Fic: Sign it on my soul (Sam/Dean/Cas, NC-17)
Title: Sign it on my soul
Author: bree_black
Pairing: Sam/Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3,300
Spoilers: Through 6.07.
Notes: Porny coda to 6.07. Beta'd by dress_myself_up. Be gentle, it's my first time doing real porn. ;)
Summary: There's not a lot Dean isn't willing to do to save his brother, and there's not a lot Castiel isn't willing to do for Dean.
“Fuck you, asshole!” Dean screams into the night, kicking over the candles they’d been trying to use to summon the King of Hell. Dean had been cursing for several minutes, since their last ritual - and their last hope - had failed.
Castiel stands to the side, letting the darkness and the empty road stifle Dean’s rage. Dean kicks the cement curb - hard - and the must overwhelm his anger, because he returns to Castiel’s side, limping slightly. His eyes are red-rimmed, and Castiel can see the tears of frustration that threaten to spill over. Dean rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, then pulls his fingers back and through his hair so that it stands up in places where it’s getting too long.
“He’s not coming,” Castiel says, because someone needs to state the obvious.
“No,” Dean agrees, voice strained from all the yelling. “Demons always lie, don’t they?”
***
The djinn had been the third Alpha Sam and Dean - with a little help from Cas - had captured and turned over to Crowley’s minions. Each time, Crowley had promised he had just one more task for them before he paid them for their work with the ultimate prize - Sam’s soul. Of course Dean had never really believed it, but it was the only shot they’d had, so Dean hadn’t had much choice but to go along.
It’s becoming pretty damn obvious, though, that Crowley is never going to make good on his end of the deal, and Dean isn’t sure what’s worse, that cold hard fact, or that nobody but him seems to give a shit.
“Okay,” Sam says, shifting from foot to foot. “So what do we do now?” His brows are furrowed in a parody of concern. Dean knows Sam can’t really feel anything, that he’s merely learned to read and imitate Dean’s own emotional reactions.
Dean collapses onto the closer of the two hotel beds, burying his face in a pillow so he doesn’t have to look at Sam. “I don’t know,” he says into the fabric. “I give up.”
Cas clears his throat, guiltily. Dean rolls over and sits up to look at him. He’s holding one of their rifles, nervously turning it over and over in his hands. Dean hopes the weapon doesn’t accidentally discharge. “What?” he says irritably.
Cas’ hands still on the gun. “There may be something else we can try.”
***
Sam sees the hope light up Dean’s eyes, notices the way he rises unsteadily to his feet. He knows the possibility of getting his soul back should make him feel something too, but it doesn’t. He feels empty, numb, or at the most, mildly curious.
“What is it?” he asks, because Dean seems unable to do so.
Cas turns his attention to Sam. “There was something I saw, when I ‘diagnosed’ you some time ago, when we determined your soul was missing. Initials, carved into the insides of your ribs. The name of the owner of your soul.”
“Dude,” Dean interrupts, “his soul’s missing. How could you possibly have read the label?”
Cas sighs and Sam would swear he almost rolls his eyes. “It’s like when you write on a pad of paper, and you press so hard it leaves an imprint on the next sheet. The name was carved so deeply into Sam’s soul it left a mark behind.”
“Crowley’s name,” Sam says, “so what?”
“No,” Cas answers, eyes grave. “The initials inside your chest are D.W.”
***
“And you didn’t think to mention this sooner?” Dean snaps, eyes lit up with a combination of anger and hope. It’s so characteristically Dean it makes Castiel lose his breath for a moment.
“I didn’t want it to be anything but a last resort,” he says finally, standing tall under Dean’s accusatory stare. “I don’t know if you understand what this means.”
“It means I own Sam’s soul,” Dean says, “that I had dibs and Crowley had no right to take it in the first place.” He sounds oddly unsurprised by this turn of events, and unconcerned with how his brother’s soul came to be branded with his name in the first place. “And that I can take it back.”
“You could,” Castiel says quickly, “if you had the power to do so. Claiming a soul requires two things: ownership over the soul in question, and the sheer power one needs to contain and transport it. You’re only human, Dean. Even angels and demons struggle to contain so much power.”
Dean shrugs, like this information is only a minor setback. “So how do I become more powerful? Should I juice up on demon blood or something?”
Castiel winces at the thought, though Sam’s face remains impassive.
