On a Hotel Bed (3/3)
Title: On a Hotel Bed (3/3)
Author: Sara Ellison
Fandom: Supernatual
Pairing: Dean/Cas, Sam/Dean, past Sam/Cas, Sam/Dean/Cas
Rating: Hard R/borderline NC-17
Spoilers: Er, season 4? It's kinda an AU where everything is okay...
Disclaimer: If I owned them, this would be canon.
Warnings: Wincest. Fangirls. A little meta at the end.
Summary: Obviously, the fangirls were right about Destiel. How about that elephant in the room? (No, not you, Ganesh.)
Author's notes: I...I have no excuse. Again, apologies for alliteration. Title from Death Cab for Cutie, though it doesn't have much to do with the song.
( THE ROAD SO FAR ♫ carry on my wayward son... ♪ )
"I'm going for a walk."
Sam looked up from his laptop. His brother's voice was gruff, which was per usual; the way he addressed it anywhere but at Sam was not. "Okay," he said, feigning disinterest. He was pretty sure Dean was convinced; why wouldn't Sam be disinterested in Dean going for a walk, anyway?
Dean slammed out of the motel room in a huff, which fairly well confirmed Sam's suspicions. His brother was tense and stressed; obviously, he needed release. Sam hesitated, staring unseeing at the webpage open on his computer (something about a potential cure for vampirism), then made up his mind, shut the laptop, and followed Dean out the door.
Outside, the night was cool. The moon was new, but the stars shone clear and crisp through the early autumn air. Sam stood still, listening; then, under the distant roar of cars on the freeway, he heard it. A soft flutter of wings, somewhere off to his left.
That end of the building was shadowed, a narrow gravel drive separating the motel from a big fenced-in shed, housing air conditioner compressors and steam trunk distribution venues and the like. Sam moved slowly, silently cursing the challenges of walking quietly on gravel; but then, they weren't listening.
Around the other side of the shed, just out of the edge of a dim, moth-circled light, an angel in a trenchcoat was backed up against the fence, his head thrown back, lips parted on a gasp. Dean Winchester knelt before him as though in reverence, both hands on Castiel's hips. Sam stood stock still, shrouded in shadow, barely daring to breathe. The ache between his legs was sudden and fierce, painful, overwhelming; he thought he might die from it, until the press of the heel of his hand through denim eased the pressure constricting his lungs enough that he could once more draw breath.
*****
Castiel talked when he was like this, eyes staring wide at nothing as Dean's lips and tongue and hands drove him slowly but steadily mad. He gasped encouragement and direction, cursed like a sailor, babbled in Enochian, uttered erotic filth that would make a hooker blush.
The words that had just emerged from the angel's gorgeous mouth, though, were not anything Dean had ever expected to hear, especially not when his mouth was full of Cas' cock. He raised his head, pulling off with a slurp, his hand stilling on the shaft. "What kind of question is that?" he demanded.
It was hard to read Cas' expression from this angle, with such little light, but he seemed distressed. "I was only wondering, could that many fangirls possibly all be wrong?"
Dean sat back on his heels, incredulous. "Of course they can! They're fangirls," he said, as though he were explaining that water was wet.
"They were right about you and me," Cas pointed out.
"Look," Dean sighed, wincing, "of course I love my brother. He's my brother. I went to Hell for him. And you pulled me out. That right there should answer every question anyone has about us. Okay?"
"Okay," Cas said, though he didn't sound convinced. He didn't press the issue, though; Dean leaned in and swallowed him down again, and his next words were a truly impressive string of curses.
*****
Dean returned to the hotel room in a considerably better mood than when he'd left. He found Sam still seated at the table, intently bent over his laptop. "Working hard, Sammy?" he said cheerfully.
"Sure," Sam muttered.
Oddly, he looked as though he'd been working hard, his face slightly flushed, his hair slightly darkened at the temples by sweat. He looked, actually, the way Dean felt. Dean smirked. "Lemme guess. Casa Erotica on pay-per-view?"
"What?" Sam looked up, startled. His eyes met his brother's; the same eyes, dark sea green, that Dean saw in every mirror. The look in them was one Dean recognised from the mirror, too. "Er, yeah," Sam said, grinning sheepishly.
