Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or anything affiliated with the show. All rights go to their respective owners (the lucky sods). Seriously though, what an amazing show. The writers are genius and forever hold my heart in the palms of their hands.

Warnings: Story contains heavy slash (the good stuff), profuse swearing (who doesn't have a mouth like a sailor these days?), mentions of male pregnancy (because some people get quite squicky about that), and graphic mating between supernatural entities (I know, right? So awesome).

Pairings: Balcifer, Sam/Dean (unrelated Wincest). Further pairings to come later.

And finally, on a personal note; I freakin' heart your socks off, Jensen Ackles!

Enjoy, bitches.

~Walking the Feather's Edge~

'Clipped Wings'

Balthazar was tired. He was tired and hungry and just a tad bit grouchy. It had been a long work week, and he was thankful that it had finally come to a rest. Thank god it's Friday and all that. Working in the Research and Development department of Ethereal Incorporated, a behavioural facility dedicated to the biological experimentation and analytical study of the supernatural, was surely interesting and rewarding (not to mention something of a life-long ambition turned reality) but it was undeniably exhausting. Recent physiological breakthroughs and medical marvels notwithstanding, the blonde native Englishman was just happy to finally be home.

Pulling up the drive to his idyllic two-storey home in West Boston, he cut the engine to his pristine black Audi R8 and clambered out, a warm smile tilting his lips when he caught sight of the blood red Jaguar XJ parked up outside the garage.

Ah, Luci was home.

Letting himself in, he shirked his heavy overcoat and hung it up on the rack by the front door, pausing momentarily to run his fingers over the expensive Armani suit jacket already there. Ulgh, sometimes Luce's fancy, high end wardrobe made his own typical attire of well-worn blazers and v-neck thermals feel so meagre and charitable by comparison. Still, he would gladly choose comfort over stuffy shirts and oppressive silk nooses any day of the week. Scratching a hand through his tousled blonde tresses, he kicked off his shoes and followed the sensuous aroma befitting a five-star restaurant to the kitchen, his smile broadening to a lazy grin at the sight that greeted him.

Lucifer Pellegrino was a name that could strike fear into the hearts of even the hardest of men; and not just because he shared his Christian name with the devil. To be perfectly frank, with the kind of cutthroat tenacity and ruthless, no-shit attitude the man possessed to become one of the most formidable criminal defence lawyers in all of the East Coast, Balthazar wouldn't be surprised if the devil himself cowered in the shadow of Lucifer's infamous reputation. Watching him now, however, slaving over a hot stove with a grubby apron tied about his neck and waist, shielding a ridiculously extravagant three piece suit from culinary carnage, it was easy for the Brit to forget all about that badass exterior and instead see the man underneath it all; caring democrat, devoted husband, smokin' hot lover.

Padding silently up behind the taller male, Balthazar curled his palms around Lucifer's toned hips, fingertips caressing the jut of the bone, and pressed an amorous kiss to the sliver of exposed skin above the collar the shirt, lips brushing against the fine, strawberry-blonde hair at the back of his neck. If Lucifer was surprised at all by the sneak attack, he didn't care to show it.

"Evening, love," Balthazar practically purred into his nape, breath warm and enticing.

Lucifer paused to acknowledge his blonde, a fond grin curving one corner of his mouth. "And to you, beautiful," he crooned, before turning his attention back to the gently simmering marinara sauce. He cocked a brow when those sinuous arms coiled tighter about his waist, the heat of Balthazar's body plastered against his back difficult to ignore. "Zar, sweetheart, I'm kind of busy here…"

"Mm, but I've missed you," Balthazar simpered, hands dipping beneath the apron in search of closer contact, of warmth and flesh.

"Since this morning?" Lucifer deadpanned in response, trying his best not to react to the blonde's devious fingers whilst simultaneously in no way discouraging the bold movements.

"What can I say? This body just does things to me." Tugging Lucifer's shirt free of his slacks, he ghosted his fingers over the man's fastidiously sculpted abdomen, grinning when the taut muscle shivered convulsively under the teasing touch. "And besides, you're playing dirty. You know I can't resist you in that apron."

"Hey," Lucifer protested, looking affronted. "This suit cost more than what most people make in a year. Like hell I'm going to risk getting it covered in questionable stains… again."