“Maybe,” Castiel says. “Or I could share.”
***
Before now, there’d been no fucking way Dean would ever have agreed to be anybody’s vessel. Now, he’s totally willing to go through with it. He feels a little better, actually, knowing it’ll be Cas - not Michael - wearing him. At least Cas seems to keep his vessels neat.
“Okay, fine,” Dean says. ‘I consent. Take me, or whatever.”
Sam scoffs, which totally kills the epic moment Dean was going for. Trust Crowley to take his soul, but leave his ability to recognize accidental innuendo intact.
Cas blinks. “No,” he says, “no, I don’t mean you would be my vessel.” He looks appalled at the thought, and Dean is a little insulted.
“So what then?”
Cas appears behind Dean a moment later, standing so close Dean can feel his breath on the back of his neck. Dean doesn’t jump; he’s pretty used to Cas’ personal space issues by now. He’s still a little startled, though, when Cas touches his throat, lightly, two fingers on each side. The touch makes his skin tingle.
“No,” he says softly, and practically in Dean’s ear. “Like this. I’ll channel my energy through you. It wouldn’t work if you were my vessel; you wouldn’t be you, and I have no claim on Sam’s soul.”
“And then I what, call Crowley?”
“No,” Castiel replies. “I think we can leave out the middleman. You would simply call the soul to you, then reach into Sam and put it back.”
Dean’s eyes move automatically to Sam’s chest, imagining plunging his arm in there, elbow-deep. It’s not exactly a pleasant thought.
“You could die,” Castiel adds, still basically whispering in his ear. “I have no idea how a human would react to containing angelic grace. And Sam would be as much at risk as you.”
Dean doesn’t hesitate, because honestly? He’s got nothing to lose. “Okay, Sammy,” he says, grinning. “Take a seat over there. The doctor will be right with you.”
***
Sam sits on the foot of one of the beds, planting his feet firmly on the carpeted floor. Dean takes one long sip of beer before he moves to stand in front of Sam, Cas trailing close behind. They both look nervous; Sam is completely unafraid.
“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asks, biting his lip in the same way he does when forced to do research, a task thoroughly unpleasant but unfortunately necessary.
“Yeah,” Sam answers, “I trust you.”
Dean smiles in that sweet heartbroken way Sam knows isn’t quite right. Sam wants his soul back, so Dean doesn’t need to smile like that anymore. He remembers the way it felt when Cas had done this before - acid running through his veins, ants feasting on his skin - and takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the pain. “Go.”
Cas stands very close behind Dean, pressing their bodies together. Normally, Sam knows, Dean would make some kind of crack about that, but he’s too focused now. He leans into Cas’ body, helping him.
Cas places one hand just above Dean’s hip, fingers underneath his flannel and his t-shirt so they rest on bare skin. He wraps his other hand halfway around Dean’s throat, the tip of his middle finger resting just above his Adam’s apple. Dean swallows hard, and Sam can see it.
“I want it known,” Cas says, “that I didn’t want to do this.”
“Shut up,” Dean says, “And hit the switch.”
***
Castiel does as Dean asks, because he’s never really been able to do otherwise. He calls the power of his grace to life, bracing Dean’s body against his. Normally, Castiel is unaware of his own strength - he's adjusted to it, like humans adjust to breathing. Now, Castiel can feel his power gathering in his fingertips where they meet Dean’s skin, charge gathering and growing. Castiel wills it to make the leap from his being to Dean’s body.
He knows the moment it happens. Dean shudders against him, and inhales sharply. Castiel feels the muscles in his jaw twitch. Dean’s arms, which had been hanging at his sides, fist themselves in Castiel’s trench coat, pulling Castiel impossibly closer, like he needs even more touch, more points of contact for the grace to travel across.
Castiel presses his open mouth to Dean’s throat and feels his own lips turn electric. Dean groans, a low, desperate sound, and pushes back against Castiel’s body. Castiel gasps at the unexpected sensation, at the burst of arousal gathering low in his stomach. It is all he can do to maintain the circuit, to keep his hands and his mouth pressed against Dean’s skin as his own power flows through them.
“Now,” he says, against the delicious skin at Dean’s throat and through the buzzing of his lips. “Dean, now.”
