmed in the mirror.
There was an AP Chemistry textbook open on the wobbly table in the living space. Dean wasn’t going to return that to the school that it belonged to. Kicking his way through a pile of dirty laundry on the floor, almost half of it was Sam’s. The canvas jacket slung over the back of a chair was, and the sawed off and Taurus sitting in a pile of cleaned weapons spread out the counter surface.
Well, he probably wasn’t going to need guns in Stanford. Could probably do better for himself than the second hand clothes on the floor that was the best Dean scrape together with what little he had to offer.
It was really fucking quiet in the motel room after the shouting match between Dad and Sam last night. Dean could still hear it echoing around. And his own silence, unable to take a stand. He wanted to back his Dad up because he always did and because he needed Sam to stay, but Sam was right about a lot of things he didn’t want to think about.
Dean picked up the chemistry book and threw it against the wall hard enough to put a hole in the drywall. Then he picked up the empty bottle of Wild Turkey and threw it because breaking glass was a lot more satisfying than throwing Sam’s books.
The whiskey wasn’t really Dean’s. He liked having a beer now and then, but the whiskey, that was Dad’s.
The next thing he picked up was the lamp, because why not, but it didn’t feel that good to hear it break against the wall. Dean kicked the bed askew, stomped through the room. He didn’t really have a say in the matter. Sam did what he wanted and when he made up his mind he wouldn’t change. And Dad wouldn’t be found if he didn’t want to be, it’d probably be a few days before he got in touch with Dean.
So there was time to kill and a whole lot of nothing in his chest to fill.
-
He was tall, shaggy brown hair down to his shoulders, eyes a little too green to call hazel, thin, but his smile was bright and dimpled. Dean just wanted to be next to him, play a game of pool with him, buy him a few beers and forget his name every time that he said it.
‘Course, Dean wasn’t too good at follow through with what he meant.
Found himself pressed down to the rough sheets of a motel, as unfamiliarly familiar as they all are, head swimming with stuff harder than he usually drank, feeling hollow and needy and he hated that he couldn’t sew up this kind of wound. Couldn’t patch it and call it a day and move on.
So he let this guy, what’s his name, hold him down with a hand between his shoulder blades and one on his hips, pushing in to him, voice a little too rough, touch too insistent and confident. It kinda felt good. It was nice, in a way. It was noise and warmth, and that made it better than nothing.
Dean woke up alone the next day, used condom splatted on the floor next to the mattress and there was that at least. This time, the motel room only had his stuff in it. And what few things of Sam’s he’d shoved into the bottom of his duffel. It was fine.
There were no new messages on his phone.
Dean brushed his teeth and showered and there was a small ache between his legs that was at least distracting while he drove, so he didn’t have to think too hard or long on how empty the Impala was.
-
He’d left some messages on Dad’s phone, and some on Sam’s phone. Didn’t get a reply from either, and wasn’t it just funny how Sam always wanted to insist that he was different from Dad.
Dean found a case for himself, something to keep him busy. A salt and burn, something he could do in his sleep, although it took him a little longer on the research without his little whiz kid brother to do the mind work. But he managed, only a little bruised, and the swell of pride as he stood over a burning grave was for the first time something all his, that only he had earned and worked for, and he almost thought that he could make it.
Later, after he’d struck out with his too sour mood at the bar, sitting on a motel bed in the wash of neon green light with a bottle of Wild Turkey, Dean thought. It wasn’t really what he was used to and it wasn’t really what he had expected, but they really didn’t give him a choice. So he had to figure out what he could do, with what he had.
Yes yes you + free time + wine + good thing - I approve ! ! Anyways - Lovely, I have been unable to write the story I wanted to write for you, I am so sorry! Regardless - prompting, and pleas feel free to ignore for whatever reason, OK? So - tell me, if you will, about dean's first days after Sam left for Stanford, how Dean dealed, and got to where he was fine?
Baaaabee hiiii. <333 Ah don’t worry your pretty head about shoulds or coulds. I love you. Mmm, are you ready for some angst. :D (fss, Dean dealing and getting to where hes fine, puh-lease)
study buddy, SamxKevin+studying prompt for @theboykingsthrone, ~900 words, teen+
Kevin has slept maybe ten hours over the past seven days, so his judgement is questionable at best but he can’t help feeling the heavy stare of his study partner. Sam is older by almost three years, taking the course because he didn’t fulfill his core requirements early, and Kevin may be taking the class ahead. But out of everyone in the class, Kevin feels that Sam, at least, isn’t a complete idiot. His focus is more on the arts and humanities side, and Kevin understands that different kinds of intelligence apply better to different subjects, so he tries to be patient when Sam asks questions that he feels are obvious when it comes to advanced calculus. Really, these questions should have been addressed in the intro course to calculus, but one cannot necessarily rely on the competence of teachers or the difference between passing with an A or with a C.
Sam is not a difficult study partner when it comes to the material. He is intelligent and quick witted. He asks the right questions, and he does not ask them twice.
But Kevin is weak and kind of a hermit and having someone like Sam sitting across from him for hours while they study, broad shoulders straining against a tight plaid shirt, soft brown hair falling into his eyes, easy smile always ready with a question. It’s difficult.
Saturday night. Exams won’t start until Monday. There were others that had come to the study group, but they slowly dissipated with excuses of parties or even, weakly, sleeping, and now at one am there is Sam and Kevin in the small study lounge of the dormitories and Kevin’s brain has been producing steady white noise for the past half an hour and maybe they should at least break some for some food other than Mountain Dew and pretzels.
“Hey, Kevin, man you should probably get some sleep?”
Kevin blinks, shakes his head. He has some caffeine pills in his bag somewhere. “It’s fine. What were we talking about?”
“Something you know like the back of your hand, and you’re just indulging me,” Sam smiles, broad, those dimples popping and it’s really unfair. “Seriously, if you need to go to bed, don’t let me keep you up.”
