annundriel: ([spn] Team Free Will)
[personal profile] annundriel
In Orbit
No spoilers.
Some Wincest, heavier on Sam/Castiel, still primarily Dean/Castiel.
Castiel's caught in their pull.

I'm not sure how this started, but one day on Twitter I felt like writing Sam/Dean/Cas for [ profile] obstinatrix. So this is for her, for being awesome. ♥ Many, many thanks to [ profile] cautionzombies for beta-ing and generally being a supportive BAMF. ♥

Castiel groans, fingers clutching at Dean’s thighs where they bracket his own, hanging on as Sam’s mouth finally fits around the head of his cock, lips tight and tongue hot.

“You like that, don’t you, Cas,” Dean says, his voice low, breath sending shivers racing across Castiel’s skin. There’s no more question to it than there has been since the first time Dean nudged Castiel’s feet apart and fell to his knees, hands firm and mouth searching.

Sam’s mouth lowers on him until his lips meet the ring of Dean’s fingers where Dean is holding him still, and Castiel resists the urge to move his hips, buck up into that perfect, soft space between the twin hints of sharpness that are Sam’s teeth. He whimpers, though, and Sam looks up at him with eyes gone so dark Castiel couldn’t name the color if he tried.

He is a little distracted anyway. Dean hard at his back, Sam bent between his thighs; there are other things on Castiel’s mind than the precise way Sam looks at him, the indefinable way Dean’s skin feels against his own. Castiel is tempted to shut his eyes, give himself over to it, but Dean would only make him open them.

“Tell me you like it, Cas. Tell me how much you love Sammy’s mouth on your cock.” Dean’s hand moves, makes way for Sam’s mouth. He brushes fingers slick with saliva against one of Castiel’s nipples, pinches it—hard and brief—before rubbing it gently with his thumb. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Dean,” Castiel sighs. “Sam, I—I can’t—”

“Bet it’s hot, isn’t it?” Dean says, and Castiel can feel Dean’s cock hard against his ass. “Hot and wet and fucking perfect.”

Sam’s tongue flicks against the head and Castiel’s fingers tighten against Dean.


Pulling off, Sam wraps one large hand around Castiel, the careful up and down of it too light, too teasing to do anything more than drive Castiel mad. “Come on, Cas.” His voice is rough, used. Before—before, before—Castiel knew Dean’s voice was meant for sex. He’d never conceived—

Loosening his grip on Dean, Castiel reaches for Sam, fingers pressing against Sam’s lips. They open beneath his touch, and Castiel slides inside.

Eyes fluttering closed, Sam begins to suck.

Castiel shudders hard enough, he knows Dean feels it. “You’re right, Dean,” he says, swallowing hard when his words come out thick and unwieldy. “Hot and wet and Sam—”

Sam’s eyes slip open, watching.

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean prompts.

Castiel presses forward, Sam taking his fingers easily. “Sam’s perfect.”

Sam pulls off abruptly with a groan, eyes gone electric, body suddenly looming large and hard as he raises himself to kiss Castiel, his tongue a welcome intrusion.

Dean chuckles behind him, and it vibrates through Castiel’s bones. “You should listen to me more often,” he says, lips teasing against the curve of Castiel’s neck. “When I’m right, I’m right.”

Castiel doesn’t answer, his mouth occupied by Sam, the knowing curl of his tongue, the wicked hint of his teeth. He could tell Dean that he’s been wrong plenty, that they’ve both made mistakes and bad decisions, but the choices that brought them here, right here, feel vital. Perhaps this was where Castiel was always meant to be, tucked between the bodies of the Winchesters, occupying the space they’ve carved out for him, a space for rebellious angels.

One of Dean’s hands disappears from his skin and Sam makes a surprised noise, teeth closing on Castiel’s bottom lip. “Dean,” he gasps, pulling away. When Castiel looks down between them, he sees Dean’s fingers wrapped around Sam’s cock, flexing against the hard length of his shaft. Castiel’s own fingers itch to join them, so he reaches down, threads his fingers between Dean’s. Watches Sam’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his pulse racing visibly in the long inviting line of his neck. It’s an invitation Castiel can’t resist.

Leaning forward, he presses his lips against it, his tongue. Opens his mouth and sucks his mark into Sam’s skin. He’ll never mark Sam as obviously his as Dean—Dean’s another story all together, different from all else; unique as the handprint on his shoulder, as an angel willing to give all for one—but he does his best with his fingers and mouth, his teeth.

