Cas is a machine, pistoning into Dean with steady hips, his hands tight, bruising brands on Dean’s waist as Dean rocks back into him, groaning. Sam beneath them both is the opposite: all patience, no power, and full of words. “Love your face when you’re getting fucked,” he whispers, cradling Dean’s jaw with one soft hand as the other works their cocks together with each jerk of Dean’s body. “Love how much you love it when Cas fucks you hard, moaning like a whore, like you just can’t get enough of his cock.”
And Dean is moaning like a whore, louder with each filthy word, and he jerks back and forth between the two poles until his body’s in a frenzy of friction and he can do nothing but stiffen and turn to flame in his two lovers’ arms.