Sam says this, like they haven’t been studying together until three or four am for most of the past week. But he always asks if he’s keeps Kevin up too late. If he’s bothering Kevin.
“It’s fine,” Kevin tries to wave off, focus on the text in front of him.
“Really,” Sam says, “I think I’ll get at least a B because of you, we can stop. I probably won’t make much more improvement between now and the test on Tuesday. But your effort is valiant, and appreciated.”
Kevin rolls his eyes, hand still rummaging through his bag for the bottle of caffeine pills, ah and there they are. Taking two with some Mountain Dew, Kevin focuses back on his text book.
Sam’s hand is warm - and huge - when it settles on his own over a book. “Really, man, do you ever sleep?”
Kevin blinks up at him, “Provided the correct balance of chemical stimulation, humans don’t need more than a few hours of sleep a night.”
“Uh-huh,” Sam nods, the thumb of his hand sweeping over Kevin’s wrist, moving higher to span out over his forearm. “But maybe…” Sam starts, and he doesn’t finish that though.
Sitting a few feet away from each other at a round table in the communal space of the dorm which windows look out over a very scenic alley to the science building, Kevin keeps his eyes focused on his textbook as his fingers start to play in Sam’s grasp, doing their own thing it seems despite what he would tell them.
There is a warm, strange tingle building along his spine that he is not entirely familiar with, as Sam sweeps a hand up higher and closes an arm around Kevin’s shoulders, leans closer so that he is warm and present and undeniably there. Kevin is not a hundred percent certain about what he should to do with this situation. He is perhaps eighty five percent certain on what he should do with it. And ninety seven percent on what he wants to do with it. But what he should do with it? He doesn’t have the experience to calculate that. What he has an impending week of important exams and papers to finish and friends and acquaintances who are depending on his tutoring help.
But Sam.
Sam will pass with or without him.
Sam is there, and soft, and undemanding. Kevin’s heart is moving too fast with the concentrated caffeine, and other stimulation, but he wants. It’s not rational, which, frankly, offends him.
So he tilts his head to the side, offers his mouth to Sam, clumsy in how he moves. Sam makes a pleased soft sort of noise, holds his face and moves him, presses a tongue deeper into Kevin’s mouth as a hand falls on Kevin’s thigh and grips up tighter.
“Relaxation can really help with studying, too…” Sam says, like an afterthought, like it’s really that easy.
Kevin tenses, relaxes, tenses, as Sam shifts closers and kisses him deeper.
“C’mon, let’s call it a night.”
Kevin is hard and he wonders at that, because it’s never this easy, but he’s been watching Sam for weeks, for months, charismatic and lovable Sam with his sharp wit and agreeable nature, and this is Sam now looking at him with something raw writ across his face and all his focus is on Kevin.
Maybe... maybe with the right person it could be this easy.
So Kevin, he tilts his head and kisses the corner of Sam’s mouth. He’s not going to sleep anytime soon with these caffeine pills, but surely Sam can think of something to do that’s not the monotony of studying. So he says, “Yeah. Okay.”
losing control, prompt for @samanddeaninpanties, SamxCasxJimmy+hunger, ~800 words, explicit
Sam sat under the unflattering harsh wash of Denny’s lighting and enjoyed his heart healthy egg white with spinach omelette, watching as the twins in the booth across from him poured an ungodly amount of syrup over everything and started to viciously attack the truly impressive mounds of food on each of their respective plates.
Honestly, Sam has never seen anyone with worse eating habits than Dean.
Granted, they were all pretty drunk, and a little high, and it was four AM on a Sunday. But the twins had both ordered plates stacked with pancakes, eggs, hash browns, sausages, bacon and toast. They had milkshakes too. Despite the fact that they both ordered the same thing, they ate off each other’s plates. Cas took Jimmy’s bacon, Jimmy took Cas’ sausage. It was like watching two Dean’s.
Sam finished his omelette and sipped on his - unsweetened - ice tea.
After inhaling half of a pancake in a single bite, Cas looked up at him, syrup glistening on his lips, and asked, “Are you sure you’re not still hungry?”
“No, I’m good.”
Cas hummed and stabbed a piece of bacon on Jimmy’s plate.
Jimmy at least had more polite manners, wiping his mouth on a napkin and swallowing when he said, “I don’t know how you get so buff, you hardly seem to eat.”
Sam shrugged, familiar with the line of questioning. “Protein shakes.”
The twins both squinted at him with perfect synchronicity, and as creepy as it could be sometimes, it also kind of really turned him on how they could both focus on him seemingly without any coordination or communication, like copies of each other.
Sam may still be sensible enough to order something mildly healthy, but weed always makes him horny and he’s been sporting a half-hard on just watching these two shove huge quantities of food into their mouths. Vindictively, he reaches across the table and swipes Cas’ strawberry milkshake for himself.
Cas shrugs, and swipes Jimmy’s vanilla shake.
Jimmy stabs a fork into the last pancake on Cas’ plate and drags it over to his.
-
The barbells laddered on the underside of Cas’ dick slide over Sam’s tongue, hard and skin warmed. Fingers tighten in his hair, Cas tilting Sam’s head upward, pressing against the back of his throat. Sam gags a second, relaxes, wills his body to accept it.
“Guess it’s good you won’t throw up after eating too much.” Cas says.
Indignantly, still struggling out of his clothes to the side of the ratty blue couch in the twins’ apartment, Jimmy huffs. “Hey, that only happened four times okay.”
“One time is too much, Jimmy.” Cas says.
Sam kind of just wants them to stop bickering and focus on him. They’re always bickering. Sometimes it’s cute. But right now, now Sam digs his blunt nails into the sharp lines of Cas’ hips and pulls him closer, throat clutching around his dick and Cas gasps, spasms under his touch.
The window curtains are gauzy lace and the morning sunlight is brightening, birds trilling outside the open windows cheerfully and it’s kind of annoying that they’ve spent so long out at the fet party and then getting breakfast-dinner that it’s a new day all bright and sunny and Sam just wants to get the kind of dirty you should do in the dark.
