Fic: "Generals" [Dean/Cas/Balthazar - NC-17]

[nanoochka]

TITLE: “Generals”
AUTHOR: nanoochka
PAIRING: Dean/Castiel, Dean/Castiel/Balthazar, implied past-Castiel/Balthazar
RATING: NC-17 for extremely graphic descriptions of sex.
WARNINGS: Dub-con, double penetration, mild D/S (or can be interpreted as such)
SUMMARY: At the forefront of Dean’s memories is the feel of Castiel’s hands and the knowledge of his body; but as Dean quickly learns, his touch isn’t the only one that Castiel remembers.
SPOILERS: Through 6x10, but with particular emphasis upon 6x03
WORDCOUNT: 9,057
DISCLAIMER: Supernatural and all associated content is the property of The CW and the Boss Man Kripke. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: But my argument is, what if real life did resemble porn? That is all. Thanks to fossarian for encouraging (read: forcing) me to finish this, because I've literally been slogging through it unfinished for MONTHS. Love also to cautionzombies for the 11th-hour beta when I couldn’t possibly read the word “cock” another time, along with the unnecessary (yet wonderful!) Twitter pimping.

"Generals" by nanoochka

If Dean thought that his skin would forget Castiel’s touch, he was wrong; the angel’s hands are as firm and familiar as they ever were.

When he first returned to Lisa, Dean assumed she would feel the same in his arms, taste the same beneath his lips. In that, his assumptions were way off: she felt like a whole different person from over a decade ago. It was unfair to expect that she wouldn’t have changed at all, least of since Dean himself bears almost no resemblance to the boy he’d been at twenty, cocky, carefree and enjoying a weekend of scorching sex with a yoga teacher. He’s-well, not thicker exactly, but taller and more muscular since that last growth spurt at twenty-three, all the years of hunting that followed. Sam, on the other hand, might look at the tiny bit of softness around Dean’s belly and beg to differ, but Sam’s the most changed out of anyone, physically or otherwise.

Cas, by contrast, has not changed at all. Were someone to ask him now, Dean isn’t sure what he thought would be different-angels don’t change, outwardly, and Jimmy Novak’s body will never age a day, not for however long Castiel sticks around in his vessel. Dean knows this, but it still didn’t prevent his voice from catching when Cas appeared to him and Sam in that hotel four months ago. He was cowed and quiet and so him, even after a year on Earth and innumerable decades in Heaven, single-minded in his need to find Balthazar and stop Raphael. If anything, maybe his hair looked a bit neater, like he’d been struck with the compulsion to comb it down before rushing out of the house. Weirdly enough, it was that which obliged Dean to reach out and touch in the first place, overtaken by the need to put his hands into that dark, silky hair and destroy its composure.

Dean knows he isn’t the same man Castiel left when he returned to Heaven, but when the angel takes his face between his hands and breathes, “I have missed you,” deep into his mouth, Dean doesn’t feel like he’s changed a bit.

With the exception of the Impala and Sam, once upon a time, Dean doesn’t really consider himself one for ownership. Sure, he tends to treat Cas like his personal property and orders him around no differently than he would a slave-if he were into that-but in the bedroom, more often than not, the tables are turned. It isn’t true possessiveness if they’re equally overprotective of each other, he thinks; nor is it submissiveness if they each need to hand over the reins every so often.

They are Generals, Dean and Castiel: both individuals of no particular distinction, both thrust into positions of authority and expected to lead. Maybe Castiel always took to responsibility more gracefully than Dean, but the fact remains that they’ve each had jobs that cannot be completed by anyone else. For Dean, it was fulfilling his destiny as the Righteous Man, the one responsible for stopping the apocalypse, while Castiel served first as his partner and guide and, more recently, ward of Heaven, in charge of every army and soldier and spear.

Under that kind of pressure, it’s no wonder that they need the occasional break, a rare opportunity to set down the mantle, kick back and let someone else rule the roost for a while. Some people would probably make for the nearest resort or beach, but Dean and Cas-when they’re lucky enough to be in the same place at the same time, and that’s so infrequent these days that it makes Dean want to break shit-seem to find each other, let things happen as they will. It’s hard for Dean to qualify how refreshing it is to not make decisions or be proactive, to know that it’s totally acceptable if he wants to lie back and be fucked-and sometimes, made love to-without concern for his masculinity. Less often, Castiel’s the one Dean can’t resist pushing down to the mattress while he does most of the work, but they can go either way. Secretly, he likes it when Cas is in charge. If there’s any reason for Dean to love Castiel, it’s because he’s never anything he doesn’t want to be, not while the angel’s around.

That, and he never quite knows how Cas will surprise him next.

Tonight, Dean watches Castiel’s voluptuous lips stretch wide around the head of his cock, the flesh swollen and shiny pink with saliva as he slides his mouth down around Dean’s length and almost to the dark blond hair at the base. While it’s hardly the most adventurous of sexual acts, Dean has to admit that the sight of Castiel sucking him off is still one of the hottest things imaginable. Were Castiel less buttoned-up in other respects, it would probably lose its erotic charm; but there’s something mesmerizing about watching him suck and lick and swallow-those lips so perfectly suited to cocksucking, it’s almost a cosmic joke-that it crosses beyond the realm of sexy and into filthy, foreign-language-pornography kind of hot. Castiel, whether he’s going at it with delicate licks or punishing suction, ticks off a voyeurism box that Dean didn’t even know he had. The first time he witnessed it, even in all his sexual experience, he felt like a bit of an amateur by comparison.

By now Dean knows well enough not to try and force Castiel into any rhythm he hasn’t bothered to set himself. Even if Cas didn’t always seem to know what’s right, anyway, Dean learned the hard way that the angel doesn’t consider blowjobs a collaborative effort, not unless they’re going at it simultaneously. Dean’s job is to sit back and appreciate the creative choices being made, which he definitely does; he’s allowed a hand in Castiel’s hair, and sometimes not even that.