Balthazar chuckled at the condemning tone. His husband was none too thrilled the last time he'd had to take one of his precious business suits to get dry-cleaned after a rather spontaneous lovemaking session in the kitchen. Witnessing the older male's stammered bullshit excuse and the adorable dusting of pink painting the bridge of his nose when he'd tried to explain the random splotches of ingredients (and other such 'organic' substances) to the bewildered employee at the shop had been well worth the resulting scolding he'd received. To this day, Lucifer was always on guard when Balthazar started getting frisky in the kitchen – leading the blonde to relentlessly push his luck every single time they were in there, of course.

Forbidden pleasures always did taste the most divine.

"Come on, darling," Balthazar hummed, deft fingers working at Lucifer's belt buckle. "Don't be such a prude."

"Prude," Lucifer scoffed, his large hands seizing the blonde minx's wrists and halting his ministrations. "After a two year honeymoon, one would think you'd know better than to accuse me of such a heinous atrocity."

Pivoting on the spot, Lucifer yanked Balthazar flush against him, one hand cupping the back of his neck whilst the other splayed across his lower back. Blue eyes glinting mischievously, he captured the blonde's lips in a searing kiss before he could even think to retort, a sharp current of electricity cascading down his spine as it did every time he kissed his beloved.

Balthazar's eyelids fluttered shut, a contented sigh vibrating in his chest as those lush lips devoured his own. He had half a mind to protest when he was suddenly dipped back like some fainthearted damsel in those old timey movies, but the very breath was stolen from his lungs the second that skilful tongue licked into his mouth, short circuiting his higher brain functions and melting his bones into a pliant, malleable mess.

Feeling that he'd more than proved his point when Balthazar hitched a leg over his hip and began fisting at his hair, Lucifer drew them both back upright, a malicious little grin curling his lips when he drew away and Balthazar groaned in complaint. Gazing down into half-lidded pools of icy grey, he smirked.

"Now, if you're quite done trying to molest the chef," he chided humorously, his thumb stroking idly at Balthazar's stubbled jaw, "why don't you go and take a load off; watch some TV, read a book, relax. I'll call you when dinner is ready."

Taking the proffered glass of merlot pressed into his palm, the Brit allowed himself to be ushered out into the hall. "Okay, I give – but we are so picking up where we left off afterwards. We'll call it dessert."

"But of course," Lucifer grinned, kissing that adorable pout right off the blonde's lips.

"Excellent," Balthazar winked, taking a sip of his wine. Oh, yes. That definitely hit the spot. Glancing around almost expectantly, he quirked an inquisitive brow at his lover. "Where are the boys?"

Lucifer shrugged, a troubled frown marring his handsome features. "I'm not sure. Mopping around here someplace, I suspect."

"Oh, dear," Balthazar muttered, his heart sinking. "Still no results then?"

Lucifer shook his head despondently. "I'm afraid not."

"The poor soul." Balthazar had really been hoping for a more positive outcome this time, but it was beginning to look like more and more of a lost cause. Every attempt and consequence failure broke his heart that little bit more. "I'll go find them, make sure they're holding up okay."

With one last fleeting kiss, the Englishman set about his hunt. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for, which wasn't entirely surprising – their house may have been luxurious, what with their combined paycheques easily hitting six figures, but it wasn't exactly a mansion. Both men preferred the cosy homely feel to the vast space and empty chill larger houses tended to offer. And besides all that, it's not as if locating two fully grown, winged beings of the supernatural variety was all that difficult a task to begin with.

Quietly cracking open the door to their lounge, decorated in colours of cream and chocolate, complete with two large fabric couches, a leather recliner, a currently dormant fireplace, and a small library of fantastical novels and educational tomes alike, Balthazar could easily discern the lanky form of Samuel curled up one of the couches, visage buried from view and naked back facing out toward him. Enormous black, bat-reminiscent wings were curled possessively in front of him, tucked in and around his gangly body, his long, supple tail wrapped neatly around his calf.

The Brit was sorely tempted to nag his husband's supernatural companion about his complete lack of modesty if he honestly thought it would do any good. Like any domesticated creature, Sam and his kin were quite adverse to wearing any kind of clothing – it was restricting and itchy and unnatural, and with body temperatures running substantially higher than that of any human they had no real need to wrap themselves up anyway. Sam could be persuaded to wear pants (exclusively leather, denim got ripped to shreds) when absolutely necessary; when they went out to the park or had guests visiting the house, for example. But when just lounging around the house or out lazing in the backyard, one could expect to see, well, everything.

