Dean’s mouth hangs open, and he struggles to control his breathing and not make a sound as he watches through the crack in the doorway. He’s never seen Cas like this before, naked and spread out, never seen his jaw tipped toward the ceiling or his face flushed with pure sensation. And he’s certainly never seen Castiel’s hand moving the way it is on his cock, quick, hard strokes, fingers feathering quickly over the edge before he slides back down toward the root.
"One more time," Dean whispers, as quietly as he can, "do it again, Cas, wrap your fingers around it and fuck your fist, that’s it."
And for a minute, right after Castiel does exactly as he asks, Dean thinks he's the one who's moaned in response; but it has to have been Cas, because otherwise, Cas would acknowledge his presence… wouldn't he?
The first time, Dean showed him the ropes, easing him down onto the bed and explaining each dirty detail as he opened Cas up and plowed into him with swift, masterful strokes.
Not this time — this time Castiel doesn’t explain, doesn’t speak, he just kisses Dean hotly, pushes him backward and throws him to the bed. Dean starts to speak and Castiel shushes him, the beginnings of a smile painting his lips as he straddles Dean.
He waits for Dean to protest, to say “I don’t want,” but Dean just moans wantonly, begs Castiel for more in breathy little shuddering phrases — “c’mon,” “c’mon, Cas, stop teasing,” “Jesus, just fucking fuck me already.”
Power and heat surge through Castiel’s body, and he feels more angelic than he’s felt in ages, with Dean’s body closing tight around him and Dean’s eyes wide with wonder and stunned pleasure at each thrust.
Castiel’s lips curl into an O, and he looks up at Dean with pleading eyes, shoulders shifting as he struggles to find a comfortable way to kneel with his hands bound behind his back. Dean chuckles, slides the head of his cock between those open lips, and murmurs, petting Castiel’s face, “You ready for me to fuck your face good?”
The noise Castiel makes then —an obscene “mmm” around Dean’s cock, punctuated with a nod that pushes Dean further into Castiel’s mouth — makes Dean grit his teeth with the effort to hold back his urges. Soon enough he’ll be fucking Castiel’s mouth in earnest, pulling his hair and whispering dirty things about how beautiful Cas is and how gorgeous he sounds, moaning around Dean’s cock. And then, when the pleasure stiffens his spine, he’ll pull out, draw his hand once over his spit-slicked cock, and leave a spattered mess of white over Castiel’s face for him to lick at, dirty and wanton and marked as Dean’s.
Put behind a cut at what could be perceived as dubcon.
It’s a colossal mistake that has Gabriel written all over it, and Castiel is ready to explain all that to the leather clad man he finds in his home when a hand is placed over his mouth and his breath catches in his throat as he meets intense green eyes, “I don’t want to hear a word out of you, not unless you want this to completely end.”
"You will stay on your knees, and do what I say, when I say it," the man’s hand is broad and calloused and Castiel can feel the strength in it as he’s gently pushed to the ground, his face at eye level with the rather obvious bulge hidden by the leather pants and Castiel can’t find it in him to object when his chin is cradled still as the zipper is lowered.
"Keep your hands on your knees, you’ll only use your mouth," Castiel shivered at the rough catch in the man’s voice and looked up to find himself fixed by that strange gaze, a thick, hard cock pressed insistently at Castiel’s lips, "and if you do a good job, I’ll think about rewarding you."
Castiel can taste the salty taste of precome painting his lips and doesn’t even consider refusing, not with that firm hand holding his face and those eyes watching him, he found himself wanting nothing more than to do what this man told him, whatever it took to please him.
He obediently opens his mouth and moans as that hard cock slides in, his lips closing around the soft flesh, mouth watering at the unfamiliar weight as his fingers grip his knees, he nearly gags at the first thrust but the man soothes him with words, “Good boy, just relax and take it,” and Castiel gladly loses himself it.
There’s nothing in the world like seeing Cas laid out on the bed, legs spread, arms clutching the bedpost, his head craned upward to catch Dean’s gaze. He blinks, eyelashes batting, and a surge of pure want rolls through Dean; “say it,” he whispers, and Castiel nods in obedience.
"Tell me, Daddy," he says, "tell me I’m pretty, tell me how much you want to fuck me."
