Usually, Sam and Castiel were excellent about communicating with each other and coordinating when one of them left, so that Dean was never alone in the bunker. The bigger he and his appetite got, the more of a necessity that became. There was just too much at stake, the consequences way too high, for everybody to run the risk of them both being out at once.
Today, something had broken down.
Flinging open the door of the Impala without even bothering to take the keys out of the ignition, Sam scrambled out, turning jerkily to scoop up as many Burger King bags as he could reach in a half-second sweep. He charged into the bunker with Castiel hot on his heels, having climbed out of his own car with half a dozen sacks of groceries in both hands. The second he was out in the garage, Sam could hear Dean, his bellow deep and rough with pain.
"Sammy!"
Sam glanced over his shoulder at Castiel, and didn't realize the sheer terror that must have come through on his face until the alarm on Castiel's all but doubled.
"He's in the kitchen," Castiel told him tensely, and Sam shifted into a flat-out sprint. Castiel called after him, "Sam, I don't smell any blood!"
They both knew that that was more of a "yet" thing. Sam had never hated Castiel more for the ritual Metatron had tricked him into, this time only because it had burned off his wings. He left half the rubber on the bottom of his boots spread down the hall when he skidded to a stop, hung a hard turn, burst into the kitchen. "Dean?!"
Dean looked up at him, panting so hard that every breath shook his entire body. He was on the floor, kneeling with his stomach clutched so hard in both hands his fingernails had to be breaking the skin, practically doubled over. Agony twisted his face, eyes reptilian, bared teeth draconic. The Mark of Cain throbbed the color of a fresh blood blister and black veins strangled his forearm.
Bags and containers that had been savagely ripped open surrounded him, but not that many. There was a reason Castiel had been out on a grocery run.
"Feed me," Dean rumbled, voice strained as Sam dropped next to him.
The ring of kneecaps against tile bolted all the way to the top of Sam's skull, but he ignored his own pain as he opened bags, ripped wrappers off, started handing burgers over to Dean. He had no doubt he'd eat the parchment paper if he left it on. Cramming practically an entire Whopper into his mouth, Dean squeezed his eyes shut, and Sam focused on unwrapping.
"I've got you, big brother," Sam chanted as he worked, half to Dean and half to himself. A monstrous growl tore its way out of Dean's gut.
For a second, he considered dumping the fries on the floor. It looked clean enough for it, like Dean had licked up any crumbs that might have fallen when he was opening what little food was left in the bunker. Then Sam rejected that idea, disgusted with himself, and instead rolled the sides of a bag down to create a little bin and started dumping extra-large fries in there.
Castiel came into the kitchen shortly after Dean pounded his sixth burger. Having apparently ditched the shopping bags, he'd brought the next part of the fast food. Setting the bags and drink holders down, Castiel cautiously asked, "Dean?"
Obviously, there was no answer outside of the grunting and smacking of franting gorging, Dean now plowing through the fries with the bag held up to his face. Castiel shook his head, turning away.
"I'm going to get the rest," he told Sam.
"Yep," Sam answered tensely, barely hearing him as he popped the lids off and straws out of sodas and milkshakes. He swore when he opened a root beer, saw colorless shapes bobbing in it. He'd said no fucking ice. It took up too much goddamn room, it took up too much goddamn time, there were no calories and Dean could - he might -
"Sam." Castiel was still here, had just put a hand on his shoulder. Sam looked up at him, wild as he scooped out ice with his fingers and let it clatter across the floor, leaving fizzing trails of soda.
"Cas, go! Go! He's gonna starve to death!"
Ridiculous as that sounded out loud, with Dean's newest chin resting on his chest and his ass visibly straining the seams of his sweatpants, Castiel left.
He'd barely been gone a second when there was a crinkle. Then a crunch. Realizing Dean had just sunk his fangs into the greasy, salty bag, Sam reached out, snatched it away from him. He barely even noticed the resulting snarl as he cradled the back of Dean's head with one hand and grabbed a cup of Coke with the other.
"You gotta drink something," he muttered as he tipped the soda into Dean's mouth. Kind of unnecessarily, considering how readily he guzzled it.
Dean's stomach had visibly grown. Sam poured soda after soda down his throat, giving the milkshakes time to melt before they could go in, and by the time he'd finished with everything drinkable currently scattered around them, Dean let out a massive belch and clutched at his stomach with a groan.
Castiel had just entered, arms full of more bags and cups, but he paused in the doorway.