Samuel was a fully-matured, pureblood adult demon. Demons fell into one of four categories; Archdemon, Incubus/Succubus, Yōkai, and Leviathan. Archdemons are the strongest and most feral of any class of demon, sought mainly for protection and good breeding, though often used in illegal underground fighting arenas. Incubus/Succubus, as the name suggests, are sexually deviant demons known for their trickster like qualities, desired for their flawless beauty and fairly docile temperaments. Yōkai are a low class demon with the ability to morph into specific animals. They are very popular amongst families with small children as the Yōkai are essentially harmless and very playful. And lastly, Leviathans. These demons originated from the sea and have distinctive scale-like skin covering most if not all of their bodies. They like to live near large bodies of water and can be very solitary creatures.

Sam came from an excellent line of purebloods, and was a generous mix of both archdemon and succubus, his hulking 6'4" frame, large wings and fiery temper complimented quite beautifully by striking good looks and an intelligent mind. At twenty-two years of age he was considered fully-fledged, and had been in Lucifer's life since he was hatched. The two formed a quick and unshakable bond, and though he wouldn't be as quick to obey a command given by Balthazar as he would his master, he maintained enough presence of mind to know that the blonde was Lucifer's mate and therefore must be treated with due respect.

For all intents and purposes, Samuel appeared to be lost in sleep, but Balthazar knew better. He dedicated an average of forty hours a week, usually more, arduously studying Sam's species – every size, shape and breed. He knew their tells, could read them better than any human he'd ever met, and hence could tell right off the bat that the demon was very much aware of his every move from the very instant he entered his home.

With an air of confidence begot from years of training and handling the supernatural, Balthazar approached the 'dozing' male. The twitching of a leathery wing and the almost imperceptible curling of that sinuous tail let him know he was right on the money.

"Hello, Sam," he began conversationally, knowing full well that he wouldn't get a response. Like any other pet, demons were not well versed in the human tongue. "How are we this evening, hmm?"

Sam curled in tighter on himself, the warning growl reverberating low in his throat steadily increasing in volume for every step Balthazar drew closer. The Brit wasn't an idiot. He knew that a creature like Sam could rightly strip his bones bare in a matter of minutes if he truly desired, and that he wouldn't stand a chance in all of the underworld of stopping him if he did, but again years of conditioning and working with such beings gave Balthazar the confidence to realise that he was in no immediate danger, not really. Samuel was an alpha, and therefore tended to get a little territorial from time to time. The trick was learning to distinguish which growl meant "Back off, I feel threatened" and "I'm feral, baby!"

It also never hurt to leave several spray-bottles of holy water lying around one's home just in case those tentative lines should ever become blurred.

Gently sushing the clearly riled beast, Balthazar quietly closed the distance between them. He noticed that Sam's back tensed, his wings flexing though refusing to unfurl from in front of him – and Balthazar could only speculate as to why. Sam's head snapped up when Balthazar gently carded his fingers through his luscious caramel locks, pointed teeth bore and eyes black and hollow. Balthazar didn't flinch in the slightest, his body language calm and movements lethargic so as not to startle an unwarranted reaction from the demon.

It took a few minutes, but luckily Balthazar had developed unwavering patience from his experience in the R&D department and kept up his soothing petting until those haunting ebony eyes eventually bleed away to reveal handsome hazel orbs and the aggressive growls simmered down to a low rumble. Balthazar smiled.

"There now, that's a good lad," he praised, scratching at Sam's scalp just the way he liked. Sam butted his head into the touch, his tail lazily flicking from side to side. "Well, now that you're in a more agreeable mood, I don't suppose you've seen my darling De anywhere, have you?"

Sam huffed, head burrowing back underneath the cocoon of his colossal wings once more. Balthazar rolled his eyes and tugged impatiently at that glorious mane.

"Samuel," he reprimanded, his tone stern.

The demon growled in displeasure but conceded all the same, knowing that disobedience could result in punishment from his master. With tender care, he slowly uncurled his right wing, the dark appendage flaring up into a neat arch and stretch, its length great enough to brush against the ceiling, before folding back against the tanned skin of his back. When Balthazar peered over his side, he was not surprised in the least to see his own pride and joy nestled up tight to Sam's chest.

"Hello, Dean," Balthazar hummed softly, a doting smile curling the corner of his mouth.

