Dean hits the door with a wall-shaking crash!, but he barely notices it. His hands curl into fists, teeth gritted and pressing his forehead to the wood as he pushes his hips back. Sam leans in, his body blanketing Dean's as he pounds into him.
"Such a good little cockslut for me, aren't you, Dean?" His breath washes over Dean's ear, voice pitched low in that way that Sam knows his older brother thinks is incredibly sexy. Dean shudders visibly, absently noting that the door squeaks in protest each time Sam thrusts forward. Whoever decided that sex standing up is a good idea is an idiot, because Sam's hitting all the right places and Dean's fucking knees are going weak.
"I said, aren't you, Dean?" He punctuates with a particularily hard thrust, banging the door against its frame and earning a shout from the older Winchester.
Dean ears flush, any sarcastic remark he would've made just comes out as a needy moan, so he assents with in a gasp, a dragged-out, "Ye-ah-ah-ah!"
Sam suddenly pulls free and Dena can't help his whine, about to shoot his brother an irritated look when Sam grabs him, spins him, and hauls him up. Dean lets out a surprised noise, wrapping his legs around Sam waist by instinct. One of his brother's big hands wraps around Dean's wrists and pins them above his head while the other one digs into one of his ass cheeks, lowering him back onto Sam's cock. Dean huffs out a breath, straining against his brother's grip for a moment before giving up. He'll never admit it, but it's really hot when Sam manhandles him like this.
Sam's started up again, driving Dean back against the door and pulling louder and louder noises from him until he's yelling with each thrust. Dean winds his legs tight, hoping to getting himself close and chase that release he can feel coming.
Sam is groaning something filthy in his ear, but Dean's too far gone to hear it, so he just nods and begs for more. His skin is on fire and the slide of their bodies together is pushing him closer, that hot feeling in his gut is spreading to the top of his head and the tip of his toes. Dean arches his back, managing a couple more shouts through exhausted vocal chords before he practically screams Sam's name, pleasure arcing through him like a bolt of lightning.
He can just barely feel Sam following after him with a growl, teeth biting into his shoulder. Sam has let go of his hands, so he drops one into his brother's hair, panting as the last dregs of their orgasms fade away.
Sam doesn't pull out of him, though, somehow finding the strength to carry him back to the bed and flop down. Dean is completely exhausted, though he tries to wriggle away from Sam to give himself some air for a moment.
"Dude, that was hot and all, but could you get out of me now?" he mutters, too out of breath to be as snappish as he'd have liked.
Sam just hums and rearranges them so Dean's back is pressed against his chest and they're curled together, Sam's soft cock still inside him.
"Dude!" Dean grumbles, tiredly outraged, "Get out."
"No," Sam murmurs, burying his face in his brother's shoulder.
Dean sighs. He know once Sam's done for the night, he's done and there's no point in trying to move him. So Dean settles as comfortably as he can (which, grudgingly, turns out to be very comfortably) and drifts off to the sound of his brother snoring.
...
Castiel lies wide awake and fully dressed on his bed, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. After the Fall, he'd been forced to find more mundane shelter. Namely, the bunker – or the batcave (though the way Dean said it made him suspect it was Batcave, with capital 'b') not that Castiel understands what he means by that. Next door, he can hear Sam and Dean.
Making love.
Very loudly.
Castiel knows they're not used to having company, so he forgives them in part for their disturbance of the peace, but listening to them, he begins to doubt the accuracy of the phrase 'making love'.
They slam against the door and Castiel jumps. Of course. Of all the doors in their room, they chose the one that connected their room to his room. The poor door shakes in its housing, and the angel can hear Sam's growl through the wood.
"Such a good little cockslut for me, aren't you, Dean?"
Just the sounds of low panting and skin on skin for a moment before there's a hard bang against the door and a wordless, pleasured shout from Dean. Cas barely catches Sam's words.
"I said, aren't you, Dean?"
Dean's answer is a long, moaned affirmative that surprises Castiel. He's seen Dean lash out at people for saying less offensive things to him. Perhaps it was alright if Sam said it? Or perhaps it's just a part of their... Castiel is hesitant to call it love making at this point. Romping? Fornicating?
He's distracted when they suddenly go quiet. There's some shuffling and what Castiel thinks are indignant noises from Dean – God help him, he's started to recognize each of the boys' sex noises – when the banging starts up again. Dean is shamelessly yelling now.
"Ah, fuck, Sam!"
"Godyesmore!"
Under the yelling, Castiel can just barely make out the things Sam is whispering in his brother's ear.