No disrespect to Lisa, but there are times when Dean wonders what he thought he was doing that whole year, giving this up. He misses her and Ben, and it took ages for him to stop moping about their break-up like a lovesick girl, but Cas is just… other. To say Cas is in a league of his own doesn’t cut it-he gets his own universe. Given that not seeing him for a week is hard enough, trying to get by without anything at all is just loco. Small wonder, really, that Dean goes mental when he doesn’t show up on time.

Fortunately, Cas makes up for it. A tight swirl of his tongue against the underside of Dean’s cock draws a grateful, strangled moan from his throat, the fingers of his left hand tightening in the angel’s dark hair to signify his approval, if it wasn’t evident enough already. Despite his lips pulled taught around the swollen flesh, Castiel smiles and continues working Dean so ridiculously well that it won’t be long before he’s reduced to vowel sounds, the odd curse word if he’s lucky. Cas drags his nails along the sensitive insides of Dean’s thighs, torturing with his deliberateness until he can put his hands to better use, one pumping near the base of Dean’s shaft with a tight fist while the other rolls the tender weight of his balls around in his palm. Shivering, Dean gasps and cants his hips upwards for more, though of course he won’t get it until Castiel is damn good and ready.

He’s prepared for the moment that Castiel opens his eyes to gaze upwards with a sultry, mischievous look upon his face, but there’s nothing in the playbook to prepare him for the sound of a low whistle that comes from across the room, and a clipped voice saying, “My, my, but it looks like the rumours are true after all.”

To save him the trouble, Castiel pulls off of Dean’s dick with a surprised noise and a frown. For good measure, Dean says, “What the fuck?” anyway.

Leaning against the opposite wall of the motel room, Balthazar slides his hands back into the pockets of his pinstriped trousers, merely arching an eyebrow before he pushes away from the wall and saunters forward. “Sorry,” he says, sounding about as unapologetic as an angel can get, “I suppose it was rather rude of me not to have knocked first.”

“Balthazar, what are you doing here?” asks Castiel. The familiar crease is prominent between his eyebrows, but Dean can’t say that he looks particularly concerned or embarrassed. Inconvenienced, maybe, but it’s not like he was the one in the middle of a perfectly earth-shattering blowjob. Not the receiving end, at least.

“Don’t be testy,” Balthazar chides. “I certainly wouldn’t have come if I’d known that you were in the middle of something.” He pauses a moment, and meets Dean’s eyes with a smirk. Dean is unsurprised when he adds, “Oh, who am I kidding-of course I would have. But my visit is quite unplanned, I assure you. Just stopped by for a… chat.”

There’s nowhere for Dean to go while Castiel has him by the nuts-literally. Still, he grunts and tries very hard to keep his voice steady as he says, “Fine, an honest mistake. But now that you can clearly see that we are busy, why don’t you fuck right off again, Balls?”

An eye-roll and a cluck of the tongue later, Balthazar strolls up to them on the bed, nudging Castiel over with one loafer-clad foot so that he can settle himself on the mattress about two feet away from Dean. Glaring at Castiel, who is moodily and mysteriously silent regarding this interruption of epic proportions, Dean manages to extricate himself enough to shimmy away from Balthazar and grab a pillow to place over his lap. He can actually feel the lifeforce draining out of his erection, and Balthazar just acknowledges his discomfort with a twitch of his lips.

“I doubt you’d stay in power much longer if the heavenly Host knew about these extracurricular activities of yours, Cas,” scolds the other angel. The way he looks at Castiel, still kneeling on the floor and naked except for his boxers, is somewhere between devious and affectionate. Naturally, Dean doesn’t like it, same as he doesn’t like hearing his nickname for Castiel upon the asshole’s lips. “Dare I ask for how long this has been going on?”

“Since long before you were in the picture, douchebag,” Dean snaps. He tries, and fails, to catch a glare from Castiel in commiseration. “Seriously, don’t you have an orgy to crash somewhere?”

Balthazar gives a laugh of pure delight. “Darling, orgies aren’t something one crashes-just about any gathering can turn into a fuckfest in no time, with the right props. Personally, I believe the secret is funny hats.”

His tone is light enough, until Balthazar glances down at Cas-still quiet, and what the fuck is up with that?-and even goes so far as to thread his fingers into Castiel’s mussed hair. The gesture disturbs Dean on a profound level, but the sight of Cas accepting the touch stops his protest dead.

“You also couldn’t be more wrong in your timeline, you ape,” Balthazar continues. “Cas here has been a favourite of mine since before you were even a thought, and the feeling is so very mutual.” The fingers in his hair tighten as Balthazar lifts Castiel’s head in order to see his face more clearly. “Isn’t that right, brother?”

“You’re the first guy I’ve ever met that could make family history sound like the creepiest thing ever,” says Dean. “And trust me, I would know.” Doubtful that he imagined the significant weight with which Balthazar delivered that last nugget; he remembers all too clearly the way Balthazar eye-fucked Castiel while they were facing off with Raphael. “No wonder Heaven is so screwed up.”

“On the contrary, I’m sure things would be nowhere near this dreadful if management loosened up a bit sooner. They should have started following Castiel’s example ages ago, really. It’s a shame it even took me this long.” Balthazar actually pets Castiel’s hair when he adds, “Fortunately, I had a good teacher,” and that’s just about fucking it for Dean right there.

