Cas felt the emptiness where something — or someone — should be, and he fell to his knees in front of John searching for it there; he pressed his cheek to the front of John’s pants and drew in a deep, seeking, shuddering breath. John’s hand was warm and solid when it came to rest on Castiel’s shoulder, a single finger stroking along the side of Cas’ neck in something that felt like comfort.
“Be stronger for me,” John said. “You’ve got it in you.”
As John spread him open and took from him, Castiel pondered what it was he had inside of himself… was it John Winchester that would fill the emptiness or was Cas meant to find the answer on his own.
Castiel looked up at John’s grizzled face and kind eyes, felt John’s cock pulse inside of him, and he felt like an innocent in the woods; this man could show him the way.
Larry turned and looked at Freddy across the bench seat of the car; he ruffled his boy’s hair and then reached across him to open the glovebox.
“See what’s in there? Pick which one you want,” Larry said, trying to keep them on the road long enough to find a fleabag motel; but driving with a sudden boner was making concentrating on the road hard.
Freddy looked over at him with a wide grin, turning back to choose from the lollipops or the handcuffs — honestly this was gonna be a hard choice for the kid — with the color rising on the skin of his neck in a way that made Larry want to reach out and put his palm around the back of it.
There was no way that Daddy could say no to his boy when he asked for both (pretty please) and he didn’t think a little spoiling was gonna hurt, especially not when Freddy took it so hard and so good, wrapping his tongue around that lollipop the whole fucking time.
Contours of the ruffles at the back of Dean’s panties showed through his jeans as he leaned into the trunk, putting away his shotgun and an impressive machete; someone as beautiful as Dean should be more fragile than this, and his strength made Cas proud to call him his. Cas’ hand settled possessively onto the curve of Dean’s ass, caressing him and imagining taking him just like this, over the spread of weapons, fingers slipping beneath the elastic of those panties so he could pull Dean onto his dick.
Dean’s eyes were round and startlingly blue when he leaned back into Cas with a purr. His long eyelashes fluttered as Cas pressed his erection against the denim seam, his hand reaching around to cup Dean’s chest, thumb rubbing across his nipple as Dean’s back arched.
“Did good,” Dean whispered, giving Cas access to his neck as he wound his fingers together with Cas’ over his breast; his words were a question, a search for approval, and Cas gave him what he needed.
A/N: Under a cut for dubcon, possible roofies (True Blood-style roofies)
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Walt came in to the garage after mowing the grass tanned, shirtless, and in some shorts left over from his sophomore year on the basketball team… the last time he’d been anywhere near being the tall one in his class.
He pulled off his baseball cap and looked up at Brad with a cocky little smile plastered across his face. “Finished the chores, Daddy. Can I get my allowance now? I’ve been really good today.”
Brad pulled Walt close, laying a kiss on Walt’s pink mouth and then pressing him down to his knees before freeing his dick from his jeans and rubbing the head across his boy’s eager-to-please mouth.
Walt groaned as Brad slipped inside, pushing into the fleshy warmth of his cheek as Walt’s blue eyes gazed up at him twinkling.
Walt pulled off with a slurp. “Then again,” he said, licking a stripe up the underside of Brad’s cock. “Maybe I need you to teach me a lesson about how to be better,” but Brad didn’t know how this could possible get more perfect.
“It’s really just the accent, isn’t it?” Mark has teased him, to which he invariably gets the gritted-teeth “shut up and fuck me,” meaning that it’s the accent after all.
So he takes advantage of it, caressing Jensen’s ass and murmuring in his best Queen’s English, “I’m going to bugger your arsehole until you are stretched out beyond belief, until you feel so empty without me that you can hardly stand it.”
Jensen squirms and grunts helplessly, his hips pumping up into nothing, begging for the fat press of Mark’s cock into him without a word spoken.
“Yes, you want me to do all the talking,” Mark says as he eases into Jensen, “and so I shall, baby, I’ll tell you just how sore you’re going to be, after I slam into that lovely pink hole of yours over and over and over—”
“Fuck, daddy!” Jensen cries out, urging backward, and Mark meets him halfway, the first of many slapping sounds ringing out in the small room.
Gabriel loved coming home to his daddy; normally, he’d be seated in his study dressed in one of his neatly-tailored suits and looking—oh, he looked so sharp and mature and perfect, and Gabriel would make his way to him, kneeling at his feet and waiting for him to lean down and kiss him on the top of his head.
“You were good today, I hope, Gabriel. You did everything that Daddy asked?” Gabriel nodded, his eyes full of adoration, and Crowley smiled, easing Gabriel’s face to his crotch. “That’s daddy’s good boy. Now let Daddy take care of you.” Gabriel allowed Crowley to maneuver his lips around his cock, sliding it in and out of his mouth and stroking his ruffled hair with careful fingers. “That’s it. You like that, Gabriel?”
“Mmm…” Gabriel moaned and lapped at his daddy’s cock, relishing the taste of the precome that gathered at the head and the feeling of the smooth, hard flesh in his mouth; the truth was he couldn’t get enough of this—the service, the love, and especially the reward.
“Ahh, Gabriel, that’s lovely.” Crowley smiled and pulled away from Gabriel’s mouth, standing and putting him in the chair instead. “Now turn around. Daddy has something special for you.”
Beneath a cut for father/son incest…
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“Balthazar,” he says, staggering forward, lost and compromised and leaderless. “Father,” meaning their absent father, but Balthazar shudders and takes Castiel in his arms then, kissing his face and murmuring “yes, Cassie, yes, I’ll be your father for now,” and Castiel shudders with the decadent promise he never could have imagined a moment ago.
Balthazar has him kneel, and when Castiel fits his mouth around the firm flesh of Balthazar’s cock, a hand falls to his head in a benediction. His lips glisten and his tongue is wet with salt when he pulls off, and he whispers, “Father, forgive me.”
Balthazar doesn’t yet know for what Castiel is apologizing, but he knows how to play a role well enough; he turns Castiel around, parts the cheeks of his bare ass with two firm palms, and says, leaning forward to drop a kiss on his old friend’s shoulder, “Yes, my son — do your penance, and I shall forgive you.”
They weren’t really that much different in age, but Phil knew how he came across: tidy, respectable, mature. The suit helped matters, and it was only a matter of days after Hawkeye was recruited that he was looking at Phil with a needy look in his eyes… it only took a few more weeks for Phil to figure out what the look actually meant (when Clint pulled him aside, kissed him silly, and then explicitly said exactly what he’d like from Phil).
Oh. Ok. Phil could do this, telling himself it was all in the service of SHIELD and keeping its agents functioning and happy, but really knowing he wanted in Clint’s pants just as much as Clint wanted him there.
He pulled Clint over his knee, his ass poised right under Phil’s right hand and his erection hard to ignore as it pressed into Phil’s thigh. “Have you been a bad boy, Clint?” he asked, not waiting for an answer before he reddened Clint’s skin.