“God, Cas,” Dean sighs as Sam’s throat vibrates beneath his lips. “That’s it. Mark him up. Make sure everyone can see what he’s been up to.”

Castiel does what Dean says, can follow his commands here without question because Dean knows Sam and Dean knows Castiel. He knows bodies and pleasure and how to juggle the things all three of them want. Dean’s practiced, knowledgeable, has taken them apart and put them both together again before, over and over again. Left Castiel shaking and shuddering while he turns his attention on Sam, left Sam groaning and on edge when he’s focused on Castiel; he knows the curves of their bodies as well as he knows the lines of the Impala. With Dean, here, Castiel knows he’s in safe hands, capable hands.

Dean's fingers flex against his, against Sam's cock, and begin to move, Castiel following his lead until Sam pulls away from Castiel's mouth with a grunt, breath ghosting across Castiel's skin, hot and damp, with their names. Dropping his head, Sam noses at Castiel’s cheek, seeks Castiel’s mouth by touch until they’re locked together again, his hips twitching, cock sliding through the tight grip of their hands.

Fuck. Do you know what you guys look like? Do you? Jesus fucking Christ, I won the fucking lottery here.” Dean presses his mouth to the curve of Castiel’s neck, bites gently down. It makes Castiel squirm, slipping away from Sam’s wanton mouth.

Dean’s name falls from their lips in unison.

“I want Sam to fuck you, Cas. You want to fuck him, don’t you, Sam? You want it just as bad as I do.”

Sam nods, hair brushing Castiel’s forehead. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah.”

“I want Sam to fuck you while I watch, Cas, and then I want to flip you over, fuck you myself—” Castiel groans, fingers tightening against Dean’s, against Sam— “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Like us to fuck you ‘til you’re spent and screaming and you don’t know which way is up anymore.”

Castiel nods between them, cock unbearably hard. Yes, he wants it. Yes. More than anything, he wants Dean and Sam, wants the two of them on him, around him, in him. Wants their fingers and mouths and tongues and cocks, wants them holding him down and fucking him slow, lifting him up and taking him fast. He doesn’t care. He’s found something with the two of them, stumbled across something good with Dean, with Sam. Something better, a holy trinity slotting together that first time like glittering mosaic pieces, broken but finally finding their places side by side. They’d fit so easily that first time, Castiel still finds himself amazed and grateful and filled with something he can only describe as awe.

“Want to hear you say it, Cas,” Sam says. “The words. Say them.”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “Yes. Sam, I want—I want—And Dean—”

It must be all Sam needs to hear, because in the next moment, his hands are on Castiel and he’s pulling him, lifting him. Turning Castiel until he’s on his hands and knees, face inches from Dean’s chest. One of Dean’s nipples catches his eye and Castiel leans in, licks across it with the flat of his tongue, pulling a shudder from deep within Dean.

Dean’s fingers slip in to Castiel’s hair, holding him close as Sam’s weight disappears from the bed. Castiel laps at the raised bump beneath his tongue, scraps his teeth lightly across it until Dean’s fingers are tightening in his hair, pulling him away. Castiel opens his mouth to protest, but then Dean’s slipping down beneath him, moving until they’re face to face.

“Cas,” Dean says, voice gone gentle. “C’mere.” He pulls Castiel down to him, lips slotting into place against his, tongue curling around Castiel’s own when Castiel gasps.

He falls into Dean’s kiss, the feel of Dean’s lips and teeth and tongue, his fingers against Castiel’s scalp. Dean’s gravitational pull is too much for Castiel to resist, it always has been, and Castiel wants to continue his fall now, follow Dean down until they’re pressed together from head to toe, skin against skin against skin. He’s orbiting Dean, caught as surely as Sam is, caught and unresisting because there is nothing brighter, nothing better in the whole of Heaven and Earth than the look on Dean’s face, in Dean’s eyes when he looks at Castiel, when his eyes slide past to take in Sam just behind.

Sam’s hand on the small of Castiel’s back keeps him from moving. Sam’s fingers, slick with lube, slipping between Castiel’s cheeks, the barest hint of pressure against his hole, pull Castiel’s mouth away from Dean’s with a gasp.


