Our Bodies, Possessed By Light -- Outtakes
Author's Notes/Warnings: Short version: this is Sam/Dean/Castiel. :) Long version: These are not strictly outtakes. Rather, this is a braindump of things that could have happened in this 'verse, but which, for the sake of the integrity of the story I wanted to tell, could not. However, that didn't stop me thinking about them, because I have a dirty mind. It also didn't stop cautionzombies drooling on me when I mentioned them to her, and insisting that I write them out please please please. Sooooo, let's just say this is the kinkmeme version of this fic: what would have happened if Dean and Cas had started fucking before Cas got a new vessel of his own, and Sam had wanted to join in. OT3 ahoy. Bonus porn, basically.
Sometimes, in the split-second before Cas comes, Dean thinks he sees it, something else in the twist of gold at the backs of his eyes, and it shouldn't make him shudder like it does, not when this is already so entirely fucked-up. It shouldn't pull him over the edge, the delusion that, in that instant, it is Sam watching him struggle for air; that every downward fuck of Dean's hips shoves his brother and his angel both inside of him. Sam is asleep, they all know that. The last thing anyone needs is for Dean to let slip the fact that, sometimes, he wishes he wasn't.
He's thought about it. Oh, he tries not to, denies it afterwards, but sometimes there comes a moment, when Cas's cock is slicking precome into his throat and Dean is delirious from lack of air, when he thinks: this is how Sam tastes. Then he swallows, flutter of muscles setting Cas spasming in his throat, and Dean drinks in the sounds Cas makes and wonders what Sam would sound like, if Cas let him speak.
He hasn't always been this way. Shit, maybe he's always been wrong where Sam's concerned, but he never looked at his cock and felt his throat burn with the urge to be filled with it, felt himself slick at the thought of how it might feel, ramming him open. No, the worst of it -- maybe the most fucked up part of this fucked up thing -- is that Dean's always been in love with his brother, but it was never sexual until Cas decided to take his body for a joyride. And now...now. Maybe if it stopped when Cas switched out, it'd be okay. It used to work that way, at first. Now, though, Sam can stalk out of the bathroom like Adonis naked and Dean knows it's him, can't help knowing, and every part of him still -wants-. He wants that skin, the muscle and breath and bone, just as hard as he wanted it last night, when Cas licked him open and fucked him deep and hard, and Dean...Dean doesn't know what to do with that. It's more of a conundrum than it should be, given that Dean's technically been sucking his little brother's dick for weeks.
Problem is, this whole thing runs on technicalities. Really, Dean knows he and Cas should never have touched, should have held the fuck off and this would never have happened. But technically, Cas said, it wouldn't be Sam at all, and -technically- Dean never had to worry. And Dean was so worn down, so frustrated and hot and in love, that he let himself be pulled. Handjobs only, at first, but blowjobs followed almost on accident, and after that they were so screwed Dean figured he might as well actually be.
Except, now, though, he has to live with that. Now he has to deal with the fact that sometimes, when Cas is inside him, he wishes it was both of them so fervently that, on occasion, he can convince himself that it is, where before he was frantically insisting that it wasn't. He has to deal with this, and he has to do it alone, because if Cas found out, Sam wouldn't be far behind, and that -- that can't happen.
When it all collapses, it's an accident, but it's Dean's fault. A self fulfilling prophecy, a flash of Sam so clear that Dean, rocking down onto Cas's cock at the crest of a wave, groans Sam's name without thinking. And then the frozen moment, Cas's eyes squeezing shut, and when they open again, it is Sam under him, Sam inside him. Sam. Dean feels the shame and panic blast through him like shrapnel, fear seizing up under his sternum. And then Sam's eyes find his, green-gold and familiar, and he says, "Dean," pulses up his hips half-consciously.
Dean comes like a fucking freight train.
After that, it'd be kind of stupid to attempt to ignore it. Especially given that Cas and Sam are both ready and able to gang up on him, switching in and out just to fuck with his head. "Dean," Cas murmurs in his ear, thumb brushing the nub of his nipple, "you can have this. We want you to have this."
"Want to fuck you together," Sam cuts in, slow drag of his mouth warm and prickling along the line of Dean's jaw. "Trade off, Dean, make it so good you can't even breathe." He bites gently at the bolt of Dean's jaw. Cas doesn't bite. "Hmm?"