Dean was a hybrid, a rare mix of both demon and angel, and had been by Balthazar's side since he was a fledgling. Much like demons, there were four different classes of angel; Archangel, Seraphim, Cherubim, and Guardian. Archangels were always large and predominantly male, and whilst they weren't exactly aggressive they could be very domineering and hostile when provoked. Seraphim are the quickest and most agile of all the angels, easily recognisable by their six wings and somewhat nervous natures. Cherubim are not only the most beautiful class of angel, but also the most affectionate. They are very popular amongst single humans and often sell for the highest price in auctions. Guardian angels are very solitary creatures that can become overly agitated when exposed to large groups of humans or ethereal beings. That being said, they are unflappably loyal to their masters and are exceptionally easy to train.

At twenty-one years of age, Dean was a rarity, a real treasure. His father was a pedigree archangel and his mother a pureblood kitsune yōkai. Usually interspecies breeding was not only frowned upon and dangerous, but also damn near impossible. Unless especially compatible with one another, angels and demons were simply too dissimilar to breed. Copulation between the two species was certainly commonplace, oftentimes encouraged during heat cycles to stave off any unwanted pregnancies, but successful conception was rare. Hence the anomaly that was Dean. With glorious, feathered wings as soft to the touch as down and a fiercely protective nature courtesy of his sire, and a beguiling, almost feline-quality beauty derived from his mother's animalistic charm, he was truly the best of both worlds.

When Dean didn't respond to his cheery cooing, other than to cower further into the protective alcove of Sam's embrace, Balthazar chewed on his lip and tried not to take it too personally. When feeling vulnerable, it was perfectly normal for a beta to take refuge in the comfort and protection of their chosen alpha.

Stretching forward, and much to Sam's chagrin, he pet a hand through his angel's dirty blonde hair. "Dean, my boy, what is it? What's wrong?"

Dean made a soft noise, not unlike a pitiful whine, and when he finally lifted his face away from Sam's chest, Balthazar could swear that he heard his heart break into thousands of tiny pieces. Big, soulful green eyes stared up at him, such beautiful orbs usually brimming with life and mischief and curiosity were now blotched and reddened from shed tears, swimming still with those that had yet to fall. They looked so haunted and lost, so defeated, that Balthazar could feel his own eyes prickling in response.

"Oh, Dean," he sighed mournfully, his thumb gently wiping the damp from beneath his eye. "I'm so sorry, boy."

Dean was a beta, and, in spite of his hybrid status, was prone to heat cycles just like any other submissive – one every three months for a period of two weeks or until impregnated. But the mated couple were having trouble conceiving.

When Balthazar and Lucifer first started dating some three years ago, they had no idea how their companions were going to react to each other. Sam was a proud and dominating alpha, one unafraid to get physical when threatened or afraid, and Dean, whilst generally quite well behaved and laidback, could be terribly stubborn and kick up an awful fuss when provoked, the demon blood in him revelling in challenges. As such, the two supernatural beings were gradually introduced to one another over the span of a few weeks, Balthazar familiar with all the tried and tested methods as part of his research at Ethereal Inc.

First they began with scent. When Lucifer would visit Balthazar's home, or indeed the other way around, he would be sure to interact thoroughly with Dean (for as long as he could stand not having his hands pawing all over Balthazar instead), ensuring his hands, arms, face and clothes were saturated in the hybrids unique aroma. He would then return home to Sam, who would pin him against the wall or draw him into the cocoon of his wings and proceed to scent him from head to toe. Lucifer would never admit aloud just how much it tickled.

Next they tried sight. The lovers would arrange a time and place, preferably wide open venues like their local park where hasty retreats were possible if necessary, where they would 'bump into' the other whilst out walking with their divine companions. Lucifer noticed Sam perking up eagerly the very instant the demon laid eyes on the hybrid, long before they were close enough for scent to factor in.

Sam was very interested in the angel hybrid, from those big beautiful wings, the feathers an alluring smoky grey with streaks of silver and ebony, to the lean muscled frame, lightly tanned skin and sparse dusting of freckles spattered over high cheekbones. Dean was similarly smitten from first sight, the pureblood demon boasting an impressive wingspan, an intimidating height and strong body all wrapped up in delicious olive skin.

Lucifer and Balthazar had planned on simply passing each other the first time, just to gauge their respective beings initial reaction toward the other. Neither could have expected it to go quite as well as it had. Demon and angel hybrid had tentatively circled one another, nostrils flaring as they scented the air. Sam was the first to garner a touch, his large hand reaching out and fisting a handful of downy soft feathers. Dean had taken immediate offence and batted the brute away, wings puffing out in irritation.