“Leave him the fuck alone, man,” he spits, and slaps Balthazar’s hand away as viciously as he can, without losing his grip on the pillow. If he trusted Balthazar enough to leave him with Castiel unsupervised, he’d be on his feet and out the door already. Cas is more than capable of blipping out on his own, but there’s no accounting for why he hasn’t already done so. Dean wouldn’t rule out a spell or trance of some kind. “Cas, what the fuck is wrong with you? Tell him to get the hell out of here.” In about five seconds, this night will not be able to get any weirder.

He’s wrong, as it turns out. An even bigger shock comes when Castiel decides to chastise not Balthazar, but his own lover. “Dean,” he says gently, and turns his head-not dislodging Balthazar’s hand, either-to meet Dean’s eyes with a punishingly neutral expression. “What Balthazar says is true. We have… extensive history together.”

“Very extensive,” interjects Balthazar with a wink.

At this, Dean blinks and starts to say, “What is that supposed to-” but he quickly realizes what a jealous douchebag that makes him sound, and stops. Just because Castiel’s lack of objection stings a little, doesn’t mean he needs to show it. “You know what? It totally doesn’t matter. You guys have fun with your ‘chat’. I’m outta here.”

“Where are you going?” Castiel asks, frowning.

Dean snorts. “C’mon, Cas, I know you’re out of practice, but you’re not that out of touch with reality. This?” He gestures in Balthazar’s general direction. “Is creepy. There’s an extra bed in Sam’s room, and I’ve just lost my wood.”

When Castiel lowers his eyes and doesn’t appear in danger of relocating his spine anytime soon, Dean makes the executive decision to untangle himself the rest of the way and jump off up the bed. The pillow feels a bit ridiculous at this point, but he doesn’t need another angel going all judgey-eyes on him while he finds his clothes. If he never thinks about this bullshit again, it’ll be too soon.

When Castiel says again, “Dean,” he snatches his jeans up off the floor and snarks, “What now? Changed your mind again?”

He pauses long enough in sliding his jeans up his legs to see Castiel get to his feet-about fucking time-but to his dismay, the angel just sits down on the bed in between Balthazar and the space Dean just vacated. He might be looking at Dean when he does it, but Dean’s ego takes a significant blow to see that Castiel is still every bit as aroused as from before Balthazar crashed their party.

Still, he has a hard time looking away when Balthazar glides a hand down the lightly tanned skin of Castiel’s arm, expression curious. “Castiel has a point, Dean,” he says, without tearing his eyes from Castiel’s face. “You don’t have to leave on my account.”

“Yeah, I really do,” Dean answers with a snort. He leaves his jeans unbuttoned and dives for the t-shirt hidden beneath one corner of the bed. Sam’s room is down the hall; he can deal with his underwear, boots and socks later, if it means getting out of here sooner.

Balthazar smiles at him in a predatory way. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Dean? I think Cas would prefer if you stayed.”

However much Dean hates to admit it, Balthazar has a point: Cas is definitely making the pinched face he gets when he really wants to ask Dean for something, but doesn’t know if he should. Maybe that’s why he’s acting so damned weird, Dean thinks. He’s had more than his fair share of impromptu threesomes happen this way-very Recession-chic, to adopt such a might-as-well-make-the-most-of-it kind of mentality-so he can maybe understand the temptation. Usually he’s all for throwing caution to the wind and just going for it, but as far as he’s concerned, Castiel isn’t the type to encourage group sex with soul-stealing ex-protégés. Nor is Dean the type to stand by and let it happen, frankly. He’s heard enough about Balthazar’s junk for one year.

When Dean doesn’t answer, Balthazar just shrugs and says, “Suit yourself,” in an offhand way.

Dean catches a conflicted look from Cas, but it’s soon broken. Not waiting for further acknowledgement from either of them, Balthazar grabs a handful of Castiel’s hair and uses it to guide their mouths together. There’s no way that Castiel didn’t see that coming, since Dean sure as hell did, but he shivers all the same at the surprised moan Cas makes in the back of his throat. One thing Castiel is not, is a shy kisser; he regularly attacks Dean’s mouth like a warrior surging into battle. And yet, he has the good grace to look caught off-guard by Balthazar’s assault, forceful enough that even Dean is sympathetic to how it must feel to have those lips and teeth and tongue possessing him so aggressively.

Still gripping his hair, Balthazar bends Castiel’s neck back at such an angle that Dean’s breath catches at the sharp line it presents of his throat, shimmering with sweat in the low light of the room. With zero control over the kiss, Castiel can only brace himself against Balthazar’s hip and shoulder with his hands, which the other angel takes as an invitation to press him back onto the bed. Balthazar strokes his palms down the tight, tense muscles of Castiel’s chest and abdomen, seeming to soothe and arouse all at once. Without really breaking the kiss, he pulls his grey t-shirt over his head, revealing a body that is predictably slim and toned and dusted with blonde hair. Dean won’t be the one to say that Balthazar’s vessel isn’t a slouch in the looks department, but Castiel seems to agree perfectly well, his hands grabbing at whatever skin and hair he can reach.

Yeah, Dean is still watching; he can’t get his feet to move or his eyelids to shut to spare himself the image of his freaking angel getting down and dirty with some other dude, one who happens to eat children’s souls in his spare time. It’s surreal enough that when Balthazar stands to shed his pants and kneel on the bed, Dean can’t do much other than gawk. Propped up on his elbows against the duvet, Castiel’s face is an enigmatic wash of uncertainty and want.

Of course, Balthazar is already rock-hard and ready to go; it’s pretty obvious that he’s been planning this since the moment he showed up, not that Dean can fully blame him. With anyone but Castiel, he would have pulled the same stunt-had, in fact, that one time in his twenties when he’d walked in on a couple of hot girls making out at a party. As he figured at the time, it never hurt to try, and he’d probably get high-fived after. In the same way, a part of him wants to congratulate Balthazar on the ability to turn a situation to his advantage without making excuses, or even breaking a sweat-the way he feeds Castiel his dick is as unconcerned and unapologetic as all get-out. Cas, too, seems pretty resigned to let Balthazar have his way, attacking the other angel’s erection with the same gusto as he applied to Dean not fifteen minutes previous.