***
Dean can barely hear Cas, but he can definitely feel him. He feels like he’s caught in a tornado, his body out of control and riding out the chaos. He shivers uncontrollably, and if Cas wasn’t holding him up, he’s sure his legs would collapse underneath him. His heart races faster than Dean thought possible, and he’s not sure he’s breathing anymore - he’s not sure he even needs to.
It feels good, too good. Like all the nerves in his entire body - even ones he didn’t know he had - are buzzing with pleasure. His cock is rock hard in seconds, straining against his jeans, and Dean must still be human because oh god does he need some friction right now.
He moans, tries to tell Cas what he needs, to say this needs to stop unless he gets it. His words come out in a whimper, but maybe they’re communicating on some other level, now, because Cas seems to get it. He slides his hand from Dean’s hip to his lower stomach, and, pressing the underside of his wrist against Dean’s skin to maintain their connection, undoes the button of Dean’s jeans.
Cas’ hand on Dean’s cock momentarily short circuits his brain, but then it seems to center him. In the rhythm of Cas’ hand stroking up and down his cock, Dean feels the chaos subside, feels the power coursing through him grow strong, consistent. The familiar sensation of need - of oh-god-so-hot-need-to-get-off - Dean remembers what it is to be human, remembers who he is and why he’s doing this.
‘Sam,” Dean groans. He manages to keep his eyes open for a few moments and sees Sam staring up at him from the edge of the bed, expression mildly perplexed. Probably, he’s trying to figure out whether or not he should intervene.
Dean takes a step forward, pulling Cas with him, and plunges his arm into his brother’s chest.
***
It’s the worst pain Sam’s ever experienced, and that’s saying a lot. It burns through his veins and shatters his bones and makes him wish he was dead, or had never been born at all. Sam wants to pull back, wants to scream or cry or rip his own heart out. Instead, he forces his eyes open and stares at his brother.
Dean stares right back, eyes full of lust and concentration, just the way Sam has imagined he is with his girlfriends, in the fantasies he’s harboured since he was thirteen years old. Summoning his soul can’t be easy, and Dean focuses his eyes firmly on Sam, even as Cas jacks him off. Sam has the sense that Dean can see the ugly empty space inside Sam’s chest where his soul should be. Dean pants, open-mouthed, and Sam’s not sure if it’s because of the sex or the soul-searching.
“Mine,” Dean mutters, so low Sam can barely hear him over the beating of his own heart. “It’s mine.” The fire in Dean’s voice sends a thrill down Sam’s spine strong enough to momentarily overpower the pain. Cas moans once, into Dean’s neck, and then -suddenly - Sam’s soul is back.
It doesn’t feel like anything’s changed. Just the opposite, in fact. Suddenly, everything in Sam feels right again, like the moment of waking up from a nightmare and realizing you’re safe in a motel bed. The normality of it all is overwhelming.
Sam has his soul back, and he does the first thing it tells him to do. He stands up and kisses his brother.
***
Castiel takes the desperate, open-mouthed kiss Sam and Dean share as a sign Sam’s soul is restored, and breaks the connection. He pulls his hand away from Dean’s throat with some hesitation, but when nothing dangerous happens, moves to release Dean entirely, his job finished. He means to leave Sam and Dean alone to their reunion.
Castiel moves his hand from where it had been resting against Dean’s belly, and is surprised when Dean’s hand closes in an iron-grip around his wrist. “No,” Dean says, gasping for air as he breaks a kiss with Sam. “Don’t go.”
Dean steps forward, pushing Sam and pulling Castiel. Sam scrambles backward onto the bed, pinned by Dean’s body, and Castiel, helpless as always to resist the will of Dean Winchester, allows himself to be dragged forward by the wrist.
***
Sam wants to touch every single part of Dean’s body, to reacquaint himself with the achingly familiar longing and sense of safety he’s always associated with Dean’s skin. Sam’s heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest.
Also, his cock feels like it’s going to burst out of his pants. Dean’s fingers shake as he unbuttons Sam’s jeans. His own jeans are already undone, of course, pulled down below his hips. Dean’s cock rubs against Sam’s bare stomach where his shirt rides up, making them both gasp. Sam wants to touch every part of Dean’s body, but for the moment there are more urgent needs to attend to. It’s all they can do to stop touching long enough to get Sam’s jeans and underwear pulled down below his hips, let alone stop to take off the rest of their clothes.