"What's wrong?" Sam demanded anxiously.
"Stomachache," Dean grated out. "Ate too fast."
That wasn't all that surprising, considering the way he'd been inhaling burgers until just a few minutes ago. Hands on his thighs, Sam squeezed them, not sure what to do. Behind him, Castiel dumped what he was carrying on the floor, and told him, "He needs more, Sam."
"Yeah, I-I know, but - " Sam started, half-turning.
"I'll feed him. You rub his belly."
They knelt on either side of Dean, Sam kneading at the generous expanse of his steadily-plumping gut, Castiel efficiently cramming sandwich after sandwich after handful of fries into Dean's mouth. Sam forgot sometimes just how fast he could move when he wanted to. Dean sucked in desperate breaths of air between mouthfuls, eyes squeezed tightly shut, hands resting on either side of his stomach. Sam wasn't worried about him choking; he could swear he'd seen him unhinge his jaw once and swallow an entire goddamn cake. His shirt was rolled all the way up, pretty much just functioning as a bra by now, and was spattered with grease, ketchup, mustard, ice cream. The overworked waistband of his sweats very loudly gave at one point, and Sam made a mental note that they really needed to update his wardrobe again, but neither he nor Castiel reacted out loud.
Sam had gotten good at soothing the monster of Dean's belly, by now. Really good. He knew how to find cramps and gas bubbles, work them out. And much as he tried not to enjoy the responsive way Dean's insides gurgled and burbled under his palms, almost like his stomach knew and recognized him, sometimes he couldn't help himself. Even in a situation as high-stress as this one.
"Guys," Dean forced out eventually. "I think - mmph."
"We're not finished," Castiel stated as he muffled Dean with a chicken sandwich. To Sam, he said, "I'm sorry. I should have told you I left."
Sam shook his head. "This is my fault." As usual. "I shouldn't have just assumed you were still in the bunker. I should've looked harder, I should've waited."
"Your brother needed to be fed. You shouldn't blame yourself for providing for him."
"Cas," Dean tried again, "c'mon, I - "
"Dean, you had a very close call," Castiel told him firmly as he cut him off with curly fries. "Let us feed you." He put a hand briefly on one of Dean's ample love handles. "We know what we're doing in that aspect: the results speak for themselves."
Dean attempted a couple more times to (Sam assumed) tell them he was doing better and could slow down. Each time, Castiel repeated that he wanted to make sure. He didn't let up until he'd fed Dean everything Sam had brought home, which consisted of the full menus of three separate fast food joints, then a couple pints of ice cream and bags of chips for good measure.
It didn't dawn on Sam until after they were finished that he could have intervened. But with what could have happened, he wasn't sure he should have. It was better safe than sorry, and even when Castiel had been feeding him mercilessly, Dean hadn't exactly been upset.
He was lazily nursing a beer now, one hand rubbing slow circles on the heaving belly that rested firmly on the floor in front of him, belly button stretched flat. Eyes half-closed (and pupils mostly back to normal), he hiccuped, then grunted. "Floor ain't all that comfy. Gotta tell you."
Even with Castiel's strength, it took a long time, and a lot of creative mechanics, to get Dean to his room. They'd moved him out of his old one, into a much larger place that, according to him, he'd eventually been planning to convert to some kind of man-cave thing. He'd already stuck a recliner in there that he was too big to use, but kept stubbornly cramming his fat ass into anyway. The massive couch, flatscreen TV, rolling table, and king-size bed completed the ensemble.
They lowered Dean onto the latter. He needed a change of clothes and probably a bath too, but that could wait until he'd digested a little. Or had a little more to eat, whatever he needed. Even with it all over, Sam's adrenaline was still hanging around, putting a creaking strain on an already-jittery system. When Castiel leaned in to speak quietly to Sam, he almost punched him on instinct.
"I'm going to put away the groceries," Castiel said. "Most of the ice cream's probably melted by now, but everything else ought to be okay."
"Oh. I…" Sam looked at Dean, felt himself nearly tremble. There was so much for Castiel to carry in, and he knew he should help. Castiel neatly lifted the burden off him.
"Stay with your brother," he instructed. "I'll make something else. Call me if he needs anything from the kitchen."
Sam nodded. Castiel left. Taking a deep breath, he perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed, right next to Dean.