It was a lie. Dean saw the guilt in Sam's eyes as he'd asked the question, caught a glimpse of relief as he grabbed the ready-made fib Dean provided. He was careful not to let his confusion show on his face, but he had to wonder: what had Sam done that was so much worse, that lying about jerking off to porn was a preferable substitute to the truth?
Sam's grin faded, turned into something subtler. "How's Cas?" he asked, almost coy.
So he knew. Dean and Cas were hardly a secret to Sam; Dean pushed aside the twinge of awkwardness, decided to grab the moment and run with it. He made a show of licking his lips, then contemplatively offered, "Salty, a little bitter..."
"Oh, dude!" Sam protested. He grabbed the nearest small object, a heavy ballpoint pen, and flung it at Dean's head.
Dean ducked, laughing. "You asked!" He sat down on the edge of his bed, kicking off his boots. He watched Sam as his brother rolled his eyes, shook his head, and returned to his research.
There was something compelling about the angle of Sam's head as he peered down at the screen, the way his hair fell into his face. Dean found himself staring, trying to figure out what it was about that particular curve of Sam's neck that made his brain slow to a crawl.
Sam sighed, apparently frustrated by something he read, and it hit Dean like a freight train. That was just the way he'd inclined his head in the diner all those weeks ago when he bent down to kiss Castiel. Dean remembered the strangled sound his brother had made when Cas kissed back; he couldn't blame him, not since he'd experienced that kiss for himself. And he'd never forgotten that sound. Dean's dick, spent and sated, gave a valiant twitch.
"He asked about you," Dean said suddenly.
"What?" Sam looked up from his research.
"Cas. He asked about you."
Sam's eyes narrowed for a brief moment. "Yeah? Checking up on me, was he?"
"No," Dean answered, "he asked if I love you. I told him I can't stop thinking about how much I want your hot body."
He felt time skid to a stop as the words left his mouth. Everything hinged on this moment, on Sam's reaction; if he was disgusted, or laughed, Dean could easily play it off as a joke. If not...
Sam shut the laptop with undue force. He didn't look amused, but the fire in his eyes didn't seem like disgust, either. "No, you didn't," he snapped.
Dean felt his eyebrows climb toward his hairline. The difference between denial and contradiction was a subtle one, but in this case... "And you know I didn't, because you were watching," he said, amazed. This was what Sam had tried to pass off for the minor shame of pay-per-view porn. "You were watching Castiel fuck my face." Sam blushed and looked away and didn't deny it. "Did you get off on it?" Dean asked. "Did you come when Cas did?" He leaned forward. "Or when I did?"
Sam winced and muttered, "Damn it, Dean..." but he didn't answer the question.
Dean stood slowly, deliberately walked toward Sam. He ran his tongue over his teeth. The flavour of Castiel's essence still lingered in his mouth. "Do you want to taste him, Sammy?" he murmured.
Sam's expression was unreadable as he stood, drawing himself up to loom over his brother. Dean wondered suddenly, panicked, if he'd overstepped, as Sam's hands fisted in the front of Dean's shirt, in the moment before he crushed their mouths together.
*****
That sound Sam had made when Cas kissed him in the diner, the one that had stuck in Dean's mind ever since, was quickly demystified, as he discovered several different ways to make Sam make that sound again. He loved that sound, and the heat of his brother's skin against his was distracting...but not so much that Dean was deaf to other, more subtle sounds.
"Well, I suppose this answers my question."
Sam yelped and flailed beneath Dean. "Cas!"
The angel in question was seated on the edge of the bed, bright blue eyes raking over their bare bodies. "Hello, Sam," he said, "Dean. I came back to reassure you, because you seemed upset earlier, that the reason I was asking about the nature of your relationship with Sam was not out of jealousy. I am completely sanguine about the two of you engaging in coitus."
"Well, that's good," Sam managed, the last word more of a squeak as Dean shifted against him.
"I am so glad you feel that way, Cas," Dean told him sincerely.
Cas reached out to trace the line of Sam's hip, fingers trailing through the sheen of sweat and making Sam shiver. "You two are beautiful together," he murmured.
Sam caught Castiel's arm and pulled him down; when their lips met, Sam's eyelids slid shut in evident bliss. Dean considered it a very real possibility that he might spontaneously combust. He groaned, grinding against his brother.
"It seems the fangirls were right about you two, as well," Cas pointed out unnecessarily, breathing hard.
"I am so sick of having my love life controlled by rabid fangirls," Dean sighed. He was lying.