Finally naked, stumbling a little, Jimmy drags a hand down Sam’s back as he settles behind him, noisily kicking the coffee table out of the way.
Rubbing soothing circles over Sam’s hip, Jimmy kisses down the line of his spine gently, sweetly, while Cas continues roughly fucking his throat.
“How much prep do you want, Sam?” Jimmy asks, always polite.
Cas pulls back, leaves Sam gasping for air.
He shaved and cleaned before meeting the twins last night, in preparation of course, and Sam is kind of feeling disconnected from his body and he wants it to hurt a little so he says, “Just fuck me.”
Cas fingers curl against his jaw, pulling his head up to look and Cas smiles at him, blue eyes bright and so fond, “Such a pretty fucktoy for us,” he says.
Heat blooms in Sam’s gut and his dick taps merrily up against his stomach. Praise and adoration really is all he needs.
“Such a good boy,” Jimmy agrees.
Cas holds his dick steady with one hand and slaps it against Sam’s mouth, slides in deep as Sam opens. Sam hears the crinkle of a condom wrapper and Jimmy spreads two fingers slick wtih lube into him, perfunctory, and then there’s the blunt pressure as he presses, Sam breathes deep, feels himself open and it’s sharp and bright for a moment then starts to twist with that tight sort of pleasure and Sam goes lax.
Cas cradles his face and fucks his mouth, Jimmy holds his hips gently and rolls in deep steady motions, and Sam. He may deny himself certain kinds of hunger because discipline and control is important in many aspects of his life, but this, in the right hands losing control is exactly what he wants.
start again, prompt for @mystifiedgal for wincest+thundestorms, teen, ~800 words
The rain started heavy and sudden, slamming against the windshield like a wall. Dean flipped on the wiper blades, squinted and drove a little slower. They were driving to St Lois for a weird case of body doubles and old friends that didn’t really know who Sam was.
Sam propped his elbow on the passenger door and closed his eyes, letting the heavy noise of so much rain pounding on the roof of the car wash over him. Grumbling, Dean turned the music down a little. This late at night, on a road with no street lights, it was a matter of moments before Dean resigned himself and pulled over to the shoulder.
Glancing out the window, Sam could barely see the wood posts of the fence that was a couple feet from the car.
“Guess we’re stuck here.”
Sam shrugged, “It’ll pass quick enough.”
Dean turned off the engine, crossed his arms over his chest and sulked. Darkness settled deeper without the headlights struggling through the fall of rain. A streak of lightning zig zagged across the sky on the horizon, illuminating fields stretching out flatly in all directions. Dean sighed, leaned back against the seat and his head lolled as he scrubbed a hand over his face. He was pale in the brief spotlight wash of lightning, stubble of a few days across the sharp angles of his jaw. Sam knew how hard it was on Dean that they couldn’t seem to get in touch with Dad, that he didn’t seem to want to get in touch with them. Sam didn’t feel it himself, the loss of contact, but he understood it.
Without music to compete with, the noise of the rain wrapped around them and the car felt smaller for it. Thunder rolled moments after the lightning, rumbling deep.
Sam stretched a hand across the seat, spread his fingers tentatively over Dean’s thigh. They used to be a lot closer, a lot bolder than this. In some ways, Sam appreciated the quiet sort of respect Dean offered, giving him space to grieve Jess and to pretend that he wasn’t settling back into the life. But Sam needed to feel his brother again, couldn’t stand having him right there and yet at arms length. Delicate, careful. Dean never used to treat him like that. Maybe he was afraid of Sam leaving again. Sam didn’t know if he’d have the strength to do it a second time.
Dean put a hand over Sam’s, lightly for a second, before twining their fingers together. Neck still stretched out, eyes closed, the next clap of thunder showed the crease in his forehead and how his lips tightened as he stayed still, closed his hand over Sam’s.
One little shift of his hips at a time, Sam scooted closer, stopped in the middle of the seat. Darkness wrapped around them again as the last fits of lightning faded. He felt the seat move as Dean did, Dean sliding his hand up Sam’s arm, stretching his hand across the curve of Sam’s shoulder, fingers curling against the back of his neck. It was a simple, understated touch and Sam shivered with how much he needed this simple reassurance.
The car was quiet and still on the edge of tension they held, a small space in the middle of the fervor of the storm. Sam kept his eyes open, keen to catch the sight of Dean leaning away from his seat and towards Sam when the next bolt of lightning hit in the distance, thunder rumbling faster on it’s heels, closer.
Dean didn’t quite press into his space, but he spread a leg wider, knocked his knee against Sam’s, came close enough to rest his cheek against Sam’s bicep.
Sam dropped his head to the side, close enough to nudge his forehead against Deans, noses brushing. They stayed like that for minutes, a few points of contact between their bodies, the warmth of Dean’s breath tickling over Sam’s lips and his cheeks as he strained his will not to move. To content himself with what he could have. With patience, more would come.
The lightning stopped flashing, and the rain began to ease from torrential to driveable. Too dark to see, quiet enough to hear Dean breathing, lips parted slightly, fingers restless against the back of Sam’s neck as they spread up through his hair and soothed down the line of his spine teasing under the hem of his shirt.
“Think we can get going again…” Dean said, and didn’t move.
Sam wanted to start again, and not with the driving, but he nodded and moved his face just a little closer so that he felt the brush of Dean’s soft lips when he said, “Yeah, probably.”
Barely, Dean pressed back, fingers curling around the side of his neck as Dean kissed him briefly and pulled away.
“Yeah, okay.”
He turned the car back on, squinted through the windshield as the wipers splashed side to side. Sam still held on to one of Dean’s hands across the space of the front seat, and Dean let him.