“Fuck, Cas, that mouth,” Balthazar hisses from between his teeth, watching intently as Castiel’s head begins to bob up and down. Dean can see his pink tongue swiping at the reddish skin of Balthazar’s cock like a kitten after cream. He’s pretty sure that he can imagine how it feels. “Knew you chose this vessel for a reason.”

Dean has to agree there, but this is all kinds of wrong to stand around and watch. Every molecule of his being wants to step in and stop it from happening, but it’s not like Castiel is objecting or even having second thoughts about going down on a former angel-at-arms. From the sound of it, they’ve done it often enough, if angels can do that kind of thing in their real forms. Dean has no idea-he isn’t Castiel’s keeper. They don’t make decisions for each other, and Dean hasn’t exactly held out on Cas’s memory alone in the last year, either. The guy can fuck whomever he wants.

And boy, does he ever. Dean can tell that Cas is pulling out all the stops, probably not because he’s interested in impressing Balthazar, but because he’s that turned on. After a couple of years, Dean knows what signs to look for. A flush has spread from Castiel’s cheeks to halfway down his chest, and Dean can hear the excited cadence of his breathing from where he stands. Cas was hard before, but his erection tents the front of his boxers enough that the head of his cock threatens to poke out above where the waistband rides low on his hips, right at the very base of the hair trail leading from his navel. Dean swallows around his tongue, which feels like it’s doubled in size in the last thirty seconds-to say nothing of his dick, which apparently is back in the game with gusto.

As seems to be the theme of the evening, Balthazar startles Dean from his trance, saying to Castiel, “He likes to watch, doesn’t he?” in a lust-roughened voice. Dean meets his eyes, and has no response that wouldn’t be an outright lie.

Knowing this to be the case, Castiel pulls off Balthazar’s cock with a groan of frustration. His eyes are black almost all the way to the outer edge of the iris, and the desperate set of his expression reminds Dean a great deal of the first time they kissed, that night when Dean returned from the year 2014.

“Come here,” he rasps out, and lifts a hand away in order to extend it towards Dean.

Dean splutters, voice gone pitchy and shrill. “What, are you joking? Why the fuck would I do that?”

Castiel’s voice sounds wrecked, but he manages to get it under control long enough to say, “Because I want you to. Because I’m asking.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that-for once, he’s utterly fucking speechless. Cas tends to do that do him. So, he goes.

When he gets there, he doesn’t really know what to do; the Balthazar factor has him seriously unbalanced, which he not only hates, but also resents. The one thing he shouldn’t have to feel is upstaged, not around Cas. Mostly he just doesn’t know where to start. In most cases Dean is used to being the centre of attention, and this isn’t like jumping in the middle of a couple of girls, not really. Despite whatever suggestions his brain can provide, Dean resolves that, while some sword-crossing is probably inevitable, neither his mouth nor his ass are going anywhere near Balthazar’s cock.

He’s left puzzling over what to do first until Cas helpfully curls a hand around Dean’s hip, and tugs him up to kneel on the bed across from Balthazar. Smiling one of those enigmatic not-smiles, Castiel just shoves Dean’s still-unbuttoned jeans down his ass, and removes all guesswork from the situation by leaning in to capture the head of Dean’s cock with his mouth. Unsurprisingly, Dean groans, and flinches back a little in surprise.

What doesn’t escape him is the fact that Balthazar keeps one hand in Castiel’s hair the entire time. He seems perfectly content to watch Cas lick and suck Dean back to full hardness, his watery blue eyes half-lidded but perfectly attuned to each dart and twist of Castiel’s tongue. After a minute he grows impatient and pulls Castiel’s lips back to his own erection. With a gasp of pleasure, Castiel goes willingly; his nails find the swell of Dean’s ass and dig in like he needs to hold on to something. It’s hot, no doubt, but Dean thinks that Cas must really be in need of a day off, if he’s ready to let Balthazar make him into a fucktoy. Dean hasn’t seen Castiel so submissive since… ever.

The direction of Balthazar’s hand implies a firm control over Cas, but not, as it turns out, over Dean. Rather than manipulating Castiel in to showing Dean just who’s in charge, Balthazar is more than willing to share the other angel’s mouth, pushing him back onto Dean’s cock and urging him into a faster rhythm, or guiding his lips lower to caress and suck at Dean’s balls. Cas quickly catches on to a rough sort of symmetry between them, never lavishing more of a particular type of attention upon either of them as he moves back and forth like a bee between flowers. If he deepthroats Dean, he does so next to Balthazar; if his warm, kittenish tongue emerges to flicker against the underside of one cock in a needy, worshipful way, he immediately does the same to the other. When Dean stretches out a hand to slide down the sweaty, flushed skin of Castiel’s chest, dragging his nails against a nipple as slowly as he can imagine, he can feel Cas’s heart thundering beneath his palm, faster than he ever thought it capable of beating.

“Cas,” he chokes out, because this is fucked-up like he doesn’t even know what, but the one who answers with a grunt and a look of sheer bliss is not Cas, but Balthazar. The eye contact sends a thrill of something down Dean’s spine, largely indefinable but too electric to be anger or revulsion. He shudders deeply as Balthazar allows Castiel to chase after Dean’s dick, swallowing him down to the root, hand clenching into the muscles of Dean’s ass, and Balthazar smiles his most wicked, worrisome smile.

“I’m curious to find out just how far little Castiel can be pushed, aren’t you?” he asks, breathless.

Dean’s instinctive response is a definite ‘no’, but Castiel pulls off his cock long enough to suck in a gasp of air, and along with it a broken-sounding, “Yes.”