Author: Sara Ellison
Fandom: Supernatual
Pairing: Dean/Cas, Sam/Dean, past Sam/Cas, Sam/Dean/Cas
Rating: Hard R/borderline NC-17
Spoilers: Er, season 4? It's kinda an AU where everything is okay...
Disclaimer: If I owned them, this would be canon.
Warnings: Wincest. Fangirls. A little meta at the end.
Summary: Obviously, the fangirls were right about Destiel. How about that elephant in the room? (No, not you, Ganesh.)
Author's notes: I...I have no excuse. Again, apologies for alliteration. Title from Death Cab for Cutie, though it doesn't have much to do with the song.
( THE ROAD SO FAR ♫ carry on my wayward son... ♪ )
"I'm going for a walk."
Sam looked up from his laptop. His brother's voice was gruff, which was per usual; the way he addressed it anywhere but at Sam was not. "Okay," he said, feigning disinterest. He was pretty sure Dean was convinced; why wouldn't Sam be disinterested in Dean going for a walk, anyway?
Dean slammed out of the motel room in a huff, which fairly well confirmed Sam's suspicions. His brother was tense and stressed; obviously, he needed release. Sam hesitated, staring unseeing at the webpage open on his computer (something about a potential cure for vampirism), then made up his mind, shut the laptop, and followed Dean out the door.
Outside, the night was cool. The moon was new, but the stars shone clear and crisp through the early autumn air. Sam stood still, listening; then, under the distant roar of cars on the freeway, he heard it. A soft flutter of wings, somewhere off to his left.
That end of the building was shadowed, a narrow gravel drive separating the motel from a big fenced-in shed, housing air conditioner compressors and steam trunk distribution venues and the like. Sam moved slowly, silently cursing the challenges of walking quietly on gravel; but then, they weren't listening.
Around the other side of the shed, just out of the edge of a dim, moth-circled light, an angel in a trenchcoat was backed up against the fence, his head thrown back, lips parted on a gasp. Dean Winchester knelt before him as though in reverence, both hands on Castiel's hips. Sam stood stock still, shrouded in shadow, barely daring to breathe. The ache between his legs was sudden and fierce, painful, overwhelming; he thought he might die from it, until the press of the heel of his hand through denim eased the pressure constricting his lungs enough that he could once more draw breath.
*****
Castiel talked when he was like this, eyes staring wide at nothing as Dean's lips and tongue and hands drove him slowly but steadily mad. He gasped encouragement and direction, cursed like a sailor, babbled in Enochian, uttered erotic filth that would make a hooker blush.
The words that had just emerged from the angel's gorgeous mouth, though, were not anything Dean had ever expected to hear, especially not when his mouth was full of Cas' cock. He raised his head, pulling off with a slurp, his hand stilling on the shaft. "What kind of question is that?" he demanded.
It was hard to read Cas' expression from this angle, with such little light, but he seemed distressed. "I was only wondering, could that many fangirls possibly all be wrong?"
Dean sat back on his heels, incredulous. "Of course they can! They're fangirls," he said, as though he were explaining that water was wet.
"They were right about you and me," Cas pointed out.
"Look," Dean sighed, wincing, "of course I love my brother. He's my brother. I went to Hell for him. And you pulled me out. That right there should answer every question anyone has about us. Okay?"
"Okay," Cas said, though he didn't sound convinced. He didn't press the issue, though; Dean leaned in and swallowed him down again, and his next words were a truly impressive string of curses.
*****
Dean returned to the hotel room in a considerably better mood than when he'd left. He found Sam still seated at the table, intently bent over his laptop. "Working hard, Sammy?" he said cheerfully.
"Sure," Sam muttered.
Oddly, he looked as though he'd been working hard, his face slightly flushed, his hair slightly darkened at the temples by sweat. He looked, actually, the way Dean felt. Dean smirked. "Lemme guess. Casa Erotica on pay-per-view?"
"What?" Sam looked up, startled. His eyes met his brother's; the same eyes, dark sea green, that Dean saw in every mirror. The look in them was one Dean recognised from the mirror, too. "Er, yeah," Sam said, grinning sheepishly.
It was a lie. Dean saw the guilt in Sam's eyes as he'd asked the question, caught a glimpse of relief as he grabbed the ready-made fib Dean provided. He was careful not to let his confusion show on his face, but he had to wonder: what had Sam done that was so much worse, that lying about jerking off to porn was a preferable substitute to the truth?