Sam is just reaching out to touch Dean's cock when Dean groans, low and surprised. Sam is confused, until he looks up to see Cas, sitting up on his knees, looking down at Dean with fondness and lust and something like fear. Sam can’t see Cas’ hands, but Dean moans again - less surprised this time - and Sam think he knows what Cas might be doing with his hands. Sam searches his soul briefly - relishing his emotions - and, with a jolt, realizes that what he feels about Cas’ presence boils down to yes and good and of course.
Dean moans again, louder this time, and rocks back encouragingly. Sam leans up to catch his brother’s mouth with his own, moving with him, and wrapping one hand around their cocks.
***
Dean wills Cas to hurry and, even though they’re not connected by angelic magic anymore, Cas seems to understand. Cas mutters a few words in what sounds like it might be Latin again, and pushes a third finger inside him, slow and careful and slick. Between Sam’s hand on his dick and Cas’ fingers up his ass, Dean knows he’s not going to last long. He braces himself against the mattress, one arm on either side of Sam’s face, and pushes back against Cas.
Cas pulls out briefly, but a moment later the pressure returns, warmer and thicker and less hesitant. Maybe Cas is losing control too, or maybe he knows Dean can take it, and he thrusts his cock into Dean’s ass carefully, but quickly and without hesitation. Dean leans forward, pressing his mouth to Sam’s beneath him, and letting Sam swallow his moans.
Dean lets Sam’s hand and Cas’ cock find their rhythm through him. He lets himself go boneless, imagines he can hear Cas’ heartbeat against his back and Sam’s against his chest. Dean stops breathing, but he knows it doesn’t matter because they will breathe for him. He listens to the sound of their single heartbeat, and to Sam’s steady stream of nonsense words mixed with Dean’s name. He feels the pressure building low in his stomach rise to the surface, and he lets go.
***
Dean gets there first, come landing on Sam’s chest and throat, warm and wet. Sam follows only a moment later, hand slippery now, as he jacks his own cock. His own come mixes with Dean’s at his throat, and if Sam weren’t pinned under Dean, pinned under Cas, he would try to taste it.
Dean’s body shakes with aftershocks as Cas thrusts several more times before a broken noise escapes his throat, and he falls forward against Dean’s back and goes still. The weight of all three of them pushes Sam into the soft mattress and he thinks he has never felt this safe.
Dean is the first to move, sometime later. He shifts against Sam, testing his body the way they do after a fight, making sure everything is still in working order. He pushes himself up a tiny bit, and Cas hurries to pull away, rolling onto his back on the bed. Dean stands up cautiously. “I’m going to, uh, clean up,” he says.
Sam watches Dean walk to the bathroom, pulling up his jeans as he goes. It sort of hurts to have Dean out of his sight, but the pain of separation anxiety is welcome after so long spent in complete numbness.
Sam hears Dean turn on the bathroom tap, full blast. He closes his eyes, savouring the familiar sound of screeching motel pipes. He’s exhausted, but he figures maybe that’s to be expected, considering he hasn’t slept in over a year.
***
“I’m going to go now,” Castiel announces, because he’s been chastised for leaving without warning before.
Sam’s voice is sleepy when he responds. “What?”
“I’m going to go. You and Dean probably want some time alone. You can call me if you need anything, or if Crowley contacts you.”
Sam sits up, apparently with some difficulty. He leans over into what Dean would call his ‘personal bubble.’ The kiss is slow and sweet, and it still tastes a bit like Dean. It makes Castiel feel very warm.
“I think,” says Sam, when he finally pulls away, “Dean and I have been alone long enough.”
Dean comes back into the room proper during the silence that follows, pausing at the foot of the bed. Castiel looks over at him, anxious and guilty and too exhausted even to summon the strength to vanish.
“Are you two going to go another round?” Dean asks, wrinkling his nose.
“No,” Sam laughs, apparently not guilty in the slightest. “Actually, I was planning on sleeping for a month.”
“Good,” Deans says. “That sounds like the best plan ever.” He stumbles back onto the bed, on Sam’s other side.
Sam huffs out a breath contentedly, rolling over to let Dean curl against his back. Castiel lies on his back, Sam’s arm draped across his chest.
“You going to sleep too, Cas?” Dean asks over Sam’s body, words already slightly slurred.
Castiel likes the feeling of the mattress under his body, the warmth of Sam’s hand against his heart and the sound of Dean’s voice, low and thick with peace. “Yes,” he says, “I think I will.”