This might be the stupidest thing either of them has agreed to since Michael threw his offer down on the table, but Dean isn’t one to speak for Castiel, to make his decisions for him. If he’s totally honest with himself, he doesn’t know if he could stop, even if Castiel didn’t so blatantly want to be used this way. They can discuss the implications later-right now he’s the only one still dragging his feet.

Giving a lazy flick of his wrist, Balthazar pulls Cas’s face away with a hand around his chin, and gently strokes the line of his jaw. “Help Dean with his pants,” he instructs, voice low; the languid oiliness of his accent makes him a natural a dirty talk, Dean thinks. He could read the phonebook and make it sound sexual. As if thinking the same thing, Castiel’s eyes flutter shut as his throat clicks in a swallow; apparently this is one time he’s prepared to take orders from someone who was once his subordinate in Heaven. Balthazar seems to relish the role reversal. “I want to watch him fuck you until you scream around my cock.”

At this, Dean starts, but doesn’t have time to protest when Cas pushes them both to their feet and sinks back to his knees on the floor, jerking Dean’s jeans down to his ankles. A shuddering, careful kiss is pressed to the ridge of Dean’s hipbone as Cas lifts his feet, first one and then the other, to get the jeans off him completely. He then draws himself back up to his full height, meeting Dean’s eyes with surprising calm. Barely smiling, he guides Dean’s hands to the waistband of his own boxer-briefs, enlisting his help to get him the rest of the way to naked, making Dean complicit in whatever is about to happen next.

“Are you really okay with this?” Dean whispers, and snakes a hand around the back of Castiel’s neck as soon as his fingers are free. His grip is tight, possessive and anxious all at once, but he can’t discern any of the same tension in Castiel’s posture, which is more relaxed than his usual, straight-backed stance.

The angel smiles at him again, and draws Dean in for a slow, heart-wrenching kiss. Dean can’t stop the noise he makes at the back of his throat when their cocks bump against each other, and he feels the air sucked right out of him, either by a knee-jerk reaction to Cas’s proximity, his heat, or by Castiel himself.

Hands on his hips steady him long enough for Castiel to pull away with a sharp nip at Dean’s lower lip. “I want nothing more,” he says firmly, but doesn’t let Dean look away until he adds, “If you’re sure.”

The cautiousness of his tone makes Dean consider; his body betrays all thought to the contrary, of course, but Castiel’s long been used to Dean saying one thing and doing another. It warms him, in a way, to know that Cas would let this crazy train grind to a halt right here and now if Dean expressed the slightest hesitation.

“I’m in, if you are,” he concedes, at last. “But I’ll freaking kill this prick if he goes anywhere near my ass with that thing, so help me.” To show that he knows Balthazar can hear every word of their conversation, he punctuates the statement with a glare, which goes unaddressed.

“Come lie with me,” Castiel says.

He takes Dean by the hand and pulls him back towards the bed, turning his body at the last moment so he can push Dean down onto the mattress and crawl on top. The heat and weight of his body, always surprising given his slight stature, are a comfort to Dean, helps him forget Balthazar’s nearness and concentrate only on Cas, especially when his lover’s lips descend upon his once more, tongue sweeping deep. Arcing in a sinuous movement, Castiel drives their cocks together in a wet slide so that Dean can all but hear the smear of them against their stomachs, loud in the room even over his harsh breathing. It’s that which both decides Dean-yeah, he’s actually doing this-and resigns him at the same time, makes him stop thinking and hand himself over to Castiel.

If Dean had to choose just one word to describe his relationship with Cas, it would be ‘momentum’. The two of them have been pulling each other along since they first met, unable to stop their tumble down the rabbit hole when all they intended was a peek. Castiel isn’t the only one to blame; Dean probably gave the first push. But that can’t stop him from surrendering to the force of the angel’s will, his torque, once he really gets going, and so a part of Dean knew all along that he ultimately wouldn’t object to whatever Cas should happen to want.

Once he’s pulled away from the kiss, Castiel stoops low against his chest and presses two fingers into Dean’s mouth, and after a moment Dean gets what he’s after, swiping his tongue around the digits from base to tip so that a fine string of saliva trails behind when Castiel withdraws. Dean gasps at Castiel’s hand sliding between them to press behind the weight of his balls and further back, and he hears the hitch of breath that lets him know that Castiel has pushed those fingers inside his own body, feels from the flex of his wrist as they piston in and out and in. He has an idea of what to expect next, but can’t smother a moan of pure abandon as Cas replaces the fingers with Dean’s cock, catching the sound in his mouth and holding it there like he holds Dean’s body, the kiss so tender that his heart aches in his chest. Time seems to stretch out as Cas lowers himself inch by excruciating inch until Dean bottoms out and can’t seem to get enough air into his lungs, everything from his scalp to the tips of his toes tingling with electricity and fire.

They pant into each other’s mouths for a while until Dean pulls it the fuck together and starts to move, rocking his pelvis as Castiel grinds down with his hips in slow, neat circles, taking Dean deep, swallowing him whole. It’s been a while since they did it this way, but as per usual there’s little doubt as to who’s in control; Dean could just as easily be the one with a cock balls-deep in his ass. He’s not, though, and tries to steady the rhythm with tight thrusts in counterpoint to Castiel’s, feet braced against the bedspread, angling to strike off of that small mound of nerves inside. Cas, mouth slack and swollen, shivers and jerks when Dean finally finds it.