Sam hadn't been deterred for long, though.

When Dean had settled he tried again, this time carefully stroking his long fingers through the ruffled primary coverts. Dean had been wary at first, shying away from the touch and edging closer to Balthazar for every advance the demon took. But Sam was nothing if not persistent. Eventually the two creatures moseyed off to explore their surroundings, as well as one another, leaving Lucifer and his blonde to do some catching up of their own.

Within a few months Sam had mated Dean, marking the angel hybrid as his own for life. Being a beta, Dean automatically became Sam's bitch, his submissive. Alpha beings were always dominant, betas versatile (dominant over omegas, submissive under alphas, and fighting for their position with other betas) and omegas were always submissive.

Given Dean's unique lineage, Balthazar was concerned that Sam's mating of him wouldn't take, but thankfully that wasn't the case. Again Dean defied normal parameters, breaking the mould with his ability to be both mated like a demon and bonded like an angel. Balthazar obviously couldn't be certain of the latter, with no way to test it, but was confident that his theory was correct. If Dean was predominantly angel, his sire having contributed the majority of his genetic makeup, and he could successfully mate with a demon then surely his more dominant gene would be able to bond with another angel if ever he chose, right?

When Lucifer proposed just over two years ago, and Balthazar went from Roché to Pellegrino, they all moved out to West Boston, bought their dream home out in the fresh air of the countryside and settled down as one big, happy family.

Everything had been running smoothly, with the two humans living in a rapturous state of perpetual wedded bliss, whilst demon and hybrid continued to loaf around by day and fornicate like a couple of horny adolescents at, well… any time they damn well pleased as it so happens.

It was into their first year of marriage that the British researcher first began to take note of the subtle shift between Dean and Sam. The demon would periodically wrap himself around his mate, not contentedly like he would on a lazy afternoon, nor sated and boneless as he was want to do after a vigorous mating session, but rather he would coil himself tight around Dean's smaller form, leathery wings shielding him from view and rumbling possessively any time Balthazar or Lucifer walked past them.

Next he noticed the obsessive grooming, the provocative rubbing and ceaseless rutting, like Sam was determined to ingrain his musky scent into the very marrow of Dean's bones. Even more curious was Dean's willingness to allow such dominating behaviour, his beta nature and volatile demon blood not making him the most accommodating of all submissives. It almost seemed as if Dean was encouraging Sam to dominate him, the hybrid sauntering around with an enticing swish to his hips, casually fluffing up his feathers when he knew Sam was watching, sprawling himself across any available surface and baring the length of his throat for the demon to nuzzle and mark as he saw fit. And the noises the two of them made; Sam's low, throaty growls and Dean's soft, purring mewls. Between the two of them, their incessant cacophony was enough to keep Balthazar awake at nights and prompted Lucifer to lock Sam outside before they retired to bed – until the neighbours complained about his howling, that is.

This would continue on for about a week or so and then suddenly cease, before they started the whole routine all over again a few weeks later. Balthazar was stumped, and Lucifer cranky, until one day it hit the Brit like a ton of bricks and he could have kicked himself for his stupidity.

One Saturday afternoon when the Englishman was stuck at home alone, Lucifer having been called out to work for an important conference with a perspective client, Balthazar quietly followed their supernatural companions about on their daily agenda, figuring if his husband was stuck doing work on his day off then perhaps he should do a little himself. He quickly found their routine to be tediously mundane, though with their cerebral status not that much higher than your average domestic pet, it was hardly surprising.

Demon and hybrid spent the vast majority of their morning dozing in a pool of golden sunlight streaming through the bay window in the living room, limbs tangled and wings splayed out haphazardly. After Balthazar fed them breakfast, he let them out the back to stretch their limbs and do their business (oh if only they had the brain capacity to grasp the concept of a toilet). After a quick morning flight – they never strayed too far or for too long – the duo indulged in a lengthy grooming session, Balthazar watching their every move from the kitchen window, lazily jotting down notes on habits and behaviour whilst nursing a vanilla latte.

Dean groomed Sam first, typical of a beta and a submissive. Licking his palms like a feline would, he cleaned the dirt and grime from Sam's leathery wings, then he would tackle his chestnut mane, lovingly carding his fingers through the silky locks and loosing any tangles. Finally he would bathe his alpha's face, neck and ears using his tongue. When he was satisfied with his mate's appearance, Sam would return the favour, getting rid of any caked earth or unsightly clumps from Dean's feathers and using his dexterous, sandpapery tongue to cleanse his skin.