Author: bree_black
Pairing: Sam/Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3,300
Spoilers: Through 6.07.
Notes: Porny coda to 6.07. Beta'd by dress_myself_up. Be gentle, it's my first time doing real porn. ;)
Summary: There's not a lot Dean isn't willing to do to save his brother, and there's not a lot Castiel isn't willing to do for Dean.
“Fuck you, asshole!” Dean screams into the night, kicking over the candles they’d been trying to use to summon the King of Hell. Dean had been cursing for several minutes, since their last ritual - and their last hope - had failed.
Castiel stands to the side, letting the darkness and the empty road stifle Dean’s rage. Dean kicks the cement curb - hard - and the must overwhelm his anger, because he returns to Castiel’s side, limping slightly. His eyes are red-rimmed, and Castiel can see the tears of frustration that threaten to spill over. Dean rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, then pulls his fingers back and through his hair so that it stands up in places where it’s getting too long.
“He’s not coming,” Castiel says, because someone needs to state the obvious.
“No,” Dean agrees, voice strained from all the yelling. “Demons always lie, don’t they?”
***
The djinn had been the third Alpha Sam and Dean - with a little help from Cas - had captured and turned over to Crowley’s minions. Each time, Crowley had promised he had just one more task for them before he paid them for their work with the ultimate prize - Sam’s soul. Of course Dean had never really believed it, but it was the only shot they’d had, so Dean hadn’t had much choice but to go along.
It’s becoming pretty damn obvious, though, that Crowley is never going to make good on his end of the deal, and Dean isn’t sure what’s worse, that cold hard fact, or that nobody but him seems to give a shit.
“Okay,” Sam says, shifting from foot to foot. “So what do we do now?” His brows are furrowed in a parody of concern. Dean knows Sam can’t really feel anything, that he’s merely learned to read and imitate Dean’s own emotional reactions.
Dean collapses onto the closer of the two hotel beds, burying his face in a pillow so he doesn’t have to look at Sam. “I don’t know,” he says into the fabric. “I give up.”
Cas clears his throat, guiltily. Dean rolls over and sits up to look at him. He’s holding one of their rifles, nervously turning it over and over in his hands. Dean hopes the weapon doesn’t accidentally discharge. “What?” he says irritably.
Cas’ hands still on the gun. “There may be something else we can try.”
***
Sam sees the hope light up Dean’s eyes, notices the way he rises unsteadily to his feet. He knows the possibility of getting his soul back should make him feel something too, but it doesn’t. He feels empty, numb, or at the most, mildly curious.
“What is it?” he asks, because Dean seems unable to do so.
Cas turns his attention to Sam. “There was something I saw, when I ‘diagnosed’ you some time ago, when we determined your soul was missing. Initials, carved into the insides of your ribs. The name of the owner of your soul.”
“Dude,” Dean interrupts, “his soul’s missing. How could you possibly have read the label?”
Cas sighs and Sam would swear he almost rolls his eyes. “It’s like when you write on a pad of paper, and you press so hard it leaves an imprint on the next sheet. The name was carved so deeply into Sam’s soul it left a mark behind.”
“Crowley’s name,” Sam says, “so what?”
“No,” Cas answers, eyes grave. “The initials inside your chest are D.W.”
***
“And you didn’t think to mention this sooner?” Dean snaps, eyes lit up with a combination of anger and hope. It’s so characteristically Dean it makes Castiel lose his breath for a moment.
“I didn’t want it to be anything but a last resort,” he says finally, standing tall under Dean’s accusatory stare. “I don’t know if you understand what this means.”
“It means I own Sam’s soul,” Dean says, “that I had dibs and Crowley had no right to take it in the first place.” He sounds oddly unsurprised by this turn of events, and unconcerned with how his brother’s soul came to be branded with his name in the first place. “And that I can take it back.”
“You could,” Castiel says quickly, “if you had the power to do so. Claiming a soul requires two things: ownership over the soul in question, and the sheer power one needs to contain and transport it. You’re only human, Dean. Even angels and demons struggle to contain so much power.”
Dean shrugs, like this information is only a minor setback. “So how do I become more powerful? Should I juice up on demon blood or something?”
Castiel winces at the thought, though Sam’s face remains impassive.
“Maybe,” Castiel says. “Or I could share.”