A tight noise from Balthazar reasserts his presence, the other angel’s hands sliding around Castiel’s shoulder and into his hair, guiding and following his movements in time with Cas’s quiet hums of pleasure. Dean whimpers when Castiel sits back to accept the kisses Balthazar laves down his neck, though his eyes never leave Dean’s, and with captive fascination he watches the blonde angel mount the bed so that his cock is level with Castiel’s mouth. That tongue emerges to draw a slow stripe down the length of Balthazar’s shaft and back up to circle the head, and they all three of them moan in varying degrees of ecstasy. Dean’s given up all hope of averting his eyes now, transfixed by those lips he loves so much stretching to take another cock between them, shiny and pink with spit and pre-come. There’s no difference he can see between how Castiel sucks another man’s dick, and how he sucks Dean’s, except that perhaps it’s lacking in some of the sweetness from before, a shade less of the devotion Dean can normally feel in every caress and curl of Castiel’s tongue.

With one hand braced against the headboard and the other in Castiel’s hair, Balthazar wastes no time setting a fast, clipped rhythm as he fucks into Cas’s mouth, riding him harder as Castiel increases the force of his own thrusts onto Dean’s cock and reaches between his legs to stroke himself, his other hand splayed on Dean’s stomach. He’s moaning freely now, growing vocal and harsh like Dean has never heard before and isn’t sure he wants to hear again, not unless he’s the one responsible. Each sound emerges as a muffled cry, distorted around Balthazar’s cock, which Dean can see moving against Cas’s hallowed-out cheeks with pornographic detail. Head tipping back against the mattress, he clenches his hands around Castiel’s hips and holds on for dear life, throat producing indistinct mewling sounds while he simultaneously abandons himself to the pleasure and tries to stave off his orgasm. From the corner of his eye he catches the most lascivious of smiles from Balthazar, and barely has time to register that it probably means nothing good, at least insofar as Dean’s sanity is concerned.

Sure enough, Balthazar touches a hand to Castiel’s cheek to slow his movements. “Lean forward, Cas, there’s a good lad,” he murmurs, and at this Castiel slides his eyes closed and complies with the obedience of a slave, lowering himself in a graceful bend until his chest presses against Dean’s and he can bury his face into Dean’s neck. His breath is fast, warm and moist, hitching here and there as he tries to control his own movement, his own pleasure. Dean releases Castiel’s hips to smooth reassuringly down his back, but isn’t entirely sure what’s going on until Balthazar sidles up behind him, between Dean’s legs, and two fingers prod at the muscle surrounding his cock and then slip inside.

“Holy fuck,” Dean gasps, hips jerking, but it’s such an aborted movement that he doesn’t manage to get any closer or further away, whatever his intentions. The sweet, broken kisses Castiel presses into his skin remind him that they both agreed to this-agreed to something, at any rate-and the quiet groans and shudders of Cas’s body don’t indicate anything but total rapture at this turn of events.

Nevertheless, Dean slides his hand to cradle his lover’s nape, grasping gently at the hair to get his attention and pull him back. Since no one else seems to be piping up, Dean figures it falls to him to give the voice of reason one last chance before it fucks off altogether. “Cas,” he breathes, softly, “is this okay? Shit’s about to get real, and we’ve never-”

The response comes in the form of a wet kiss, Castiel’s hands rough in his hair and pushing their mouths together with the force of his pleasure, tongue stroking over Dean’s teeth and tickling his palate. His desperation makes Dean buck against him, jostling Balthazar’s fingers in a way that makes both angels groan and Castiel squirm, before the rollercoaster Dean has somehow found himself riding mounts the scariest drop of all. Meeting Dean’s eyes, Balthazar pulls his fingers free and lines is cock up with Castiel’s entrance, against Dean, and with no more warning than that begins pressing its way inside, forcing Dean into such suffocatingly tight pressure that his eyes roll back in his skull even as Castiel cries out like he’s dying, the sound emerging like more of a sob.

“Easy, easy,” Balthazar says, soothing both of them, like any of this is remotely easy or normal, and he presses and presses until he’s all the way in, balls heavy against Dean’s own. His eyes are electric, bright, alive, mouth bitten red. “There.” So much for Balthazar not going anywhere near his cock. The weight of Castiel’s erection pulsing between their stomachs feels hot enough to burn.

The tightness is obscene and overpowering and gorgeous almost to the point of pain, and Dean can’t begin to think what this must feel like to Cas, who is panting and writhing as though under a spell, face and chest flushed with heat and sweat. Even Balthazar seems overcome by it all, pressing his mouth into Castiel’s shoulder for several beats while he collects himself and, if what Dean’s experiencing is anything at all to go by, tries not to blow his load right there. Angel or not, this is some seriously intense shit; that Castiel hasn’t passed out is kind of a miracle. Then Balthazar starts to move, and Dean starts to rethink the status of his own consciousness.

Trapped beneath the weight of two bodies, there isn’t much Dean can do except hang on and thrust weakly when he thinks there’s enough leverage. His toes curl of their own volition and his thighs shake, hair standing on end. The rhythm is one of Balthazar’s own choosing, alternating between fast, powerful thrusts that make Castiel shout himself hoarse and clench his fingers into Dean’s scalp, and longer, more penetrating strokes that make the dark-haired angel go mute with ecstasy while Dean gasps for air like a fish. There’s something so scarily intimate about the slide of his and Balthazar’s cock together, certainly nothing Dean was prepared for, and he shies away from the flashes of eye contact over Castiel’s shoulder, accompanied by the kind of pained expressions that let him know that Balthazar is barely holding on himself. For someone who prides himself on being a lecherous, hedonistic, kinky son of a bitch, Castiel’s body seems to be throwing him for one hell of a loop. He might have been the last to the party, or at least the most reluctant, but Dean’s heart swells with pride at this-he’s never once doubted that Cas is a high unlike anything in Heaven or Earth.

“Dean.”