In Castiel’s gravely voice the words would sound incongruous to anyone else, but to Dean they’re like music, and he launches himself forward, drops kisses all over Castiel’s collarbones and murmurs his assent through each wash of wet tongue over Castiel’s body. “Oh, yes,” he whispers, “oh, yes, you are the prettiest little slut I ever saw, and Daddy’s gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to breathe,” and the moan Castiel gives drives Dean past the last limits of his self-control.
"It’s hard to explain," Castiel said, and then "it’s a physical manifestation of the way angels are genderless but still are able to reproduce," and then, "you had it all wrong when you said we were ‘junkless’," and finally, "I don’t really think you’ll understand unless you see."
And he took down his pants and blushed bright red, and Dean stared and stared and stared at the red flush of the enlarged not-quite-a-cock clit and the folds of Castiel’s labia before he managed to speak — and the only words he could say were “I could seriously fuck you if I wanted to.”
Castiel flushed and nodded; he moved closer, licked his lips, and said, quiet as though in prayer, “Dean… do you want to?”
And then he was grabbed, kissed hard, and something broke deep inside them — both of them — some wall that they’d assumed was solid had crumbled, and nothing that was strange or foreign could stand up anymore against the weight of the feeling, of the magnetism and the long-held-back want that drove them together. And Dean sliding deep inside Castiel and Castiel’s clit rubbing hard friction against Dean’s stomach were a coming-together that had nothing more to do with gender than the initial sparks that had flown, far above their heads, the first time they looked into each other’s eyes.
On the screen, the boys moan as their frat brothers pound into them with toys and dicks and thick fingers, but Castiel only hears, doesn’t see, because his eyes are squeezed closed to concentrate better on the wet mouth around his own dick. Dean’s on his knees in the aisle, mouth closed around the crown of Castiel’s cock, fingers pumping the base, and with each suck and swallow, Castiel’s fighting down desperate moans that might drown out the ones booming through the theater’s speakers.
And then, his eyes open and connect immediately with another pair.
Instantly he’s riding the edge of orgasm, grabbing Dean’s hair and thrusting his hips desperately into the wetness of Dean’s mouth; his eyes bore into the stranger’s, and in the edges of his vision one of the frat boys spurts into the air in a slow-motion climax filmed in intense detail. Castiel comes in a sudden rush of excitement, and he bites his lip hard, emptying into Dean’s mouth, and all the time watching the man who’s watching them, hoping his hand has dropped to his cock too, hoping he’s started a chain of desire that will go on and on until it’s touched everyone in this theater, everyone in the world.
"Just look at me, Dean," Castiel counsels, and Dean focuses through bleary eyes, sees Castiel’s body naked and pink and inviting. It’s a beautiful sight, and the twinge of desire that goes through him is enough to at least partially the wave of unbearable pain that comes in another second.
Breathing shallowly, clutching his round belly with one hand, he whispers, “Kiss me, Cas,” and Castiel does, pressing firm wet lips to his in a gesture of comfort as much as affection.
"Now touch yourself," Dean says with a grin, "I wanna watch you."
Castiel looks at him blankly for a moment, but Dean seems to be breathing easier at the wicked thought, and the sight of Dean swollen with their child — so close to being born — is enough of a turn-on that Castiel is easily able to drop a hand to his hardening dick and give Dean a welcome distraction of a show.
"God, look at them," Misha murmurs as he thrusts in, again, hard, and Jensen moans into Dean’s mouth. "Two of them, both so gorgeous, so horny for us."
Castiel doesn’t answer, but the surge of desire he feels at the words is clear in the blaze of his eyes, in the way he grips Dean’s hips and drives in. Dean’s cry is muffled in Jensen’s mouth, and the two of them, kissing wetly, fist their own cocks in nearly the same rhythm, breaking off for panting breaths and then diving in yet again for more deep kisses.
"How does it feel to kiss yourself," Misha murmurs, "watch yourself being fucked by me, hm, Jen?"
He yanks at Jensen’s hair, and Jensen breaks away long enough to cry out, “fuck… Mish… can’t fucking stand it, gonna make me come,” before Misha releases him and he’s screaming into Dean’s mouth and shattering as he and his doppelganger climax and collapse in unison — London Bridge is falling down.