Once again it is a holiday I did not know about and most of the shops and museums are closed. I have wine and an itch to write, but none of my polybingo wips are going anywhere. Send me some prompts! Please send prompts as a ship and a single word prompt (poly ships and compound words/phrases that are a single idea are acceptable). Ex: Wincestiel+potatos, DeanxAaron+kissing, SamxMeg+domestic service, that sort of thing.
Will your prompt get filled? Who knows, try your luck. As usual they will be filled according to my fickle whim.
Dean parks his work truck outside the address of his first appointment for the morning at seven fifty-one, and it would be a nice bungalow house if it weren’t for the color. Stepping out to stare from the curb, Dean marvels at the truly outrageous pink that the house is painted, its shutters a deep magenta. The thing is like a big ‘fuck you’ to the neighbors.
It’s well maintained. It would be a model house of neighborly good will, with it’s close cut grass and weed-free flower gardens, hell the porch has wicker furniture and there’s a long row of wind chimes sounding merrily in the light morning breeze.
It’s a cute house, but god, that pink is horrible.
Okay, maybe Dean’s a little judgmental in the morning when he’s cranky and the coffee hasn’t kicked in yet. He’s early by a few minutes, but it is his first stop. He had given a courtesy call when he was five minutes away, and didn’t receive an answer. If someone doesn’t answer the door, then he’ll probably mill around outside until the appointment time.
Walking up the neat stone-paver path to the front porch, stairs stooped with age but sturdy, Dean rings the doorbell. After a minute, he knocks just in case the doorbell doesn’t work. The porch is inviting, pastel floral print cushions on the wicker furniture and someone is in the middle of a jig-saw puzzle on the wicker table. Dean would think someone’s grandma lives here, but when he’d taken the phone request for an estimate regarding a small roof leak, it was definitely a guy, didn’t sound too old, but shit, Dean wanted him to be a sex-phone operator.
Was that still a thing? With internet porn and cam girls, did sex phone lines still exist?
Dean’s wandering thoughts are cut off by the loud and hurried sound of someone tromping down the stairs. The door is swung open and Dean’s about to apologize for being a few minutes early, but, wow, that is a lot to take in.
He’s not wearing a shirt, and Dean’s gaze moves in jerky flicks from blue eyes, tousled dark hair, to pierced nipples, some kind of blocky foreign word tattoo on the side, hip bones like goddam, and tenting a pair of stupid novelty boxers with puffy clouds and cherubs on them is a very prominent erection. Bare feet, hairy legs, nicely muscled calves, back to the boner. Dean just stands and stares.
The guy, what was his name, something weird, Cas something, tugs at the front of his boxers, looking supremely uncomfortable, when an orange blur shoots past his ankles and before Dean knows what’s going on he’s bent over and grabbed a ball of fluff.
Tabby cat squirming in his arms, the guy tosses the cat back in the house and steps onto the porch, closing the door behind him.
“Sorry, I just woke up, this is, uh…”
Dean definitely does not look below the guys chin, and that pouty mouth that’s just…. “No yeah, hey, sorry about being early, I’m Dean.”
“Castiel.”
He’s given a firm hand-shake before Cas gingerly steps around him, and when Dean turns he finds that across the - truly magnificent - ass is written ‘Angel’.
Cas steps down from the porch and starts leading Dean to the side of the house.
“So, the leak is just above the stairs to the top floor, here,” he points vaguely at the roof.
“I’m gonna need to see inside, too.” Dean says.
The roof is a safe place to look - that doesn’t involve estimations of seven, maybe eight inches - even though he can’t see shit other than that the shingles are a light gray.
“What?” Cas squints at him.
“I need to see inside, where the damage is.”
“But, you’re supposed to fix the roof.”
God, he still has a hard on.
“Yep,” Dean nods, “But if I know where the damage is on the inside it’ll help me to figure out where the problem is on the outside.
“Oh,” Cas turns around and leads him back up on the porch, muttering, “I suppose that makes sense.”
The tabby cat tries to run outside as they go in, and Cas effectively nudges it aside and blocks it’s path. The inside is cluttered in an organized sort of way. Cas takes him upstairs, and the whole second floor is open, sloping towards a row of windows in the front and the back that are covered with gauzy orange and gold curtains. It’s a pretty small and low space, scattered with rugs and pillows and it looks like some kind of hippy’s den with far east decorations, so Dean’s not sure why Cas didn’t want him to come inside but then, oh hey, that’s a sex swing in the corner and Dean missed the giant pump bottle of lube next to a gold statue of Buddha and is that really a bronze bowl full of condoms…
“So, it’s just up there.”
Cas points up and Dean snaps his gaze away from the sex swing to look at the ceiling.
“Yep. You’ve got a roof leak.”
Cas snorts and rolls his eyes.
It’s not too bad; the pale yellow paint of the ceiling is bubbling where water is retaining, but where it’s broken through there’s some crumbling plaster that’s fallen down. It’s about three square foot total, not too serious a leak. Depends on how long it was let go to get to this point.
Dean pulls a measuring tape out and takes estimates along the walls, eyeing where the damage is and making a mental note of it. Cas shifts from one foot to another, standing a few steps up from Dean, and that is definitely not the best spot for him to be standing but at least he’s not sporting morning wood now.
He does have a cute treasure trail though, stomach taught and tan between the ridges of his hips.
There’s another cat, black, sitting at the bottom of the steps when they go back down.
“Might be some old storm damage, I’ll take a look out there,” Dean says.
“I had the roof done about eight years ago, but the contractor was a jackass and I do not trust his quality of work.”
“That sucks,” Dean commiserates. “Give me ten, fifteen minutes, I’ll let you know what I see.”
Cas nods, and lets him out, grabbing the orange tabby and tucking it under his arm as he shuts the door.
Dean gets his ladder from the truck and climbs up to the gently sloping roof of the bungalow. He guesstimates where the damage should be, checking around, and finds a few nails sticking up that could be the cause for a slow leak. Snapping a few photos on his cell phone, he climbs back down.
When he knocks, Cas answers in jeans and a t-shirt, hair somewhat flattened, and steps onto the porch.