"You...you okay now?" he asked tentatively. Even if Dean said he was, he felt like he might tear up, or scream at the top of his lungs. It was like trying to balance on a piece of plywood on top of a flagpole.
"Mm." Dean took the bottle away from his mouth, swallowed. "Well...not feeling like I'm gonna start taking bites outta my hands anytime soon. So, yeah. I'd say I'm fine."
Sam didn't realize something inside him, some dam, had broken until he was already moving. By then, he couldn't stop it. Dean's face in his hands. Dean's shocked eyes meeting his, pupils thinning fast. And then Sam's mouth on Dean's, full lips and fangs, Sam's speed off by a mile so they knocked against each other like a pair of horny freshman and the tang of oddly-sweet blood suddenly bloomed across his tongue.
He jerked back even faster than he'd gone in, momentum carrying him off the bed and straight onto the floor ass-first. There was carpet, but it didn't do a whole lot to keep his vertebrae from feeling like they'd just knocked together like a Newton's cradle. He scrambled back up, already babbling apologies.
"Shit, sorry, I-I don't know why I - oh my god, Dean, I can't believe - fuck. I, uh, I should go? I need to...d'you want anything, I could? I should go. I'm going."
"Sam. Sam. Hey." Holding up both hands, one with a beer bottle still in it, Dean's voice was as shocked as Sam would expect, but he didn't sound angry. It took a while for that to make it in. "Sammy, you don't gotta go. Okay? Hey, c'mere."
He patted the bed next to him, wiping a trickle of blood off his split lip as he did so. Sam had already backed himself nearly all the way to the door, tripping over his feet more than once in the process. He wavered. He knew what he ought to do. But he always did, and he'd still never been able to resist temptation when it came knocking loudly enough.
He went back, and sat next to Dean, hands squeezed between his knees and head bowed so his hair fell into his face.
"I'm sorry," he said again helplessly, aware of how completely useless it was. Just as useless as apologizing for doing this to Dean in the first place.
"Yeah?" From what Sam could see of Dean's face, he was blushing. Kind of a lot. "Which part's that one for? Leaving me alone, planting one on me, or just this whole situation in general again?"
Sam hunched his shoulders and didn't answer. Dean let out a huge gust of a breath.
"Y'know, this whole 'blaming yourself' shtick's getting old," he commented eventually. "Never thought I'd say it, but I kinda miss you dragging out my fuckups all the time. I mean...remember this one?"
He held out his right arm. The Mark had receded again, veins gone, flat and shiny and old-scar-unassuming pink. When Sam didn't answer, he gave it an insistent shake, making the fat on it jiggle.
"Remember Gadreel?" Dean continued. "Remember Benny? Remember...Christ, there's kind of a lot, tough to keep track of 'em all. You've probably got a file somewhere, right? Or a filing cabinet. Alphabetized. Pull 'em all out, we'll go through 'em one-by-one."
"Dean - " Sam dragged an agonized hand back through his hair. "C'mon."
"See? Not a whole lotta fun to listen to, is it?" Dean took another drink of beer. "Look, this whole thing. Maybe you oughta look at it this way: you wanted a way to get the Mark off me, or at least under control, and you got it. I can't tell you how much better I feel without this thing whispering in my damn head all the time, man. I mean...yeah, now there's a different voice telling me to eat, but that's a whole hell of a lot better than having to kill. Not like I'm gonna die from this anytime soon. And honestly? Pretty nice to have a vacation, even if you and Cas're gonna need a forklift to get me outta bed soon."
He'd gone back to lazily rubbing his belly. Sam watched out of the corner of his eye, then swallowed and looked away.
"Yeah, we might have to start putting diet or something in my soda tank," Dean said casually. "Swear that thing's just pouring on the pounds. Don't you think? Going straight to my hips."
"Why are you not pissed about what just happened?" Sam demanded, looking over at Dean, who didn't answer. Didn't even look at him.
Almost a full minute passed, and Sam was gearing up to either ask again or get up and leave, before Dean drained the last of his beer and all but announced, "You think it's hot."
Sam whipped his head around to look at him. His mouth was already open to deny it, but he wasn't sure what to say. Eventually, he settled on, "No, I don't. Why would you even say that?"
"Gee, I don't know, Sam. Could be that after fucking you for more than a decade, I've kinda picked up on how to tell when something gets you going," Dean said dryly. "Could be how weird you've been...more than normal, even. Could be the giant boner that pokes me in the ass every night."