The clipped whisper catches him off-guard, whips him back to the present, and he sees Castiel watching him with an expression of utter desperation, mouth slack and eyes swallowed up by pupil. His sweat drips to mingle with Dean’s, and the force behind his gaze makes Dean’s orgasm start to build in his belly for real, polarizing his senses until all he can taste, see, smell, feel, and hear is Castiel. Everything falls away. There’s no motel room, no soulless Sam, no Crowley, no Campbells; no angelic, holy war. If this is Cas’s way of getting them to unwind, Dean thinks he might have a hard time pulling himself together again, unless it’s for more sex. Still, he knows what Cas is after, what they always come back to regardless of time or place or circumstance, and slides his arms around so that the angel is secure against him, bodies rocking together with Balthazar’s thrusts but somehow independent, separate, safe.

“I got you, baby,” he says breathlessly, and pushes Cas’s hair away from his forehead as they writhe and grind and pull each other closer and closer to that bright edge. As far as endearments go, it slips past Dean’s lips the way I love you’s have been known to escape him between the night and the dawning of day, when they’re still wrapped up in the bedsheets and each other. The tipping point starts to suck him in like a dead star, bright lights sparkling at the fringes of his vision but never distorting the clarity of Castiel’s face. This, all it’s ever been about, is them, will never be about anything else as long as they’re both around. And Dean isn’t planning on going anywhere. “I got you, I got you. I’m here.”

Castiel finds his lips in a messy kiss as his body starts to shake in earnest and Dean’s own orgasm breathes fire through his veins; in the midst of breaking apart he feels Castiel’s cock twitch and spill its release between them, the angel’s voice pitching so loudly that Dean is nearly surprised that the mirrors in the room don’t shatter. Above them, Balthazar heaves and bites down into Castiel’s flesh as his movements, too, turn erratic. The first jerk of his cock signals the end but he rides it out with considerable calm, bracing himself against Castiel’s back and flooding the negligible spaces around Dean’s dick with fluid. Dean shudders at the sensation and grips Castiel tighter; he barely notices when Balthazar sighs and pulls out with surprising care, shushing Castiel’s flinch with a gentle murmur.

“That was something else,” he declares breathlessly, having the good grace to sound as shocked as Dean feels. It’s hard to see what he’s doing with Cas still draped over his chest, but Dean imagines Balthazar stumbling away from the bed to find something with which to wipe himself down. A towel, hopefully, and not one of Dean’s shirts. “No wonder you two are still carrying on together, Cas, if it’s always that good.”

“Try not to sound so shocked,” Dean mutters darkly. By now his head is practically swimming, but a quiet huff of laughter from Castiel makes him smile and squeeze the angel tighter to his chest, rolling them so that they are side-by-side on the bed. The movement pulls his softening cock free of Castiel’s body, prompting them both to squirm, but bundled together this way Dean quickly finds himself too comfortable to care. He reassures himself that this isn’t cuddling; he’s afraid of how his body might mutiny if he tries to move an inch. Definitely his knees won’t be supporting his weight anytime soon.

The comment earns him a wry snort from Balthazar, who flings a towel at their entwined bodies in an uncharacteristic display of common courtesy. Since he already gatecrashed Dean and Castiel’s attempt to have sex-by themselves-the bar has been set pretty damn low. “Yes, well, you apes always did have a knack for debauchery,” he retorts, and goes about the business of getting dressed, from the sound of it.

“Don’t you have someplace else to be, Balthazar?” Although his tone is infinitely casual-and yeah, suffice to say fucked-out as well-Castiel levers an elbow against Dean’s chest, earning a grunt, to crane his head around and level Balthazar with that thousand-yard stare Dean so adores. “One assumes you will still be in need of leverage when the war ends; doubtless there are holy artefacts you could be pawning... elsewhere.”

Dean lifts his eyebrows, surprised by the coldness of this dismissal. “So what, you guys are just gonna go back to hating each other’s guts now that your big Professor X/Magneto team-up is done? Or should I say ‘tag team’?” This earns him a blank stare from both angels, and Dean rolls his eyes. “Never mind. If you aren’t going to support my pop-culture references, then Cas is right-you really should just fuck off back to wherever you came from.”

Balthazar sniffs, “Such superiority, Dean, considering I just gave you what’s probably the best night of your life. You would have settled for some boringly adequate oral sex before I came along.” To his credit, Dean has to admit the guy recovers quickly-you’d never think that he’d just spent the better part of an hour DP’ing a former colleague with his human lover, if that isn’t the weirdest sentence to ever cross Dean’s mind. The devilish smirk is back, whereas Dean doesn’t trust that his facial muscles have stopped spasming yet.

That never stopped him before, though. Resentment floods him at the notion that he and Cas have ever not been enough for each other; they pulled each other through a fucking apocalypse, and what did Balthazar have to do with it? For all Dean knows he was chilling on a cloud somewhere the whole time, drinking sangria or filing his nails or whatever the fuck it is Balthazar does in his spare time. Boringly adequate by Balthazar’s standards or otherwise, Dean is confident that his relationship with Cas has defined far more of Castiel’s existence than whatever past the angels shared in Heaven.

“Now that’s definitely not true,” he snaps, “but let me assure you that the best night of my life will be the one where you die in a fire, comprende?”

Not that Dean expected otherwise, but his words have very little outward effect upon Balthazar, who merely chuckles to himself as though Dean hadn’t spoken. Cas, however, recognizes the deflection for what it is, and says, “Dean’s right-you should go. It wouldn’t do for us to be seen together like this. I’m happy to pretend like this exchange didn’t happen, but someone is always watching; the longer you remain here, the more chance there is that I will have to report your whereabouts.”

