Sometimes it’s like the bed’s turned to water, and Chuck has nothing to hold onto other than Gabriel as their bodies seem to float just below the surface; he’s drowning and soaring, Gabriel’s steady pumps, keeping him going, and he doesn’t even see the waterfall coming until he’s tilting his head back and being swept away by it.
Sometimes he can’t hear anything, because they’re in space, the void hard and dark around them like a shell of silicon; in an astronaut’s visor or the rounded rim of a satellite he sees their naked bodies pumping away, pushing what’s between them from trapped air to vacuum again and again as the sun rises on them from behind the green Earth below.
Sometimes he thinks there are wild animals lurking around him, and he has to keep silent and still should they spring forward and devour him. Sometimes they’re on a stage before a cheering crowd, and Chuck’s shouting louder and louder like he’s singing the chorus of a hit song, his orgasm an extended power chord.
And sometimes Chuck says “no more, please,” and Gabriel always listens, and sometimes they’re just together in their bed without any tricks or anything but the two of them together, and that’s all they really need.
(Sorry the sub! element got lost in this one a little)
The first time they made love the lights went out; Dean starts by turning them off now, not because he doesn’t want to see Cas but because he knows Cas will light the way.
A current crackles in the dark, and Dean sees Castiel’s face, hungry and severe, a moment before the pulse makes him jump; he groans and throws his head back, closing his eyes briefly. But the light show dancing at Castiel’s fingertips is too beautiful to shut his eyes to, and he’s quick to open them again — just in time to see a violet cord of electricity jump through the air, a sizzle of blue lightning, like a neon rainbow. Then Castiel’s fingers are on him, and everything’s alive with color and excitement; Dean’s gasping, clutching at Castiel with clawlike fingers, burying his head in Castiel’s shoulder and begging, “More, Cas, show me more.”
And with Castiel’s body on top of his and his fingers spread across Castiel’s shoulder blades, Dean thinks he feels the white-hot arc of lightning jump into the air from between them, making the brief shape of a pair of wings, just before Castiel shudders and comes deep and hot inside Dean.
“The moment you feel it pulling you along, when you know you can’t hold back any longer — but the moment before it explodes, rippling along your spine — when you’re still going higher and higher and you think this has to break soon, it can’t keep getting better— that part.”
“That part?” Chronos says, moaning into the touches and kisses Gabriel’s bestowing on him between words and trying not to reach that part too quickly — the tricky trickster god and his fingertips and warm body on his are making it difficult, that’s for sure. “Not the actual orgasm?”
“Nah, you should loop the part before it, make it happen over and over and over, up and up, and then when you can’t stand to loop it anymore, and then you explode ten times brighter than you ever could before.”
His fingers are quick, and Chronos is losing it— he closes his eyes, turns back the clock, and asks once more as the feelings build up further, “Which part did you want to loop again?”
(it’s the fivesentencesmut… that… ne…ver… eeeeends XD)
They’re into it, hot and heavy, when Gabriel makes a noise that Dean doesn’t even know how to describe; it vibrates into his skin and goes straight to his dick and all of a sudden he’s on the verge of orgasm, pushing Gabriel away and panting, “Wait, wait, slow down, holy shit, what was that?”
“Yummy, isn’t it?” Gabriel says with a grin. “That’s the call of a siren — not the crappy kind you guys fought but the old-school version, when they really did rule over the seas and lure men to their doom.”
“No doom in my bed, you perv,” Dean says, “and no mythology, either—” but Gabriel just chuckles and makes the noise again, and a flash of pure ecstasy ripples through Dean’s body as he comes with a shout and shudders, uncontrollably, trying to scowl at Gabriel and failing.
“Zeus used to change into animals to get into ladies’ pants,” Gabriel says as he strokes Dean’s sweat-damp hair, “so anytime you think I’m a perv, just remember, it could be worse.”
Dean watches Castiel kissing himself for a good few minutes before he interrupts them with a hand on both Castiel and the mirror Castiel’s shoulders, and his brain shorts out at the realisation he can touch both of them.
“I’m larger than you can imagine in my true form,” Castiel reminds Dean in response to his disbelief, the mirror finishing, “This is no effort for me.”