"I can't help it!" Sam exclaimed, rocking to his feet and turning to face Dean. "Look, I-I'm sorry, I don't wanna be...this, it's not like I want to like it, but I can't choose what I - "
"Yeah, yeah, I know, calm down." Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam felt his jaw set angrily. "Cas likes it, too. If that makes you feel any better. Least I think he does; seems to have a whole thing for overfeeding me. And you of all people oughta know I've got plenty of weird stuff myself." He sighed, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. "Hell: you and me are probably gonna be in the same boat soon, considering I've been stuffed like a damn Thanksgiving turkey every time I've popped a stiffy recently." He paused. "Hey, think Cas left some candy in here. Grab it for me?"
Sure enough, there were chocolate bars on the nightstand. Sam picked up a Baby Ruth, wordlessly handed it over. Dean immediately peeled the wrapper off and bit into it.
"Thanks, man," he said through a full mouth. "Anyway. Not to be gross or anything, but. It's starting to feel kinda...good, y'know? Between my thighs and my gut…"
He grabbed said gut with one hand, illustratively. Looking at Sam, an incredulous grin spread across his face.
"Son of a bitch. That gets you going, doesn't it?"
"We shouldn't be talking about this," Sam said abruptly, turning away from Dean and making a beeline for the door.
"Sammy." When he didn't stop, Dean said, "Sam, wait."
Sam paused with his hand on the doorway, and glanced over his shoulder. He quietly told Dean, "I'm sorry for...everything. It's not gonna happen again."
"Is that what you want?"
Sam hadn't been expecting any question, much less that one. He felt his mouth open, and it was a couple seconds before he knew what he was going to say. "What the hell's it matter what I want?" Then, bitterly, before he could stop himself, "When's it ever mattered?"
Dean nodded, like that had just confirmed something for him. "You so worked up about this 'cause we ain't a couple anymore?"
Sam shook his head, throwing a hand up in the air. "I guess that's part of it, sure," he said with exaggerated patience.
"You sure we aren't?" Dean asked calmly. "Totally sure."
"Yes!" Sam exclaimed. "I am!"
"Really?" Dean raised his eyebrows, and popped the last bite of candy bar into his mouth. "What, just 'cause we never said we were? I know you love your damn definitions, Sam, but seriously."
"...why do you, of all people, wanna have a long, drawn-out conversation about this?" Sam was pretty sure he could count on one hand the number of times Dean had even referred to Sam as his boyfriend, and he'd been drunk for half of those. Sam knew he wasn't much better himself.
"Had a lot of time to think lately." Dean shrugged. Sam automatically moved to get him another candy bar, aware the whole time he shouldn't even be in the room anymore. Castiel could come take care of Dean. "And something about this…" He gestured to his whole body as he bit into a Three Musketeers. "Somehow, I don't know, makes it easier to look certain things in the face. Call 'em what they are."
"I mean, congratulations." What did he want, a certificate? This hereby states that the undersigned, Dean Winchester, has reached a basic level of emotional maturity.
Dean studied Sam for a second. "We spend all our time together. We did before, but this is different, you know it is. The way you're taking care of me. Providing. How much you gotta touch me, and believe me, I ain't complaining. We obviously still turn each other on. And do I really gotta point out we share a bed?"
"I've gotta sleep in your bed," Sam replied automatically. Maybe that should stop. He should have stopped it a long time ago, but he was so selfish. "In case you wake up hungry."
"Cas doesn't sleep," Dean pointed out. "He could sit in here and watch me, and you could go sleep in your own bed."
"You asked me to stay," Sam pointed out, irritated. Because sure, he had the lion's share of the blame here, but not all of it.
"Exactly." Dean watched him again, silent. Sam wanted to leave but he didn't. After a while, with a massive sigh, he instructed, "Sit down, Sam. And grab the rest of the candy while you're at it."
Sam did, but only because Dean needed the chocolate. Needed somebody to unwrap it for him. He sat, slowly peeling bars one by one, and he didn't look at Dean. His heart was galloping in his chest, pulse aching in his throat, and guilt and worry and anger and confusion and excitement and hope were churning together inside him in a nauseous mix.
"We've always been more of a couple than brothers," Dean stated. "Even before we got together, even after...y'know. Other people have always picked up on it, wherever we go. Tough to see from the inside, but like I said, lots of time to think lately. And now...well. We're more couple-y than ever, aren't we?"
He looked at Sam. Sam didn't answer.