“So, I found some nails sticking up, that’ll be a slow leak, and I can nail them down and caulk around them and that should fix your problem,” Dean shows Cas the photos on his phone, “It could be something else, I didn’t notice anything, but if the caulking doesn’t work you give me a call and I’ll come back out again okay.”
Cas frowns at the phone, finger swiping between photos, and Dean yanks it back before Cas swipes too far.
He really should get separate phones for work and private.
“How much would it be?”
Dean shrugs, it’s not a high or a steep roof, mostly it’s the cost for coming out, “Seventy five, but if it’s still leaking we’ll discount that towards any further work that needs to be done.”
“That sounds very reasonable. When can you complete the work?”
“I can do it now, it’ll take maybe fifteen minutes.”
Dean’s next appointment is another estimate he needs to be at between nine and ten, so he has plenty of time.
“Okay,” Cas nods, tucking one hand in his back pocket and cocking his hips and his feet are bare, toes curling over the edge of a paver stone and onto soft green grass, and christ, he’s got clothes on now and Dean’s having dirty thoughts about his bare feet. “Do you take personal checks?”
Snapping his gaze back up to Cas’ eyes, and geeze it’s even worse that looking at his feet, Dean says, “Yeah, of course. I’m gonna climb up there, I’ll knock when I’m done.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
Dean gives Cas a short half-wave and heads back to his ladder that’s still propped against the side of the house. He doesn’t miss how Cas trails after him to the corner of the house and watches him get up on the roof. A lot of people want to watch while you work because even though they don’t know shit about what you’re doing they want to make sure you’re doing it right, and other people are concerned when he’s on a minor job on his own like he shouldn’t be getting up on a ladder without a spotter. There’s a tiny egotistical voice in Dean’s head that reminds him the jeans he wore this morning make his ass look fantastic.
It’s not much work to tap down a few nails and caulk them, and Dean’d feel kind of bad about charging seventy-five for it, but it’s the minimum for a service call. He kind of wants Cas to still be waiting for him when he climbs back down, but the guy isn’t, so Dean secures his ladder to his truck again and puts the caulk away.
When he knocks on the front door, Cas waves him inside and Dean makes sure the screen is shut, the orange tabby watching them with a sharp gaze from it’s perch on a table a few feet from the door.
“Would you like anything to drink?” Cas asks, “Water? Coffee?”
Dean can smell coffee brewing somewhere in the house, and really, he shouldn’t be accepting anything but a check from their customers, but a quick glance at his watch tells him it’s barely past eight thirty, so he’d probably end up grabbing a coffee somewhere else anyway, and if Cas already has it on.
“Sure, coffee would be great, thanks.”
“Sugar? Cream?”
Dean follows Cas to the back of the house where the kitchen sits narrow and bathed in sunlight, pots of herbs set in the windowsills that have delicate lacey curtains over the top half.
“Uh, just black, thanks.”
Cas gets a mug down and Dean is probably a little too curious as he glances around at the lime green toaster, the yellow coffee maker, the pink microwave and, wait, seriously, “Is that a Hello Kitty microwave?”
“Yes,” Cas passes him a mug that has colorfully painted birds on it, “I found it at an estate sale. It’s small, but I like it.”
Dean studies the microwave while he takes a sip of coffee, hot and bitter and a little spicy, “Damn, that’s good coffee.”
“Thank you.” After he pours a mug for himself, this one a shimmery gray pattern, Cas riffles through a small basket on the counter that’s set under some kind of wood divided organizer affixed to the wall that looks like it holds mail and bills. Pulling out a check book and pen, Cas leans his elbows on the counter and stoops over while he writes his check, jeans pulling tight over his ass and Dean is having inappropriate thoughts.
“Do I make it out to Winchester and Sons?” Cas asks, glancing over his shoulder, noticing that Dean is noticing him and there’s a smug fucking smile on his face.
Dean coughs, shifting from one foot to the other then leaning against the counter. “Yeah, that’s good.”
“Is it a family business?”
“Yeah, my grandfather started it, my dad took over, and my poor kid brother, he didn’t want to be a contractor so he went to college and got a fancy degree but he couldn’t find a job so he started working with us to pay off his loans.”
“At least he had somewhere to go for a job.”
“Our dad gives him shit for it, but it’s good work.”
Cas passes the check over, stepping closer than is necessary as Dean sets his mug down and folds it to put in his pocket.
“I want to give you my number, Dean.”
“I have your contact information.” Dean says, like a dumbass.
“I don’t mean as a client.” Cas leans in closer, and he smells fucking amazing. “I mean for a personal, intimate capacity.”
Dean swallows thickly and nods. “No, yeah, that totally works too.”
Dean’s not sure if Cas is completely unaware of boundaries, or if he’s crossing them on purpose, or if it’s because Dean’s brain is not getting any messages right now - his dick’s the stupid one getting messages - but Cas slips his hand into Dean’s pocket and pulls out his phone, enters a number into the contacts, then puts his phone back, hand lingering warm against Dean’s thigh and god, forget the coffee, Dean needs to find somewhere private to jack off before his next estimate.
“Thank you for fixing my roof Dean. I’ll give you a call later.”
-
Cas doesn’t actually call Dean, he’s more of a texter, with a lot of emojis. Dean doesn’t understand what all of it means, but he gets a date out of it. And he was trying to do things, y’know, how they should be done. Getting to know each other, talking, eating out, being friends first. But Cas, either he isn’t interested in being Dean’s friend, or he thought that sex came before friendship.
Either way, Dean can deal.
An effort has been made. Dean figures the traditional movie and dinner was the way to go, Cas wants to see some ‘avant-garde’ theatre performance - whatever that was - and somehow they wind up starting with greasy burgers at a dive joint and then they’re…. making out in the Impala.
Dean totally kisses on the first date.
Dean totally does more than that on the first date.