***
Before now, there’d been no fucking way Dean would ever have agreed to be anybody’s vessel. Now, he’s totally willing to go through with it. He feels a little better, actually, knowing it’ll be Cas - not Michael - wearing him. At least Cas seems to keep his vessels neat.
“Okay, fine,” Dean says. ‘I consent. Take me, or whatever.”
Sam scoffs, which totally kills the epic moment Dean was going for. Trust Crowley to take his soul, but leave his ability to recognize accidental innuendo intact.
Cas blinks. “No,” he says, “no, I don’t mean you would be my vessel.” He looks appalled at the thought, and Dean is a little insulted.
“So what then?”
Cas appears behind Dean a moment later, standing so close Dean can feel his breath on the back of his neck. Dean doesn’t jump; he’s pretty used to Cas’ personal space issues by now. He’s still a little startled, though, when Cas touches his throat, lightly, two fingers on each side. The touch makes his skin tingle.
“No,” he says softly, and practically in Dean’s ear. “Like this. I’ll channel my energy through you. It wouldn’t work if you were my vessel; you wouldn’t be you, and I have no claim on Sam’s soul.”
“And then I what, call Crowley?”
“No,” Castiel replies. “I think we can leave out the middleman. You would simply call the soul to you, then reach into Sam and put it back.”
Dean’s eyes move automatically to Sam’s chest, imagining plunging his arm in there, elbow-deep. It’s not exactly a pleasant thought.
“You could die,” Castiel adds, still basically whispering in his ear. “I have no idea how a human would react to containing angelic grace. And Sam would be as much at risk as you.”
Dean doesn’t hesitate, because honestly? He’s got nothing to lose. “Okay, Sammy,” he says, grinning. “Take a seat over there. The doctor will be right with you.”
***
Sam sits on the foot of one of the beds, planting his feet firmly on the carpeted floor. Dean takes one long sip of beer before he moves to stand in front of Sam, Cas trailing close behind. They both look nervous; Sam is completely unafraid.
“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asks, biting his lip in the same way he does when forced to do research, a task thoroughly unpleasant but unfortunately necessary.
“Yeah,” Sam answers, “I trust you.”
Dean smiles in that sweet heartbroken way Sam knows isn’t quite right. Sam wants his soul back, so Dean doesn’t need to smile like that anymore. He remembers the way it felt when Cas had done this before - acid running through his veins, ants feasting on his skin - and takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the pain. “Go.”
Cas stands very close behind Dean, pressing their bodies together. Normally, Sam knows, Dean would make some kind of crack about that, but he’s too focused now. He leans into Cas’ body, helping him.
Cas places one hand just above Dean’s hip, fingers underneath his flannel and his t-shirt so they rest on bare skin. He wraps his other hand halfway around Dean’s throat, the tip of his middle finger resting just above his Adam’s apple. Dean swallows hard, and Sam can see it.
“I want it known,” Cas says, “that I didn’t want to do this.”
“Shut up,” Dean says, “And hit the switch.”
***
Castiel does as Dean asks, because he’s never really been able to do otherwise. He calls the power of his grace to life, bracing Dean’s body against his. Normally, Castiel is unaware of his own strength - he's adjusted to it, like humans adjust to breathing. Now, Castiel can feel his power gathering in his fingertips where they meet Dean’s skin, charge gathering and growing. Castiel wills it to make the leap from his being to Dean’s body.
He knows the moment it happens. Dean shudders against him, and inhales sharply. Castiel feels the muscles in his jaw twitch. Dean’s arms, which had been hanging at his sides, fist themselves in Castiel’s trench coat, pulling Castiel impossibly closer, like he needs even more touch, more points of contact for the grace to travel across.
Castiel presses his open mouth to Dean’s throat and feels his own lips turn electric. Dean groans, a low, desperate sound, and pushes back against Castiel’s body. Castiel gasps at the unexpected sensation, at the burst of arousal gathering low in his stomach. It is all he can do to maintain the circuit, to keep his hands and his mouth pressed against Dean’s skin as his own power flows through them.
“Now,” he says, against the delicious skin at Dean’s throat and through the buzzing of his lips. “Dean, now.”
***
Dean can barely hear Cas, but he can definitely feel him. He feels like he’s caught in a tornado, his body out of control and riding out the chaos. He shivers uncontrollably, and if Cas wasn’t holding him up, he’s sure his legs would collapse underneath him. His heart races faster than Dean thought possible, and he’s not sure he’s breathing anymore - he’s not sure he even needs to.