Balthazar noted that Sam was undeniably more thorough with Dean's bath, stripping the hybrid of his pants and laving him from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head, paying extra special attention to his throat, the mating mark on his shoulder and, of course, his genitals. It was important for an alpha to regularly smother their chosen mate in their odour, their unique signature as it were, not only to ward off any challenging dominants but also to prove their worth as a suitable provider. Dean positively preened under the attention from his alpha, writhing and rolling beneath the demon with each loving swipe of his tongue.

From inside the house Balthazar sighed and drained the last dregs of his now tepid beverage. He could see where this was going; namely his two companions seeing more action today than he undoubtedly would.

Tucking his pen behind his ear and flipping his notepad closed, he made to leave Sam and Dean to their coupling in peace, not particularly wishing to stick around and watch. But just as he turned, with every intention of making a fresh pot of coffee and perhaps sending Lucifer a quick sext message in the hopes of luring him home quicker, he caught sight of something that peaked the researcher in him.

He observed with a morbid kind of fascination as, instead of simply mounting Dean as he normally would when sexually aroused, Sam meticulously nosed along Dean's stomach and abdomen, nostrils flared and a look of deep concentration on his face, completely disregarding the hybrid's enticing purring and gyrating hips. After a thorough inspection he then manhandled Dean over onto his hands and knees, pressing the angel's chest down into the grass with a large hand between his shoulder blades whilst he pressed his nose to his mate's leaking buttocks.

It was right then that it all finally made sense; the rubbing and rutting and possessive behaviour – Sam was scenting Dean, trying to determine if he was fertile and ready to breed.

Later that same night when Lucifer came home – and after a rigorous fuckfest in retaliation for Balthazar's filthy texts – as they lay tangled together in bed, the blonde proposed that perhaps it was time for Dean to finally come off of the medically approved heat suppressants he'd put him on as soon as the hybrid had taken his first ovulation cycle. Lucifer wasn't overly optimistic about the prospect of miniature demon/angel hybrids running around, chewing up his furniture and leaving 'presents' on the carpets, but when Balthazar admitted that perhaps he was simply getting broody now that he was thirty and suggested that "Maybe we should look at adoption agencies instead, love?" he promptly changed his tune and was suddenly and rather enthusiastically onboard with the whole thing.

The very next day Balthazar stopped giving Dean his medication, and by the beginning of the week the hybrid was experiencing his first ever uninterrupted heat.

Samuel fast became a force to be reckoned with.

For the first few days the demon was wild and overly aggressive, the smell of his bitch in heat bringing out his baser instincts and causing him to be excessively possessive over Dean. Once or twice he even snapped at Lucifer. The married couple barely saw hide nor hair of their companions, demon and angel holed away in their nesting room upstairs with only Sam ever emerging to fetch them water and sustenance as was his duty as alpha.

Lucifer didn't care for his demon's new attitude one iota, having raised Sam to be tame and subservient always to his master, but he couldn't find it in himself to complain, not when his sexy blonde seemed to be having a positive reaction to their daily, nightly and ever so rightly copulating. He didn't know whether it was the porn quality yowling and mewling filling their corridors at every hour of the day, or the prospect of his husband's beloved Dean fulfilling his maternal instincts and birthing a litter of little hatchlings, but it certainly seemed like the blonde was going through some kind of pseudo heat himself, pawing all over Lucifer as soon as he set foot through their front door.

Who in their right minds could complain about that?

But herein lay the current problem. The initial heat didn't take, and Dean remained without his litter. Not awfully disconcerting. It was the hybrid's first, and they weren't always successful when one considered the amount of stress and strain it could put on any young submissive's body.

Approximately three months later they were at it again, Dean offering up his flexible body and slick hole, and Sam indulging him at every turn – the poor hybrid didn't even have to be awake for the demon to clamber on top of him and force his beta to take his knot. Two weeks of anticipation and expectation of positive results crumbled to metaphoric dust as Dean's second heat petered out with absolutely no sign that the hybrid had been successfully pupped. Dean had been distraught.