“Cas,” Sam says, knees straddling Dean’s legs, nudging Castiel’s farther apart. It brings him closer to Dean—his smirking mouth, his flushed chest, his cock, hard and curving; anything that brings him closer to Dean is good. “Making sure you didn’t forget me.”

That Castiel could ever forget Sam is ridiculous. That he could ever forget either of them is beyond that. The Winchesters are in his blood, in his grace, so intertwined with Castiel’s existence now he cannot imagine the world without either of them in it. He can see how this could be dangerous, how Dean and Sam could tear down walls and rooms and worlds to save the other. Break all the rules and never look back. He’s seen it happen, watched them love and hate and destroy themselves in the name of the other before he ever knew them, before they knew—really knew, no matter what Sam may have believed—that angels existed.

Castiel’s part of that now, knows that when it’s them against the world? He’s them. He’s family, belongs in ways he never did in Heaven.

Pushing back against Sam’s fingers, pulling away from Dean’s touch, Castiel shifts his weight on his knees, straightens himself until he’s kneeling upright, the hot line of Sam’s body right behind him. He cranes his neck, wants Sam’s mouth on his, too. “How could I forget you, Sam.”

Hot and wide, Sam’s mouth covers his as Sam’s hand slips from his back to his front, sliding up his chest to finger a nipple, his nails a light scratch that makes Castiel shudder. It isn’t the most comfortable position to kiss in, but Castiel likes the way he feels off-balance. Knows that if he falls, Dean is there to catch him.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs from the bed. “Yeah, that’s it, that’s—Fuck, do you have any idea how you look? Any at all? Like some fucking wet dream come to life.”

Castiel pulls away from Sam’s distracting tongue, watches Dean jerk himself off between their knees, hand moving steadily on his cock. It makes Castiel’s mouth water and he thinks that if he did dream, he’d dream of this. Of Sam hard behind him, fingers stroking inside of him, and Dean’s luminous eyes below, hands reaching for Castiel’s bare skin.

“Dean,” Castiel commands, “touch me.”

Free hand lifting, Dean doesn’t miss a beat. He wraps his fingers—his slightly rough, completely capable fingers—around Castiel’s cock and Castiel groans, pleasure pulling his center of gravity off, dragging him down until he and Sam are on their hands and knees above Dean and Dean’s grinning like he’s won. Like he’s the king of the mountain even though he’s at the bottom of the heap.

“It just keeps getting better,” he says, fingers flexing around Castiel’s cock. Sam hums his agreement, a rumble Castiel feels echoing through his bones, as he slips his fingers from Castiel’s ass, only the tips remaining. He slides them back in with a twist of his wrist and Castiel’s mouth falls open, making Dean chuckle. “Feels good, doesn’t it, Cas? Exactly what you wanted.”

“Nnnngh. I—Yes, I—”

Cas, fuck.” Dean’s thumb rubs over the head of Castiel’s cock. “I love it when you’re incoherent. Don’t you love it, Sam? He’s so fucking—”

“Beautiful,” Sam finishes. “Going to fuck you now, Cas. Want to feel you around me, want to hear you moan.”

Castiel swallows, pushing back on Sam’s fingers, forcing him in deeper. “Get on with it, then,” he growls. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Dean chuckles beneath him, thighs shifting against the inside of Castiel’s. “Someone’s lost their patien—”

Castiel’s hand covers Dean’s on his cock, fingers tight, and Dean gasps, those perfect lips falling open, inviting. Castiel wants to be in that mouth, wants to slide between those lips and make himself at home there. Kiss Dean and taste only himself and later, later Sam, too.

That is for after, though, for when they’ve all come once together, fingers and thighs sticky with drying sweat and other things.

“You’re all talk,” Castiel says, leaning in to suck at the sweet bottom curve of Dean’s lower lip. “All talk and no action. No more teasin—”

Sam’s fingers disappear from Castiel’s ass, his hands moving to pull roughly at Castiel’s hips, dragging him close. His cock—huge and hard between them—slips against Castiel and he bites his tongue, stops complaining because that thrust has intent and Castiel knows he’s in good hands, the two best pairs of hands he’s ever known, large and strong and capable. He just wishes they’d work faster.

Dean chuckles beneath him, rising up to take Castiel’s mouth back, distracting him with the confident curl of his tongue, the play of his lips. Dean puts his all into his kisses, and Castiel gives himself over to it, lets himself be taken even as Sam presses against him, fingers digging into Castiel’s skin, cock dragging against his entrance.