It feels good, too good. Like all the nerves in his entire body - even ones he didn’t know he had - are buzzing with pleasure. His cock is rock hard in seconds, straining against his jeans, and Dean must still be human because oh god does he need some friction right now.
He moans, tries to tell Cas what he needs, to say this needs to stop unless he gets it. His words come out in a whimper, but maybe they’re communicating on some other level, now, because Cas seems to get it. He slides his hand from Dean’s hip to his lower stomach, and, pressing the underside of his wrist against Dean’s skin to maintain their connection, undoes the button of Dean’s jeans.
Cas’ hand on Dean’s cock momentarily short circuits his brain, but then it seems to center him. In the rhythm of Cas’ hand stroking up and down his cock, Dean feels the chaos subside, feels the power coursing through him grow strong, consistent. The familiar sensation of need - of oh-god-so-hot-need-to-get-off - Dean remembers what it is to be human, remembers who he is and why he’s doing this.
‘Sam,” Dean groans. He manages to keep his eyes open for a few moments and sees Sam staring up at him from the edge of the bed, expression mildly perplexed. Probably, he’s trying to figure out whether or not he should intervene.
Dean takes a step forward, pulling Cas with him, and plunges his arm into his brother’s chest.
***
It’s the worst pain Sam’s ever experienced, and that’s saying a lot. It burns through his veins and shatters his bones and makes him wish he was dead, or had never been born at all. Sam wants to pull back, wants to scream or cry or rip his own heart out. Instead, he forces his eyes open and stares at his brother.
Dean stares right back, eyes full of lust and concentration, just the way Sam has imagined he is with his girlfriends, in the fantasies he’s harboured since he was thirteen years old. Summoning his soul can’t be easy, and Dean focuses his eyes firmly on Sam, even as Cas jacks him off. Sam has the sense that Dean can see the ugly empty space inside Sam’s chest where his soul should be. Dean pants, open-mouthed, and Sam’s not sure if it’s because of the sex or the soul-searching.
“Mine,” Dean mutters, so low Sam can barely hear him over the beating of his own heart. “It’s mine.” The fire in Dean’s voice sends a thrill down Sam’s spine strong enough to momentarily overpower the pain. Cas moans once, into Dean’s neck, and then -suddenly - Sam’s soul is back.
It doesn’t feel like anything’s changed. Just the opposite, in fact. Suddenly, everything in Sam feels right again, like the moment of waking up from a nightmare and realizing you’re safe in a motel bed. The normality of it all is overwhelming.
Sam has his soul back, and he does the first thing it tells him to do. He stands up and kisses his brother.
***
Castiel takes the desperate, open-mouthed kiss Sam and Dean share as a sign Sam’s soul is restored, and breaks the connection. He pulls his hand away from Dean’s throat with some hesitation, but when nothing dangerous happens, moves to release Dean entirely, his job finished. He means to leave Sam and Dean alone to their reunion.
Castiel moves his hand from where it had been resting against Dean’s belly, and is surprised when Dean’s hand closes in an iron-grip around his wrist. “No,” Dean says, gasping for air as he breaks a kiss with Sam. “Don’t go.”
Dean steps forward, pushing Sam and pulling Castiel. Sam scrambles backward onto the bed, pinned by Dean’s body, and Castiel, helpless as always to resist the will of Dean Winchester, allows himself to be dragged forward by the wrist.
***
Sam wants to touch every single part of Dean’s body, to reacquaint himself with the achingly familiar longing and sense of safety he’s always associated with Dean’s skin. Sam’s heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest.
Also, his cock feels like it’s going to burst out of his pants. Dean’s fingers shake as he unbuttons Sam’s jeans. His own jeans are already undone, of course, pulled down below his hips. Dean’s cock rubs against Sam’s bare stomach where his shirt rides up, making them both gasp. Sam wants to touch every part of Dean’s body, but for the moment there are more urgent needs to attend to. It’s all they can do to stop touching long enough to get Sam’s jeans and underwear pulled down below his hips, let alone stop to take off the rest of their clothes.
