For years afterward, the demons would still argue over whether Lucifer had been at his kindest or most evil during that meeting: he’d hissed “yes” more often than “no,” but through gritted teeth, and his knuckles had been white on the table as he clutched it as though trying to keep control of his temper. Some said he’d been fighting the impulse to grant too much leniency, while others said he’d just barely been containing his urge to lash out and cut the throats of the demons who sat across him; only Lucifer himself knew the truth.
Lucifer, and the angel whose scent had been masked in the odors of sin and lust that usually permeated a demonic council meeting.
Each “yes,” they both knew, came as a result of Gabriel’s tongue sliding along Lucifer’s shaft, wet and sinful; each grasp of the table was a result of Gabriel pursing his lips and sucking pulses into the head of Lucifer’s cock, of his fingertips fluttering along the sensitive skin of Lucifer’s sac, warm and chills-inspiring at once, and then sliding upward to grip the base of his cock. And when Lucifer had to close his eyes and grit his teeth, it had nothing to do with the demands the demons across the table were making; he just had to wait out the orgasm that was burning through him and sucked up into Gabriel’s greedy mouth before he could go on with the business as usual of running Hell.
Sam stumbles against the sink when Lucifer arrives, but he’s on his feet again in a second, crashing against the warm body that’s eluded him for too long, pushing Lucifer against the wall as he kisses him hard and hungrily. A moment later he’s breaking off, wiping his lips, grinning as he starts the shower and lowering his boxers to the floor, then stepping under the spray.
(That was a funny thunk, just now, is Sam okay… nah, he must be, he just probably tripped over himself starting the shower, the dork.)
In the shower they crest together, hands on each other’s hips and sliding down to each other’s asses; their cocks slide against each other and Sam suppresses a groan into Lucifer’s mouth, pressing Lucifer against the shower wall to get better friction.
(Ow, that sounded like it hurt, but when Dean shouts, “Sammy, you okay in there?” he gets a hasty “Yeah, fine, no problem,” which is followed by a funny groan, and Dean figures he’s just tripping over his own shadow again.)
They tumble into the restroom, laughing, kissing when they realize it’s abandoned but for the two of them, and Isaac’s smile lights up the whole room like a ray of sunshine. He drags Scott into a stall, just in case, and Scott’s still laughing as he undoes Isaac’s pants, slinks down to his knees and takes Isaac’s cock in his mouth, But Isaac’s laughter stops there; he hisses, his claws come out, and he pierces the metal of the stall in five sharp starpoints, holding on for dear life as Scott sucks him down. It’s all he can do not to yell out loud, so wet and filthy is Scott’s mouth as it takes him apart, soft lips and hot tongue that washes over him again and again. If someone enters the bathroom they don’t notice, and even if they are interrupted, the noises Isaac makes as he starts to break down would be enough to scare anyone away; he growls and snarls and roars, not in rage but in something just as primal.
“You know why I’m doing this,” Dean whispers every time, and though it’s not what Dean would admit to, Chuck knows the real reason. But he howls when Dean spanks him, cries out as though in terror and pain so the rest of the guys in their cells can get off to the idea of Dean owning his little bitch every night.
“Tell me you want me to fuck you,” Dean growls, loud enough for the adjoining cells to hear, and Chuck begs, “I want you to fuck me, oh please, don’t, don’t hurt me anymore, you know I want it.” And he cries out when Dean enters him, makes choked and broken little noises with each thrust; the guys in the next cells, beating their meat to the show, don’t need to know that Dean’s utterly gentle, that he’s hiding whimpers of his own over the shouts of dominance. And Dean himself doesn’t know that when he touches Chuck, it’s like handling something rare and precious — that Chuck can feel the love that’s long since built between them in every single caress and breath.
It was just a quick press and a look during filming, and Gabriel calling Sam “big guy,” but it was enough to ignite something behind both their skin, and when they stopped to do some Dean closeups, Jared grabbed Richard’s wrist and pulled him to the side, behind one of the wardrobe trailers.
“You know what I need,” Richard begged, letting Jared kiss him in an open-mouthed, breathy, hot moment before turning around and dropping his pants as fast as he knew how. Jared had fingers inside him in a hot second, but Richard pushed back, opening easily against them, all the way demanding. “That cock of yours, Jared — that fucking huge cock, that’s what I need, stop teasing me.”
“Fuck,” Jared hisses through tight lips, and he pulls himself out, just long enough for Richard to look over his shoulder and bite back a curse at the sight of it. Then Jared’s in, and Richard’s scrambling against the trailer, pressing his cheek to the cool metal side of it, groaning and trying to take it all in as best he can before they’re interrupted and called back to set again.
It’s the longest morning Sam can remember. He’s fucking full, the weight of the plug keeping Dean’s come packed inside him, and there’s nothing he can do to relieve the intensity of the burn; with each little movement he remembers being pressed up against the elevator wall, remembers Dean groaning and emptying himself into Sam, and inserting the plug so quickly and so deftly that Sam was stuck itching and burning all morning long.
When Dean finally calls him up just before lunch (and, oh, how Sam complains that he has to go help when he was SUPPOSED to be at lunch); Sam wastes no time: he closes the door behind him, crosses the room and prostrates himself on the desk, groaning — “Please,” he whispers. But Dean pulls him up, forces him to share a long, wet kiss, before having mercy enough to flatten him against the desk again and finally removing the damn thing.
In instant, Sam’s gone from uncomfortably full to unbearably empty, and as Dean’s come leaks out of him and dries, sticky, on his thighs, Dean fills that emptiness with his cock again, setting Sam off into a frenzy of groans and desperate touches that brings them both quickly over the edge.
“Deeper,” Castiel urges, and Chuck laughs and responds, “I love it when you talk dirty.”
They wander deeper into the stacks, hand in hand, until the aisle where students might pass by is nothing but a dim sliver of light, and Castiel pushes his finger to Chuck’s lips, eyes shining, before he goes in for a kiss. Castiel’s wet tongue draws a moan from Chuck, and Castiel hisses a shush against his lips, even as he works down his pants and cups his bare ass.
“Don’t shush me,” Chuck teases, “who’s the librarian here anyway?”
But movement silences them, and they both look nervously toward the hallway before turning to each other, sure the coast is clear; Chuck wraps around Castiel, inviting the probe of his fingers and deeper, warmer kisses from his sinful tongue.