“This isn’t—” Cas gasps against Dean. “This is still teasing.”

“You think you’re ready, Cas?” Sam asks. “Ready for me to fuck you?”

Pulling away from Dean, Castiel looks over his shoulder at Sam, at his flushed face and chest, his damp hair. Castiel’s cock aches, his body clamouring for something to fill it, begging for Sam to get on with it.

“Clearly you have not been paying attention.”

Sam makes a sound like appreciation, like the low rumbling moan that rises from Dean when he takes a bite of particularly good pie, the kind that makes his eyes roll back in his head.

“Patience is a virtue, Cas,” Dean says, face smug, skin golden and tanned against the too-white sheets.

“Thought you of all people would know that,” Sam finishes.

Castiel wants to argue, to call them both dicks, assholes, those insults that fall so easily from Dean’s own mouth, but then one of Sam’s hands disappears and the slick head of his cock is steady against Castiel’s entrance, a hot, hard tease almost where he wants it.


Sam pushes in, each inch of his cock forcing Castiel’s heart rate higher, faster. “Cas,” he groans in response. Dean’s voice joins it, the tones of them twisting together, twining around Castiel in a chorus that leaves him overwhelmed. His fingers dig into the sheets on either side of Dean, clutching at them as his own mouth falls open and his eyes slide shut. He breathes carefully through his nose, focuses on the way his body—his body—feels, the way Sam feels breaching him. Focuses on the relaxation of some muscles, the tightening of others. Focuses, focuses...

Fingers on the sides of his face pull Castiel out of himself and he finds Dean looking up at him with eyes wide and lust-blown, lips pink and parted. His cheeks are flushed and he’s watching Castiel like he’s the one who’s been gifted, like Castiel is the surprise here instead of the other way around. If Castiel weren’t already breathless, he would be now, the last bits of air leaving his body with the force of Dean’s look.

Dean,” he breathes, and then Dean is pulling him down, dragging him forward. Lifting up enough to bring their mouths together, swallow the sound that makes its way between Castiel’s lips as Sam settles fully inside.

One of Dean’s hands disappears from his face, slips over Castiel’s neck and down his chest—fingers detour on a nipple and Castiel shudders, shakes on his hands and knees—to pass his cock, tease his balls. Dean shifts and finds the place where Sam is splitting him open, where they’re pressed so close they might as well be one. “Fuck, Cas. Fuck, you’re so good, taking Sam like this. Wish I could see it. Next time I’m going to watch. Sit and watch him fuck you, watch each inch of him disappear inside of you until you’re full and panting. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Cas? You like it when we watch you.”

Castiel nods, nose brushing Dean’s. His fingers clench in the sheets as Dean’s fingers press against him and Sam twitches behind him, hips swinging to press him deeper. “Yes,” he gasps. “I want you to—I want—”

Sam slides out slowly, pushes in hard, and Castiel’s head jerks up, his mouth falling open. “What was that?” Sam asks. “What do you want, Cas?”

They’re teasing him, he knows they’re teasing him. There’s no way they can expect him to answer, not when Sam’s fucking him and Dean’s fingering him and every single one of Castiel’s nerve-endings is clamoring for attention, for more.

Dean’s hand wraps around Castiel’s cock, his other hand sliding to the back of Castiel’s neck, holding him steady. Keeping him close. Castiel looks down at him, presses back into that hand as easily as he presses back into the sharp cradle of Sam’s hips. Meets Dean’s eyes as well as he can. “I want—I want you to fuck me, Sam. I want Dean to watch. To see—”

Sam moves slowly back, his cock a long, drawn out tease before his hips snap forward, jarring Castiel, making him whine high in the back of his throat. “God, Cas,” Sam breathes. “We’ll do it. We’ll do whatever you want.” One of his hands—his big hands that Castiel has found himself watching before, longing for—slips from the crook of Castiel’s waist to the small of his back, fingers spreading across the sweaty skin. “Anything you want. Just gotta name it, Cas. Just gotta ask.”

“Yeah.” Dean nods, a bead of Castiel’s sweat glinting where it’s landed on Dean’s skin. Castiel’s mouth aches to clear it, to taste himself and Dean mixed together, hot and salty. He leans down, pulling against the grip Sam has on him, and licks it off Dean’s temple. Dean breathes heavily through his nose, fingers flexing around Castiel’s cock, and Castiel sighs, content in the fact that he isn’t powerless here. He’s not the only one at someone else’s mercy.