Sam is just reaching out to touch Dean's cock when Dean groans, low and surprised. Sam is confused, until he looks up to see Cas, sitting up on his knees, looking down at Dean with fondness and lust and something like fear. Sam can’t see Cas’ hands, but Dean moans again - less surprised this time - and Sam think he knows what Cas might be doing with his hands. Sam searches his soul briefly - relishing his emotions - and, with a jolt, realizes that what he feels about Cas’ presence boils down to yes and good and of course.
Dean moans again, louder this time, and rocks back encouragingly. Sam leans up to catch his brother’s mouth with his own, moving with him, and wrapping one hand around their cocks.
***
Dean wills Cas to hurry and, even though they’re not connected by angelic magic anymore, Cas seems to understand. Cas mutters a few words in what sounds like it might be Latin again, and pushes a third finger inside him, slow and careful and slick. Between Sam’s hand on his dick and Cas’ fingers up his ass, Dean knows he’s not going to last long. He braces himself against the mattress, one arm on either side of Sam’s face, and pushes back against Cas.
Cas pulls out briefly, but a moment later the pressure returns, warmer and thicker and less hesitant. Maybe Cas is losing control too, or maybe he knows Dean can take it, and he thrusts his cock into Dean’s ass carefully, but quickly and without hesitation. Dean leans forward, pressing his mouth to Sam’s beneath him, and letting Sam swallow his moans.
Dean lets Sam’s hand and Cas’ cock find their rhythm through him. He lets himself go boneless, imagines he can hear Cas’ heartbeat against his back and Sam’s against his chest. Dean stops breathing, but he knows it doesn’t matter because they will breathe for him. He listens to the sound of their single heartbeat, and to Sam’s steady stream of nonsense words mixed with Dean’s name. He feels the pressure building low in his stomach rise to the surface, and he lets go.
***
Dean gets there first, come landing on Sam’s chest and throat, warm and wet. Sam follows only a moment later, hand slippery now, as he jacks his own cock. His own come mixes with Dean’s at his throat, and if Sam weren’t pinned under Dean, pinned under Cas, he would try to taste it.
Dean’s body shakes with aftershocks as Cas thrusts several more times before a broken noise escapes his throat, and he falls forward against Dean’s back and goes still. The weight of all three of them pushes Sam into the soft mattress and he thinks he has never felt this safe.
Dean is the first to move, sometime later. He shifts against Sam, testing his body the way they do after a fight, making sure everything is still in working order. He pushes himself up a tiny bit, and Cas hurries to pull away, rolling onto his back on the bed. Dean stands up cautiously. “I’m going to, uh, clean up,” he says.
Sam watches Dean walk to the bathroom, pulling up his jeans as he goes. It sort of hurts to have Dean out of his sight, but the pain of separation anxiety is welcome after so long spent in complete numbness.
Sam hears Dean turn on the bathroom tap, full blast. He closes his eyes, savouring the familiar sound of screeching motel pipes. He’s exhausted, but he figures maybe that’s to be expected, considering he hasn’t slept in over a year.
***
“I’m going to go now,” Castiel announces, because he’s been chastised for leaving without warning before.
Sam’s voice is sleepy when he responds. “What?”
“I’m going to go. You and Dean probably want some time alone. You can call me if you need anything, or if Crowley contacts you.”
Sam sits up, apparently with some difficulty. He leans over into what Dean would call his ‘personal bubble.’ The kiss is slow and sweet, and it still tastes a bit like Dean. It makes Castiel feel very warm.
“I think,” says Sam, when he finally pulls away, “Dean and I have been alone long enough.”
Dean comes back into the room proper during the silence that follows, pausing at the foot of the bed. Castiel looks over at him, anxious and guilty and too exhausted even to summon the strength to vanish.
“Are you two going to go another round?” Dean asks, wrinkling his nose.
“No,” Sam laughs, apparently not guilty in the slightest. “Actually, I was planning on sleeping for a month.”
“Good,” Deans says. “That sounds like the best plan ever.” He stumbles back onto the bed, on Sam’s other side.
Sam huffs out a breath contentedly, rolling over to let Dean curl against his back. Castiel lies on his back, Sam’s arm draped across his chest.
“You going to sleep too, Cas?” Dean asks over Sam’s body, words already slightly slurred.
Castiel likes the feeling of the mattress under his body, the warmth of Sam’s hand against his heart and the sound of Dean’s voice, low and thick with peace. “Yes,” he says, “I think I will.”