"Shit," Dean groans, as if he has a choice, as if he could. "So unfair, guys. Not cool."
Cas and Sam seem to disagree.
Cas on his own fucks thoroughly, with a kind of studied tenderness that is all his own. He and Sam between them have a level of fierceness that is new; something rough and urgent that pounds Dean into the mattress under its impetus, leaves him feeling half shaken apart. Cas's tongue in his mouth becomes Sam's breath in his ear, "Dean -- shit --" and he's always liked cursing during sex; always, too, liked Cas's feral gentleness. Between them, they're perfect, and Dean doesn't know what to do with that knowledge now he has it.
Sometimes, they get creative, Sam with his legs spread and his head tipped back, watching Dean heavy-lidded while Cas trails hands all over his body. Their body, maybe -- Dean doesn't know how they swing it, but Sam's bitten-off groan when those fingers wrap firm around his cock is surprised in a way masturbation could not draw, teeth glinting whitely against the pink swell of his lip. Dean eyes the long stretch of his throat and swallows, watches his eyes, hot and green. Then Cas says, "Dean -- watch." His voice is gravel deep and his fist is working Sam's cock, obscene wet sound of it slipping in his slick. Dean bites the backs of his knuckles and groans.
"Yeah," he manages, "Cas, God."
"Tell me." Cas's fucking voice, Jesus, like iron and wine. "Tell me, Dean."
Dean feels like his skin is on fire, a liquid, living roil of it. His breath is shivering. "Cas --" His own hand creeps to his cock, fists it hard. "Wanna see it, Cas, c'mon. Make --" He swallows his shame, forces it out on a bolt of heat. "Make him come for me."
Cas smiles, slow and wicked, and it is Sam's mouth but it is not Sam's smile, nor Sam's voice, either, when it comes. "Is that what you want to see?" His hand is working faster now, blurring on Sam's dick. "You want to watch me make your brother come?"
Not a dirty word in there at all, but Dean was wrong, he doesn't need that, not when every damn thing Cas says is like liquid sin. Dean bites his lip on a groan and lets his head fall back. "Fuck. Cas, yes, Jesus!"
Cas smirks, brief, but it's there. And then Sam jerks, convulses, and he has it, Dean has it, his little brother coming for him copious and hard under Cas's clever fingers. He suddenly can't remember how breathing happens.
After, Sam is breathless, too, panting. There's a flush creeping pink across his cheekbones, a suggestion of shame, but when he says, "Dean," it is shameless, pleased and hot and satisfied. "Come on, Dean. Only fair." He uncurls his fingers, and they glisten for a moment in the light before he sucks them smoothly into his mouth, tongue flashing wetly as he licks them clean. Lust shoots a whiplash through Dean from thighs to throat, so sudden and sharp that it's almost a pain.
"Christ," he breathes, digs his fingernails into the meat of his thighs and whimpers. "Sam --"
"Cas has good ideas," Sam says, slow, and this time the smirk is his, the hot, pleased grin. "He wants to suck you, for example."
"Shit," Dean grits out, and it's more than he can take. He spreads his thighs, hitches his hips. "Do it. Cas, c'mon." A shaky inhale. "Suck me off, dammit."
They unfold together like a telescope, Cas and Sam, long and muscled and smug, but it is Cas's mouth that nudges the underside of Dean's cock one second, and then Sam's that says, "Hey. Wanna fuck you while he does it." A wet, sliding kiss, both of them; and then Sam's fingers, rubbing back between Dean's legs. "Dean, let me. Let me fuck you, just this. Just this."
Dean is too far gone for coherence, his breath rasping in his throat, Cas's, Sam's, proximity working on him like a toxin. "Do it," he repeats, desperate and not caring, "just, fuck, let me come, I gotta come, I need --"
And then there is Cas's mouth, wet and hot, Cas's clever turns of tongue around the head as Sam works in a finger, careful and deep. Dean feels invaded, enveloped; grits out something wordless and wild as his vision goes white. Barely touched, but fuck, fuck --!
He comes in Cas's mouth with a wrenched-out cry; watches Sam shutter in and out of Cas's eyes as they swallow him down, lick him from their lips.
"Dean," they say, as if it means something. As if it means everything.
masterpost