“Yeah,” Dean repeats, hand gliding up the length of him, smoothing over the head to spread precome before gliding down. “Anything, Cas. You name it, it’s yours.”

Castiel appreciates the offer, but he’s already got what he wants in the four corners of this bed, the boundaries of the Winchesters’ limbs. This is all he needs now, all he will ever need. The smell and taste and sound of them pulling him to earth, grounding him there in a way that feels less confining and more freeing.

Perhaps this is what free will is, the ability to choose. He is freer now with Dean and Sam and his human body than he ever was with all the choirs of Heaven rejoicing around him and that, that he would not trade for anything.

Dean,” Castiel breathes, “Sam.”

He looks down at Dean and pushes back into Sam, presses his fingers into the mattress and his cock into Dean’s fist and this is all Castiel wants and needs and everything that will see him through when days get dark and nights get long.

Castiel comes with a groan, their names on his lips, spilling over Dean’s hand and onto his stomach, his chest, come painting Dean’s skin with unknowable meaning. An answering moan rises from Dean’s throat, his nostrils flaring as he coaxes Castiel through it, pulls him farther over the edge. Sam’s thrusting behind him, pushing him, rocking him as Sam’s breathing changes, his breath coming faster. The hand on the small of Castiel’s back creeps upward, moving along Castiel’s spine until it’s between his shoulderblades, pressing him down, pressing him closer to Dean’s face as Sam fucks him. It may be a hint, or it might be nothing but mindless touching, but Castiel takes it for what it seems and licks his breathless way into Dean’s open mouth, sucks on his tongue as Sam gasps and grunts and groans behind Castiel, hips stuttering as he snaps forward one last time, pressing as deep as possible into Castiel.

He can feel him. Deep inside, Castiel can feel Sam fill him, can feel Sam. He hums around Dean’s tongue and Dean vibrates against him, fingers squeezing, muscles clenching as he shoots between them, his come joining Castiel’s on his skin until there’s no telling whose mess is whose. Not that it will ever matter, not now. Not anymore.

Bodies stilling, Castiel focuses on the beat, beat, beat of his heart, the gusting breaths coming from below and above. He closes his eyes and feels light headed, feels muscles starting to protest their prolonged positions. Understands after these moments with Sam and Dean what Dean means when he says something hurts so good.

After a moment, Sam slips away, sliding out of the bed, and Castiel sighs, feels empty until Dean’s fingers flex against the back of his neck—one, two, three, four—and pull his attention back to Dean. His eyes are hooded and tired and very green, very clear. His voice when he speaks is soft.

“Cas,” he says. “Cas.”

Dean tugs gently and Castiel lets himself fall, presses their sweaty, messy skin together and kisses Dean, their tongues sliding together with slick, silky sounds until Sam comes back to clean them up. Complete the circuit they’ve been fashioning from the very first time Castiel gripped Dean tight, the very first time he took Sam’s hand in both of his and felt that, no matter what he heard about these boys, these men, they were good and they were his.

“Scoot over,” Sam says, nudging at them with his knees, damp washcloth in hand.

Pulling away from Dean, Castiel raises himself back up, frowns at the way their skin clings, pushing back until he’s on his knees, too. He reaches for Sam, fingers sliding through the long hair at the back of Sam’s neck, and pulls him in for a kiss. Sam chuckles, the sound caught between them, and drops the washcloth on Dean, holds on to Castiel for balance. In the background, Castiel can hear Dean’s hey of protest. Dean’s fingers are on his hip, on Sam’s hip, too, surely, poking them, prodding them, and Castiel laughs against Sam’s mouth, pulls away to look down at Dean.

Dean blinks up at them, mouth down-turned at the corners, a pout he’ll never admit to.

“What?” Sam asks, fingers strong on Castiel’s shoulder. “You want something?”

Dean grumbles, “You’re too fucking far away. Get back down here.”

“For someone who just came, you’re awfully cranky.”

For someone who just,” Dean mocks, forehead creasing. “Get the fuck down here.”

Castiel rolls his eyes at both of them, enjoys the strange freedom of it, and lets himself fall back down to Dean, knows that Sam will follow.
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annundriel: (Default)

February 2013


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