So he’s got a hand down Cas’ jeans, his mouth scraping against the stubble on Cas’ neck, both of them twisted together in the front seat and pushed against the passanger door, in a shady corner of the parking lot and you know what, Dean doesn’t really care if he’s a slut.
Because honestly? Cas is more of a slut than Dean is.
He’s loud and unashamed as he moans and pushes his hips up, one arm thrown over the back of the seat, the other hand clutching a tight fist of Dean’s shirt between his shoulder blades. Cas shifts and squirms like he’s not sure how best to settle in for a steamy make-out-session handjob in the front seat of a car. Dean’s done this plenty of times. The backseat is better for a quicky, you just have to make sure not to knock your head on the ceiling too much.
“Dean,” Cas groans, drawing it out filthy and his name sounds so good coming out of that mouth, “Dean, I really want to suck you off.”
“Shit.”
Squeezing tight around the base of Cas’ dick, fingers spreading down to tease his balls, Dean shoves his face against Cas’ neck and humps the shin of Cas’ leg folded awkwardly between the seat and Dean.
“You want to go back to your place?” Dean asks, leaning back so he can look at Cas’ face, flushed pretty in the sharp shadows of the parking lot lights, “I really wanna try out that swing.”
“Mm, later, I’ll fuck you in the swing later…”
Rolling his head to the side, Cas glances out the window, the brick building rising up on the side of the Impala, and it might just be luck that Dean picked a corner spot, or maybe he’s fooled around in his car so much it’s instinct at this point to pick an advantageous spot.
Fumbling behind him, Cas opens the door and half falls out, Dean wrapping an arm around his broad chest to hold him steady as he scurries backward. Jeans still open and hard on hanging out, Cas manages to get out of the car as he drags Dean towards him, the two of them glancing around the parking lot. There’s a drunk couple stumbling out the back door and they fall into a taxi together, and someone is smoking leaned against the side of the wall but they’re focus is on their phone in their hands.
Swinging his legs out in front of him, Dean leans back on his elbows and sets his boots on the gravel, knees spread wide and Cas crouches and looks up at him, hands eager and rough on his jeans as Cas getts them opened and pulled down his hips.
Dean brushes a hand through Cas’ soft hair, cups the back of his head as he goes down, plush lips wrapping around the head of Dean’s dick and he tongues lazily at it a while, makes Dean’s eyes roll back and his hips stutter. Cas leans an arm against one of Dean’s thighs, moves the other restlessly under his shirt spreading up his ribs, nimble fingers tweaking his nipples.
It turns fast and sloppy, and that’s kind of the idea of a parking-lot blowjob, but it hits Dean hard. Cas sucks him down and more than anyone seeing into their dark corner Dean thinks someone might hear the wet greedy noises that Cas makes, taking a little more every time he goes down, until Dean can feel the give of his throat, the clutch of him starting to gag a little before he swallows and determinedly presses his nose to Dean’s skin. Fuck.
Dean falls back against the seat, thighs closing tight against Cas’ strong shoulders, muscles tensing as Cas barely moves on him, doing wicked things with his tongue, fingers still playing with Dean’s nipples.
Clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle a needy whimper, Dean comes hard in the tight heat of Cas’ mouth, hips twitching.
Cas pulls off his dick wetly, grinning, turns his head to the side and spits on the gravel then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. As he stands up, glancing around the parking lot, he tucks his still hard dick back in his jeans and that’s a tragedy.
Dean sits up, stomach weak and trembling still, presses his face against a sharp hip and palms at Cas’ dick.
“As much a that’s appreciated, I have plans for you.”
“Mmm?” Dean nuzzles his way up under a t-shirt and mouths at warm skin.
“Remember, you want to try out that swing?”
One of Cas’ eyebrows goes up as he pins Dean with his stare, and Dean won’t be able to get it up again tonight but he’s definitely down to let Cas do whatever he wants.
“Mhmm.”
Blunt nails scrape through his short hair and Cas tugs his head back.
Notes: written for @spnpolybingo square ‘summer camp au’, underage (unspecified, all parties around 16-ish), drinking, incest, self piercings
-
“Where did you even get that?”
Dean squints in the dim light of the boathouse, the sun setting on the other side of the lake slanting in through the open face of the rickety structure and there’s a little piece of gem studded metal dangling from Cas’ fingers.
“You know the counselor, Lisa, wears skimpy bikinis?” Cas grinned. “I noticed she’s always got a different piece in her belly.
“He stole it, is what he’s trying to say,” Jimmy rolls his eyes, arms folded over his chest as he warily glances out the exposed front of the boathouse then to the door at the side which doesn’t have a lock.
“Of course I did,” Cas chides his twin.
Dean’s only known these two since the start of summer camp a month ago, but Cas has got stickier fingers than he does. Sure, Dean steals from the supermarket when the cupboards are getting bare, or sometimes from the salvation army, but Cas steals because he wants to.
“So,” Dean glances down the faded green t-shirt Cas is wearing with the holes ringing the stretched out collar, to the flat of his belly, “Do I get to poke you this time?”
“No,” Cas tells him gleefully, “You get to help me poke my brother.”
Jimmy sighs and turns his eyes up to the ceiling, clutching his arms tighter against his chest. “I told you no, Cas.”
“Yeah, but when do I ever listen.”
“Your nipple piercings got infected.”
“But they’re fine now, and I’ve got this.”
Tucking the piece of jewelry into his cut-off jean shorts pocket, Cas drops his backpack onto the wet-swollen wood of the boathouse and pulls out a quarter full bottle of vodka.
“Oh, hey, nice,” Dean reaches out, and yeah okay maybe sometimes he steals stuff like this too, usually from his dad, but Cas swats his hand away.
“It’s for Jimmy’s belly button first, it’s a disinfectant so our princess here doesn’t have to worry about an infection, then we get the rest.”
“I’m not a princess,” Jimmy frowns.
“You’re a little prissy, Jimmy,” Dean says, “But it makes it easy to tell the two of you apart.”