Balthazar laughs, a brittle-edged sound that betrays none of his habitual offhandedness or joie de vivre. Castiel doesn’t react until he speaks, and Dean watches his face darken with each word that leaves Balthazar’s mouth. “Enough with the bullshit, Cas,” he scoffs. “You and I are both perfectly aware that you exhausted any historical obligation when you released me from the holy fire; this has nothing to do with turning me in. A good soldier you may be, but you’ve always been a little paranoid, a little afraid that someone will use your own weakness against you. If you want me gone, be honest-it’s because you’re worried you’ll be tarred with the same brush.”

“My efforts in the war are beyond compare to your petty thievery,” Castiel spits, quietly vehement. Dean wants to step in and tell Balthazar to shut the fuck up, but the moment he opens his mouth to speak, Castiel’s nails dig into his skin to silence him. “Go before you say anything more damaging to yourself, Balthazar.”

“I’m more than happy to abandon you to your monkey,” Balthazar says dismissively. “But don’t fret that others will see you as less of a leader because of this--we’ve both known for a long time that you aren’t much of one, hmm?”

Those flinty eyes meet Dean’s for a moment, finding his gaze across the curve of Castiel’s shoulder, and what he sees there is hard, ruthless and hurt. He wonders if Castiel can sense it in his demeanour without looking, if it was really his intention to wound or if it’s another casualty he tells himself is necessary. Reluctantly, he admits that this exchange wouldn't be taking place if a friendship didn't already exist, and he's watching it die in front of him.

Balthazar isn't done. “A true General of Heaven wouldn’t have to stoop to such lows, let himself be used like a common whore by a renegade and a man," he points out. "Maybe you should consider passing on the mantle to someone who truly deserves it, Cas. Just a thought.” With that, Balthazar is gone, the force of his wing beats rattling the cheap paintings on the walls.

“What a douchebag,” Dean mutters after a moment, when Cas fails to acknowledge the accusations that have been left hanging. He presses a kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth and frowns when this gets no response. The past few months have shown him a great deal of the tender underbelly of Castiel’s insecurities, especially regarding the progress of the war in Heaven, but something about this feels different, more penetrating. Though he’s no armchair psychologist, Dean suspects it might have something to do with the fact that they’re lying here naked, Cas still wearing the remnants of Balthazar’s pleasure as much as his words.

Eventually Cas shifts, making to disentangle himself from Dean’s arms as he avoids his gaze-this is the biggest red flag of all, as much as when he says, “I should go as well. There are matters which require my attention in Heaven.”

“Shut the fuck up, Cas,” snaps Dean, recoiling at the defeat in Castiel’s voice. “You aren’t seriously thinking what that asshole said is valid, are you?”

Castiel hesitates. “There’s no denying that what we did here tonight would have severe political repercussions, were others to learn of it,” he allows. “Any number of your human politicians would consider this incredibly damaging-I don’t see why the same doesn’t apply to me, Dean. Angels might not be confined by human social sensibilities, but we still value self-respect. I can’t expect to inspire confidence if I so willingly surrender control in other aspects of my life.”

Without meaning to, Dean snorts. “Maybe I’m not one to talk, but if there’s anything I’ve learned over the years, it’s that control is kind of a fallacy, man. There are limits-and sometimes you gotta know when to accept that you don’t have it.” Stroking his hands down Castiel’s back, he pushes their bodies together so that Cas can feel every inch of him that’s no less entangled or vulnerable. “Sometimes you have to know when to give it up, too, and there’s nothing shameful about that. How often did I have to lean on you during the apocalypse, huh? It didn’t sit well at first but I probably would have gone insane if I hadn’t let you hold my carcass up every so often.”

“I’m still holding up your carcass,” Cas deadpans.

Dean shrugs. “And I’m glad for it. A lot of the time I’m all too aware that you’re the only thing that keeps me sane most days.” He insinuates a hand between them so that he can tilt Cas’s chin up to meet his, wishing he could smooth away the tiredness from his features the way Cas can heal an open wound with a touch of his hand. “Ignoring your weaknesses don’t make ‘em disappear,” Dean tells him. “So you might as well own them and trust that the people close to you got your back. It means a lot that you don’t need to hide those parts of yourself from me, Cas, so I’d kind of like it if you didn’t stop now. I’d never use that control against you, and it doesn’t make you less of a leader.” Leaning in to press their lips together softly, Dean sighs against his mouth. “You know that, right? You’re kind of where I learned it from, after all.”

With a sigh, Cas buries his face into Dean’s neck and flicks his tongue out experimentally as if the sweat he finds there will hold the answers. The uncertainty of the gesture clenches around Dean’s heart, and if he worries whether Castiel’s sudden lack of confidence jolts at his own foundations, well, he supposes this is the time for him not to let it show, to be strong where Castiel feels unsteady.

“I feel like I’ve become someone else,” Cas whispers. “How am I supposed to be a pillar of strength for an army when I don’t even know myself? Everything’s changed. Even you. But most of all, me.”

“No,” Dean answers. “That’s bullshit, whatever Balls says.”

He fumbles around for a while until he manages to get the covers out from underneath, tugging until there’s enough slack to cover them both with the warm and slightly-damp cotton sheets. At first Cas stiffens like he didn’t intend to spend the night, but Dean’s got him wrapped tight, safe, and he isn’t prepared to let Cas wander off until all of this is behind them. He might not get a say in how often Cas is forced to go off to battle, but he can control what kind of mindset he does it with. That’s Dean’s job, to remind Cas of who he is, just like it’s Castiel’s job to remind him of the same.

“I got you, Cas,” he says firmly, echoing the sentiment that came so easily before, that pulled him out of Hell and the end of the world and into the one sure thing in his life, the one thing he knows will always be there. It doesn’t matter how much it takes, Dean will repeat the words until Castiel’s faith is strong enough to win any war, no matter what the odds. “No matter how much you think you’ve changed, what you think you wanna be, I always know exactly who you are.”

Finis