It had now been roughly ten months since Balthazar had halted the suppressants, and Dean was drawing close to the end of his third fertility cycle. As Balthazar gazed down upon those dejected jade eyes he felt a wretched pang in his heart. He'd hoped to avoid it, but if Dean didn't fall pregnant this time he would have to take him to one of their local supernatural specialised clinics for an examination. Of course, the problem might actually turn out to be Samuel, but it was decidedly unlikely. The demon came from a notoriously red-blooded and prolific line, and with the sheer amount of times that they fornicated during a single cycle, it never really mattered if an alpha's little swimmers had low motility, you could almost guarantee that one of those little guys was going to make it through.

Hence the insurmountable sorrow he felt for his heartbroken angel.

Trying for an encouraging smile meant to sympathise but which felt more like a grimace than anything else, he scratched lovingly behind Dean's ear. "Don't lose heart, pet. There's still time." Straightening up, he stroked Sam's hair, his steely gaze beseeching the demon for some sort of divine miracle they both knew he couldn't deliver. "You'll take care of him, won't you, Sammy?" Sam didn't answer, obviously, but he did curl Dead closer to his chest and rumble a short, mollifying growl. Balthazar couldn't help but grin fondly. "There's a good boy. Rest easy, lads."

Knowing there was nothing more he could do, Balthazar got out of their hair, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Sam waited until he heard the human's footsteps disappear back downstairs, until he could hear the distant murmurings of his master and his blonde mate conversing in the kitchen, before turning his attention back to his own mate. Dean was nestled up close to his front, his smaller frame shuddering against him as he sobbed quietly, the angel's tears damp against his skin.

Sam crooned softly, wrapping his beloved up in the safety of his wings. "Don't cry, Angel," he spoke in a base and long extinct dialect of Latin. Demons and angels were a lot more intelligent than humans tended to give them credit for. "What can I do? Anything, my heart. You want the stars? The moon? Name it and you shall have it."

Dean whined, the sound so broken and forlorn that Sam whimpered right along with him. "I don't want material tokens, Sam," the hybrid replied, pretty jade eyes wet and despondent as they gazed up into troubled hazel. "You know what I want – the one thing I can't give you, apparently."

"Don't say that," Sam quickly hushed, his large hands cupping his angel's face. "We don't know anything for sure. You could be pupped right now and we might not even know." Nuzzling his nose into the crook of Dean's neck, he took a deep lungful of his intoxicating scent, purring low in his throat and lazily flicking his tail. "Mmm. You still smell plenty ripe to me."

"Sam…"

Dean wasn't exactly in the mood and fought against it, he truly did, but the magnetic pull of his alpha was too compelling to resist. The potent aroma of arousal sat thick and heavy in the air, Dean lost to the heady musk of Sam's pheromones as the demon rolled him onto his back and draped his long body over his own, drowning him in sensation. Eyes fluttering closed, his legs fell open as if on broken hinges, his hole slicking in anticipation of being fucked open and filled as he tipped his head back, baring his throat in a tempting arch for Sam's visual pleasure.

Sam growled his approval at Dean's eager submission, tail coiling up his mate's thigh and wings flaring out wide in a show of dominance as he took the proffered flesh with relish, sharp canine teeth teasing over Dean's racing pulse. Dean mewled so prettily, hips grinding up in a desperate bid for some sort of gratification, that Sam couldn't help but reward his beautiful beta with a sharp bite to the mating mark forever punctured into the supple flesh at the base of his throat.

Dean cried out, delirious on pleasure, his thighs locking tight about Sam's waist, hips canting up in search of the demon's impressive endowment. Sam's head was muzzy on his bitch's sweet scent, body feverish with needwantmatenow, his cock engorged and dripping and testicles swollen and heavy. Hands grasping frantically at Dean's undulating hips, he blindly sought out his mate's heat, expertly fucking into that dripping and thoroughly abused hole within the first few attempts. Dean snapped his head back and all but yowled, Sam choking on a rumbling groan of satisfaction. His bitch was so hot inside, so wet and tight and perfect, taking every inch of his monster length and girth with the utmost pleasure.

Dean moaned and mewed his appreciation with every single snap of Sam's hips, purring his gratitude for his alpha's strength and virility.

"Shit, Sammy. Fuck. Right there; right fucking there," he mewled, body quivering and muscles seizing when Sam nailed his prostate with lethal accuracy. "Yes, alpha, yessss. Harder – harder, Sammy. You know I can take it; ain't gonna break."