Cas laughs and grabs at his twin, tugging at the hem of Jimmy’s shirt.
“Jesus, Cas, you’re so much worse when you have someone that actually agrees with you.”
Cas slaps a palm to his chest, “Did you just take the lord’s name in vain!”
“Shut up!” Jimmy shoves Cas away, but then he uses the space to pull his own shirt up over his head.
Both twins are skinny and pale, despite spending the same amount of time out in the sun that has gotten Dean freckled and a bronzed. He knows they’re from a strict and very large Catholic family, but the religious upbringing doesn’t seem to be sticking for how many crude jokes they make. And probably the incest thing. And the stealing. And self-piercings.
Cas smiles approvingly, setting the vodka down and digging an apple and a pocket knife out of his bag. Dean didn’t actually get to see the first time Cas pierced himself at the start of the summer. Both nipples. The safety pins he left in are kind of weird, but Dean loves how he whimpers when they’re tugged on.
Cutting a small thumbnail sized chunk of apple out, Cas passes it to Dean. He takes out a safety pin and lighter, holding the sharp point of the pin over the flame.
Jimmy sighs like he’s resigned to this, but Dean’s pretty sure that he likes the trouble Cas gets him into. Cas is the one to lead, forge headfirst into whatever batshit crazy notion has taken his fancy on any given day, while Jimmy acts the voice of reason and enjoys the adventure while maintaining ‘I told you so’ status.
Grabbing the vodka bottle, Jimmy takes a swig and coughs, then pours some on his belly, uncaring of how it drips onto his jeans and darkens the waist, scrubbing at the skin of his navel.
“If this gets infected I’m not blowing you for like a month.”
Cas clucks his tongue, “Idle threats don’t scare me.”
Slipping the lighter into his pocket, Cas takes the apple piece from Dean and passes him the stolen jewelry. “Splash some vodka on that,” he tells Dean.
Cupping it in his palm, Dean pours a little on it and lets it sit, then takes a sip for himself. Jimmy angles himself better into a sliver on sunset orange light and Cas kneels in front of him. Holding the apple against the skin under the navel, Cas pinches in the middle, squints, moves his position slightly to the left.
“Just do it already.” Jimmy grouses.
“I know you’d rather I do it right,” Cas mumbles, then shoves the safety pin through Jimmy’s skin.
Jimmy squeaks, then scrunches his face up. “That wasn’t so bad.”
“That’s only half of it,” Cas tells him.
Leaving the pin hanging, Cas holds a hand out to Dean, and Dean drops the jewelry onto his palm. Cas tells Jimmy, “Hold still,” before yanking the safety pin out and shoving the jewelry through.
Dean winces as he watches, fascinated.
Cas hums, pleased, and pours more vodka where Jimmy is bleeding a little, then laps it up off his skin. Dean’s gotta admit, the belly button piercing is pretty cute. He’s always liked that kind of shit on girls, although there’s only a few white-trash enough to have them at his school, but it works on guys too.
Jimmy’s whimpering while Cas tongues around the pink and agitated skin, pours more vodka on it. Cas looks up from his knees at Dean and smiles.
“Hey Dean, you want to see something pretty?”
Dean’s already stiff in his jeans. For one, he thought they were coming out to the boathouse for a little privacy, a little hands on fun. Then Jimmy took his shirt off and now Cas is tongue fucking his freshly pierced navel. So yeah, he’s got his expectations, which to be fair, they’ve only encouraged. And Cas is asking him if he wants to see something pretty.
The first time Cas said that, a week after they were all dumped at this free summer camp for ‘at-risk’ youths, that was when Cas had shown Dean the safety pins in his nipples, that were bizarre, but when asked if he wanted to touch them fuck yes Dean did. The second time Cas said that, he kissed his twin in front of Dean and Dean had jerked off in the woods behind the cabin after that. The third time Cas had asked him that, Jimmy had gotten down on his knees in the boathouse and gave Cas a blow job.
So yeah, Dean really wants to see something pretty.
“Fuck yeah,” he groans, reaching for the bottle of vodka Cas passes him, after Jimmy’s taken another sip.
Cas stands, hands working Jimmy’s jeans open, leans close and murmurs something in his twin’s ear while Jimmy closes his eyes and nods, turns around. Cas pulls his jeans and underwear down to Jimmy’s ankles and Jimmy leans forward a little. He’s got a tight ass, narrow hips, knobs of his spine bumping up under the skin of his back. Cas puts a hands on Jimmy’s asscheek, pulls it wide and tips Jimmy forward a little so Dean can see the pink furl of his hole, hairless and soft and sweet looking. Dean licks sour vodka off his lips and nods stupidly.
Cas sucks one of his fingers into his mouth, being loud on purpose, before he circles it around Jimmy’s hole and presses inside.
“Tell my brother he’s pretty, Dean.”
“God, he’s so pretty.”
Jimmy whines and bends forward more, arching his ass up, and he reaches one hand back to pull the other asscheek that Cas doesn’t have a hand on wider, showing off.
“Jesus christ.”
Jesus. Christ.
“Have you ever tried this on someone else, Dean?” Cas asks, slowly moving his finger in and out.
Dean shakes his head no.
“Have you ever tried this on yourself?”
He can feel the heat in his cheeks and it’s useless trying to lie to Cas, so he nods his head yes.
“Try it on me,” Jimmy says high and breathy.
“Yeah, okay.”
Dean’s not a virgin. He lost that in the eighth grade. Sure, he’s mostly been with girls, but it’s easier. He’s fumbled around in the dark, in the backseat of a car, got his hands up a cheerleader’s skirt under the bleachers. Guys have always been more of a passing fantasy, a better not get caught with, that he hasn’t pursued. Not until Cas and Jimmy pursued him. And they are shameless.