"Like having me deep inside you, Dean? Like being split open? I wanna hear you beg for my cock, Dean. You get off on getting fucked by your little brother, don't you?"
Castiel feels a flush creep onto his cheeks. The stream of positively filthy comments continues under Dean's increasingly frantic shouts until he screams out the younger Winchester's name. Oh. He must be orgasming, Castiel thinks blithely, and then feels his flush darken. He vaguely notes that Sam must've followed soon after, because the room next door has gone quiet. The next words are low and more muffled, so Cas assumes they've gone back to bed.
"Dude, that was hot and all, but could you get out of me now?"
That's Dean. There's more rustling, and only when Dean pipes up again does Castiel piece together what he means.
Oh.
Oh.
Well.
Sam murmurs a sleepy, "No," in response, and Castiel catches the elder's resigned sigh before both their breathing rates have dropped to the sleeping level.
Castiel does not sleep well that night.
...
Dean pours himself a cup of coffee, yawning hugely as he keeps an eye on his pan of bacon. He has to limp slightly as he goes to get the milk, catching Sam's smirk. His ears flush and he flips his middle finger at his brother. Sam just laughs.
Sam really went to town on him last night - not that Dean is complaining. They've been working so hard lately that neither of them have had the energy to do anything more active than roll over in bed. So it was awesome last night when they finally got to get their hands on each other. It's not until Dean spots Cas shuffling into the kitchen looking dead tired that he remembers.
Oh shit.
That door... It couldn't have been...
Dean shoots a look at Sam, and the equally panicked expression on his brother's face says, yes, it most certainly was that door, and yes, he most definitely heard us.
Dean quickly looks back down at his bacon, tossing a too casual, "Mornin', Cas," over his shoulder. Sam mutters something to that affect as well, suddenly absorbed in the daily paper.
The kitchen is quiet except for the sounds of sizzling bacon and Dean thinks he's safe for a moment. But he turns to bring the bacon to the table and Cas frowns at him, brows furrowed like he's trying to figure something out.
"You're limping."
Dean freezes. The room is deadly quiet for a moment, then—
Sam bursts out laughing, throwing his head back. His whole frame shakes with amusement and Dean can feel his face flushing cherry red.
"Shut the hell up!"
He whips a piece of bacon at Sam's head, but his brother just bats it onto his plate and keeps laughing. Dick. Cas seems thoroughly confused. Dean fumes, slamming the pan down on the table and very pointedly turning his back to Sam.
"Aw, c'mon, it's okay," Sam says, though his supposedly sincere tone is ruined by his wide grin, "Lemme kiss the boo-boo." He reaches out and gathers Dean into his lap.
Dena struggles, scowling at his brother over his shoulder. "You can kiss my ass," he spits, wriggling in Sam's iron grip.
"That was the idea," Sam purrs, laughing as the comment elicits another round of struggling and swearing from Dean.
Castiel watches the whole interaction wearily, absently munching on a piece of bacon – which, kudos to Dean, is excellent. The brothers seem to be fighting (well, Dean is) but there's a fondness underneath the faux irritation. Castiel watches closely, not missing the way Sam's hands wander over Dean's thighs and Dean's lips brush against his brother's jaw even as they argue.
He's been staring too long. He doesn't realize it until he notices both Winchester have gone still, giving him matching cocked brow looks. Castiel clears his throat.
"For future notice, I would prefer if you two were quieter. Please. Or did not use the door between our rooms. Or padded the walls."
Dean flushes again, but Sam just smiles and slides a hand down to Dean's rear. Cas's eyes follow the hand. Huh. Interesting. He'd assumed that Dean was the dominant half of the two, and that last night, with Dean on the receiving end, was a rare occurrence. He can see now that Dean's bravado and shows of maniless are simply acts; Sam is the one in charge, but he lets Dean think otherwise.
Sam grins, following Cas's train of thought perfectly. He says nothing on it, though, simply addressing the angel's request. "Yeah. Sorry about that. We can move to the other side of the bunker, if that's better."
Cas nods, watching as Dean finally wriggles free of Sam's grip, returning to his seat and shoveling bacon onto his plate. The table is quiet as Sam sips his coffee, Dean eats, and Castiel contemplates his next question.
"May I ask, then, what a 'cockslut' is?"
Dean chokes on his piece of bacon as Sam explodes into laughter again, leaving Castiel completely bewildered. Dean's face is as red as a fire engine as he storms out, and Sam wipes tears from his eyes as his chuckles fade.
"Aw, man, Cas. You need to get laid more."