Sam's grin faded, turned into something subtler. "How's Cas?" he asked, almost coy.
So he knew. Dean and Cas were hardly a secret to Sam; Dean pushed aside the twinge of awkwardness, decided to grab the moment and run with it. He made a show of licking his lips, then contemplatively offered, "Salty, a little bitter..."
"Oh, dude!" Sam protested. He grabbed the nearest small object, a heavy ballpoint pen, and flung it at Dean's head.
Dean ducked, laughing. "You asked!" He sat down on the edge of his bed, kicking off his boots. He watched Sam as his brother rolled his eyes, shook his head, and returned to his research.
There was something compelling about the angle of Sam's head as he peered down at the screen, the way his hair fell into his face. Dean found himself staring, trying to figure out what it was about that particular curve of Sam's neck that made his brain slow to a crawl.
Sam sighed, apparently frustrated by something he read, and it hit Dean like a freight train. That was just the way he'd inclined his head in the diner all those weeks ago when he bent down to kiss Castiel. Dean remembered the strangled sound his brother had made when Cas kissed back; he couldn't blame him, not since he'd experienced that kiss for himself. And he'd never forgotten that sound. Dean's dick, spent and sated, gave a valiant twitch.
"He asked about you," Dean said suddenly.
"What?" Sam looked up from his research.
"Cas. He asked about you."
Sam's eyes narrowed for a brief moment. "Yeah? Checking up on me, was he?"
"No," Dean answered, "he asked if I love you. I told him I can't stop thinking about how much I want your hot body."
He felt time skid to a stop as the words left his mouth. Everything hinged on this moment, on Sam's reaction; if he was disgusted, or laughed, Dean could easily play it off as a joke. If not...
Sam shut the laptop with undue force. He didn't look amused, but the fire in his eyes didn't seem like disgust, either. "No, you didn't," he snapped.
Dean felt his eyebrows climb toward his hairline. The difference between denial and contradiction was a subtle one, but in this case... "And you know I didn't, because you were watching," he said, amazed. This was what Sam had tried to pass off for the minor shame of pay-per-view porn. "You were watching Castiel fuck my face." Sam blushed and looked away and didn't deny it. "Did you get off on it?" Dean asked. "Did you come when Cas did?" He leaned forward. "Or when I did?"
Sam winced and muttered, "Damn it, Dean..." but he didn't answer the question.
Dean stood slowly, deliberately walked toward Sam. He ran his tongue over his teeth. The flavour of Castiel's essence still lingered in his mouth. "Do you want to taste him, Sammy?" he murmured.
Sam's expression was unreadable as he stood, drawing himself up to loom over his brother. Dean wondered suddenly, panicked, if he'd overstepped, as Sam's hands fisted in the front of Dean's shirt, in the moment before he crushed their mouths together.
*****
That sound Sam had made when Cas kissed him in the diner, the one that had stuck in Dean's mind ever since, was quickly demystified, as he discovered several different ways to make Sam make that sound again. He loved that sound, and the heat of his brother's skin against his was distracting...but not so much that Dean was deaf to other, more subtle sounds.
"Well, I suppose this answers my question."
Sam yelped and flailed beneath Dean. "Cas!"
The angel in question was seated on the edge of the bed, bright blue eyes raking over their bare bodies. "Hello, Sam," he said, "Dean. I came back to reassure you, because you seemed upset earlier, that the reason I was asking about the nature of your relationship with Sam was not out of jealousy. I am completely sanguine about the two of you engaging in coitus."
"Well, that's good," Sam managed, the last word more of a squeak as Dean shifted against him.
"I am so glad you feel that way, Cas," Dean told him sincerely.
Cas reached out to trace the line of Sam's hip, fingers trailing through the sheen of sweat and making Sam shiver. "You two are beautiful together," he murmured.
Sam caught Castiel's arm and pulled him down; when their lips met, Sam's eyelids slid shut in evident bliss. Dean considered it a very real possibility that he might spontaneously combust. He groaned, grinding against his brother.
"It seems the fangirls were right about you two, as well," Cas pointed out unnecessarily, breathing hard.
"I am so sick of having my love life controlled by rabid fangirls," Dean sighed. He was lying.