It isn’t long before Dean takes advantage, completely willing to be a slut for Castiel given this new development; it’s strange to think that they’re both part of the same person, so he ignores that in favour of enjoying the push of Castiel’s cock in his ass and the taste of the mirror Castiel’s cock in his mouth.
They’re gentler than he wants at first, but when he starts fucking himself back on Castiel’s cock, Castiel’s mirror gets the idea and starts using Dean’s throat the way Dean wants him to - he wants to be used at both ends like he’s made to be used, not like he’s about to break.
Dean had thought being spit-roasted by Castiel would be where the perks ended, but when Castiel comes, his mirror comes at the same time, the wet salt spatter against the back of his throat as real as the heat slicking his insides, and Dean wonders if he can book in Castiel’s double for a repeat performance tomorrow.
Gabriel liked to keep him guessing. Sometimes it was fun - the cheerleader incident came to mind, when in the middle of a football game Sam had one of the cheerleaders dive into the crowd and onto him, who said after landing in his lap and wriggling close, “Like the skirt, Sammy?”
Other times it was less so. Sam had thrown the archangel out of bed after finding himself ridden by Jessica, enraging Sam and leaving their relationship dangerously close to over despite Gabriel’s claims that he just wanted to show what he could do - that he could be whoever Sam wanted, whatever Sam wanted.
Sam pinned Gabriel down when the archangel demonstrated his penitence enough to warrant a second chance, kissed him hard and kept his grip of Gabriel’s wrists tight as he started fucking him, telling him something that had started as a challenge and turned into a declaration; “Gabriel, could you just be you this time, ‘cause believe it or not, you’re the one I actually want right now.”
Luke had to go and open his big mouth, didn’t he? One snarky, misplaced comment about having Sylar right where he wanted him, namely between his knees, and the hair on the back of his neck was standing up; he could feel his alpha’s anger and possessive desire to conquer, to punish, rise up and overwhelm him. Sylar had dragged him back to the filthy motel room where they were staying, and as soon as he was in the door Luke was thrown through the air and onto the bed. They didn’t need restraints; the cold choke of Sylar’s power against his neck, the immobility in his arms and legs was as good as anything they could buy, and as fire and ice stung Luke’s bared backside in turn, Sylar seethed through gritted teeth, “And what lesson are we learning tonight?”
“To watch my mouth,” Luke babbled, tears leaking their traitorous way out from the inside corners of his eyes, and Sylar nodded, satisfied; now he turned Luke over, bent between his legs, and said, “Now watch MY mouth,” and there was Sylar right where Luke wanted him again — namely, between his knees.
Arthur’s splayed out on the bed, his knees tucked toward his chest, but parted, and he sweats and struggles at the invisible bonds that hold him. Merlin, above him, looks down with the severity of a demon, his eyes gone completely gold save black discs burning in their centers, and he pushes into Arthur over and over with little mercy. Arthur isn’t begging for mercy, though; he’s begging for more, and so might you if you were feeling what he was. The endless stroking warm wet pressure like a thousand mouths and hands on his cock, swelling him up into a frenzy, and yet unseen - no hair to tug, no fingers to urge on with his own. He can only toss his head and keep begging Merlin to let him off, and Merlin smiles the slight smile that reveals they’re both willing participants in this torture and says “Not yet.”
It hurts to even touch him. His skin hisses as it singes hers,the grace beneath the surface roiling up and pricking into her being. But oh Satan the heat is delicious, even if his kisses burn and the weight of his body makes her feel as if she’s drowning. He bites into her lip, her cheek, drawing blood, and she makes high noises in her throat that aren’t quite shrieks but are too high to be moans. And with the burning comes a throbbing, too, inside, the blood and sensation rushing there too eagerly until it explodes into convulsions and she throws her head back in extreme pain and utter bliss.
“Where— holy crap— where did you get this idea?”
Dean can barely get the words out between the labored wheeze of his breaths; every moment he’s shuddering anew, turned over and over again, as Castiel finds a new place on his body to suck on or trace his fingers over. The blood stopped rushing to his head after the third or fourth rotation, and now it’s all concentrated happily in his cock, and he’s forgotten which way is up.
Castiel chuckles and turns him over in midair again, sliding his tongue up the inside of one white thigh. “I may have picked some things up from a tricky brother of mine,” he says evasively, and lets his tongue travel upward again.