Sam surged forward, practically folding his mouthy little angel in half as his hips pistoned back and forth. "Damn. You like that, bitch?" he growled, ecstasy lacing his veins and pointed teeth bore against Dean's throat. "So perfect, Dean. You take my cock so good, like you were made for me. Swallow me whole every damn time. So fucking wet and tight and perfect, Angel."

"Touch me, alpha," Dean panted, fingers clutching uselessly at the armrest behind his head. "Sweet Father, touch me."

"Such a prissy little bitch when you're in heat, beloved," Sam admonished, though not unkindly. He knew what his mate wanted, what he craved, and in his heat-frazzled state of mind he didn't have the heart nor the patience to teasingly refuse him. With one hand splayed possessively on the small of Dean's back, keeping his hips tilted at the optimum angle, he reached out with his free hand and fisted them into the satiny soft feathers near the base of his wings.

Dean convulsed with elated bliss, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he moaned loud and filthy. "Fuck, yes! Yes! That's it, Sammy!"

Sam's pupils were blown wide, cock swelling with anticipation and wings arching up high with pride at his mate's lusty siren call. "Such a beautiful bitch, Dean," he simpered, laving his tongue over the angel's sweaty skin, tasting salt and desire and Dean. Fucking delicious. "Couldn't have hoped for a better mate, Angel. Your body, your soul, it calls out to me, needs me. No other could satisfy you the way I do." Tugging roughly at Dean's oil-slick feathers just to hear him cry out, he fucked into the writhing hybrid even harder, his rhythm short but deep, punishing. "Just look at you, Dean; so pretty and debauched, fucked open and blissed out on my cock, my prowess. Even your wings are leaking for me. Such a good, submissive little bitch."

Dean could feel himself careening towards oblivion, to divine rapture, his blood singing with delirium. Throwing his arms tight about Sam's neck, he twisted his fingers into those caramel locks and yanked, hard, knowing the demon got all hot and bothered for a little roughhousing during mating. Predictably, Sam snarled and slammed Dean down into the cushions, teeth snapping at his exposed throat and thrusts brutal in their vigour – the hybrid was going to have trouble moving tomorrow.

Feeling Sam's knot beginning to swell, Dean nipped provocatively at the demon's ear, taking special care not to venture too close to Sam's own throat in case the action was misconstrued as an act of defiance or rebellion, and locked his ankles behind the elder male's back.

"Hghn – come on, Sammy," he purred lasciviously, meeting Sam thrust for thrust. "Fill me up, alpha; sire me with your pups." Sam growled, both hands clamping down on Dean's frantically rolling hips with enough pressure to shatter bones, never mind bruise skin. Dean didn't care; he could take anything Sam could dish out. "Oh, fuck. Oh, yes. Split me open, alpha. Pump me full and plug me up. Wanna carry your hatchlings, Sammy, want my belly full and swollen and warm with life – life you put there, that we created." Clenching his eyes shut, Dean didn't realise he was crying until a hot tear rolled down his cheek. "Want it so bad, Sam… Please, please, give it to me…"

The image of Dean swollen and glowing, of his beaming face and unadulterated joy, was enough to send Sam cascading over the edge, his balls drawing up and his wings beating to a soundless rhythm as he came hard and fast and ohmygodsogood inside of his mate's open and pliant body. Dean gave a loud, keening cry as the familiar sensation of Sam painting his insides white washed over him, the demon's knot engorging to ensure that not a single fluid ounce went to waste, the impossible stretch and welcomed burn dragging Dean down into the blissful depths of his own intense orgasm.

Peppering his angel with doting kisses and loving licks, Sam settled down on his side, carefully manoeuvring Dean to lay down beside him. The knot wouldn't deflate for a good ten to twenty minutes, so they might as well get comfortable and bask in the afterglow of yet another fevered mating.

Only time would tell if the third time really was the charm.

A/N: Ever read an awesome story, but wish that you were behind the wheel so to speak? That you could direct the characters' actions and dialogue and mould the plot to your own desires? I get that a lot. Hence this little beauty. Gonna shape and twist and love her, see where she takes us. I have no specific plans for this story (ficlette?) If anyone has any suggestions, a scene they'd like to see or a character they want to stir up some drama, then by all means share and I'll see what I can do to accommodate.

There is not enough Balcifer lovin' going on out there, hence they are my focal human couple. Freakin' adore them together. Other pairings/couples you would like to suggest; I'm all ears.

Hope y'all enjoy. Peace out.

FMV