He passes the vodka bottle back to Cas, after Cas takes his finger out of his brother, and Dean sucks on his own finger before he touches the hot skin between Jimmy’s legs. Running the pad of his finger over the small wrinkles that twitch under his touch, Dean marvels at it for a moment before he tries pressing inside. It’s tight, and resists, but Cas leans over and spits right where Dean’s finger is trying to go and that’s the filthiest goddam thing he’s experienced in his short life. Every time he hooks up with these two they show him something filthier. He slides inside and it’s so fucking hot and smooth Dean’s dick jerks in his jeans and drips precome.
Cas hums, takes a deep sip of vodka and passes it to Jimmy.
“I’m going to watch you fuck my brother.” Cas says.
It’s not a question.
The bottle of vodka clunks onto the boathouse floor and Jimmy bends further, bracing his hands on his knees and shoving back against Dean.
“Fuck. Yeah, fuck, you two are sluts.”
“So are you, Dean.” Cas tells him, something wicked glinting in those blue eyes. “Try another finger.”
Dean’s not sure one went in that well, but he’s broader and larger than the twins everywhere, one of his fingers almost two of Cas’ slim ones. Cas is grabbing something else out of his bag though, a bottle of baby oil, like what he sees the girls spreading on themselves when they go sunning at the lake beach. Cas drips it down Jimmy’s crack and Dean smears his fingers through it while Jimmy squirms and moans some kind of ‘yes, yeah, please’ and Dean gets two fingers into him easy.
Cas moves around in front of Jimmy, crouches down and takes his twin’s face in his hands, kisses Jimmy filthy and noisy. Without his intense scrutiny straight on Dean, Dean loosens. Spreads a hand over Jimmy’s hip and smoothes up the curve of his back. Twists his fingers in deep while Jimmy shivers, body clutching around him and it’s nothing like fingering a girl.
The lake ripples with a gentle breeze, lapping at the supports under the boathouse, and the sun has dipped under the horizon leaving them in inky twilight gloom. It smells like musty old lakewater has seeped into every crevice of the boathouse, swollen it to creak and shift under them. Dean could be doing this in the primitive cramped outhouses of the camp and he’d be ready to go.
Cas steps next to Dean, settles a hand on his forearm as Dean curls his fingers inside of Jimmy, and pulls him slowly out.
“You’ll take care of Jimmy with me, won’t you?”
Dean nods dumbly and opens his mouth when Cas puts the rim of the vodka bottle to his lips, kisses away the stinging taste. Jimmy straightens and kicks his jeans off, a fresh red bead dripping down from his belly button, and his dick is slapping hard against his stomach under it, as he digs around in the back pack for a towel. Neatly folding it - and really, it’s kind of cute when he’s prissy - Jimmy sets it on the boathouse floor and kneels on it. Cas gets a hand in Dean’s jeans, shoves them down and pulls his dick out, stroking it firmly as he nips at Dean’s mouth. He nudges Dean down, and Dean kneels behind Jimmy’s spread legs as Jimmy drops forward onto his hands.
“Do I, uh,” Dean starts, thinking he should probably ask about a condom, but it’s not like he can get a boy pregnant, and Cas passes him the bottle of baby oil so he slicks himself up.
Cas pours another shot into Jimmy’s upturned mouth and settles in front of him, kissing him messily and grabbing his tousled hair sharply.
Dean’s dick slips between Jimmy’s thighs when he tries to push in, then up, so he grips himself in one hand and insistently presses against the pink tender muscle that barely lets him in as Jimmy gasps and Cas shushes against his mouth.
He’s vice tight and so hot around Dean that Dean thinks he’s gonna finish right now, and he has to stop and rub at Jimmy’s back to distract himself. Cas is nosing along Jimmy’s neck, murmuring in his brother’s ear, one arm draped over his shoulder and fingers trailing against his shivery back.
“Is… is that alright?” Dean asks.
“Tell him what you want,” Cas says in Jimmy’s ear, staring at Dean.
“I...I, uh… f-fuck me…”
Head sagging, shoulder blades jutting up sharply, Jimmy rolls his hips backward and buries Dean almost to the base. Dean snaps his hips forward reflexively, fingers tightening against Jimmy’s waist.
Cas kneels up, pulls off his shirt because he likes how Dean stares at him, shimmies his shorts down and guides his brother’s mouth onto his dick. As far as Dean can tell, Jimmy’s happy to be some kind of living sex doll, pliant to Cas’ suggestions and hands, mouth easy to open, legs quick to spread. They’ve probably had some fucked up kind of childhood, but Dean’s fucked up too and he’s horny and he kind of admires them.
Dean rocks his hips against Jimmy, pulls out and slides in slowly while Jimmy bobs his head on Cas’ dick with a wet sucking noise. Cas tangles a hand in Jimmy’s hair, pulls him forward at the same time that he thrusts. Dean can hear Jimmy gag but it only makes him shove forward harder, trapping Jimmy between them and he squirms in a way that squeezes around Dean’s dick. Swearing, groaning, Dean screws into him fast and dirty because he’s not going to last.
Cas fucks his brother’s mouth while Dean comes deep in him, but Cas pulls out so he can jizz all over Jimmy’s face.
Dean pulls out with a slick squelch that makes his spent dick twitch, sits back on his heels panting, gaze fixed on the pink-red gape of Jimmy’s ass that drips white down the seam between his legs. Splinters dig into Dean’s knees, the noise of the water fading as the wind dies down and the night deepens. There’s no clouds in the sky and the moon is almost full, silver light glinting off the water and shining into the boathouse.
Cas pulls Jimmy up onto his knees and turns him around. Jimmy hums, leans back against Cas’ chest. There’s tear tracks streaked down his cheeks and Cas’ come dripping off his chin. Jimmy’s dick is softening, stomach glistening with white streaks, and the dark water logged wood of the boathouse floor in front of him is spattered with pearl white puddles.
Cas palms Jimmy’s dick and he shudders.
“You’re so pretty,” Dean murmurs, about both of them, and the twins give him matching satisfied, secretive smiles.