"Okay, man." Dean took a deep breath. "Really gonna make me do it. What I'm trying to say here is you don't gotta apologize for kissing me."
Sam opened his mouth, then just closed it again and swallowed.
"I'm honestly kinda surprised you didn't do it sooner," Dean went on. "And. Kinda pissed, if we're being honest here. I was waiting. For something. Thought for sure you'd get the ball rolling, you're the man of action on these things, but." He glanced over at Sam. "You've never liked talking about you, have you? You always wanna dig into me. Or us. But it's all surface-level when you get down to it. Isn't it? You keep things close, always have. And I think I know now it's 'cause you're scared."
"I talk about myself," Sam argued. He wanted to flip it back on Dean, but he was way too on the ball today, especially considering how full he was and how out of it he'd been earlier. "I talk about myself all the time."
Dean quirked a small smile.
"Nah," he said, "you don't." He put a hand on Sam's thigh, patting, then rubbing. "I'm not going anywhere, Sammy. No matter how you feel. No matter what you wanna do. Like. Say, for example, you wanted to kiss me again. 'Cause you've got that whole gooey romantic thing going on, I know you like kissing. That'd be okay. Just be careful of the lip you busted last time, it's already closing up but might be a bit."
Sam straightened up, taking a deep breath. Dean let the silence hang for a while.
"Course, another month or two and I'm not gonna be able to go anywhere even if I wanted to, 'cause I'll be - "
He stopped talking when Sam kissed him again. Sam told himself it was the only option, because if he didn't kiss him, then he'd start to talk, and he didn't know what he'd say, but he didn't feel like it would be good. So long as his mouth was against Dean's, he couldn't fuck up the entire situation. He couldn't hurt him again.
Dean didn't really react at first, must have just been surprised. It scared Sam, made him think that he'd misunderstood him and should've just taken his chances with talking. But then Dean had a hand on his back, dragging up towards his head and rucking his shirt on the way, cupping a big tangle of hair as he kissed him with an aggressive power Sam hadn't been expecting. He felt his cock stir interestedly in his jeans. He didn't realize that he'd teared up until Dean pulled back and he felt the wetness on his cheeks.
Dean took a bite of chocolate then, mouth full, gently touched Sam's face with his free hand. He looked at his fingers, then snorted, shaking his head.
"You're such a girl," he accused, but his eyes were soft, fond. Loving.
"Yeah?" Sam was panting, voice rough. "I'm not the one who just started a twenty-minute conversation about us always being a couple."
They kissed again. It felt better this time. Less tension, less guilt, less desperation. Dean was soft and enormous against Sam, a warm pillow, even the firmness of his overstuffed belly tempered by a marshmallow upper layer. Once again, they had to break so Dean could eat.
Sam wanted so badly to do something else, something more. It wasn't even about getting off at this point, just...demonstrating, since he'd done such a bad job of showing or telling Dean how he actually felt. Making something together. His analytical side kicked in a second later.
If they went straight to fucking, Dean wouldn't be able to do it very easily with that belly in the way. Thrusting or Sam riding him might make him sick, too. Sam would have to top, but the amount of prep involved for anal sex, even for somebody who didn't use the bathroom anymore, was more trouble than Sam was willing to put Dean through right now. Plus, he needed to be able to easily keep eating. They could just use the soda drip, but with what had happened today, Sam wanted to keep him on solid food as long as he could.
Speaking of, before he did anything else, Dean was going to need more to eat.
"I'll be right back." Sam stood. "I gotta - " He gestured to the remaining candy bars.
"Hey." Dean caught his arm before he could leave, looking up at him. "You are actually coming back. Right?"
Sam looked down. It hadn't even occurred to him to try and skip out on this. He nodded and Dean, apparently satisfied, let him go.
Sam entered the kitchen tensely, but thankfully Castiel was nowhere to be seen. Just something that smelled good simmering on the stove. Sam grabbed a six-pack, a bag of popcorn, and a few jerkies, figuring he'd restock Dean's room for real after the two of them finished. Assuming, of course, that Dean wanted it too. Anxiety dogged him all the way back.
He handed the food over. Looked like his timing had been perfect, with Dean just about finished with the last of the candy. As Dean opened another beer, Sam very hesitantly sank to his knees in front of him, then reached for the waistband of his sweatpants. It had split on either side. He probably could have just torn them clean off.
"Can I…?" He tugged slightly on Dean's pants, letting that do the talking for him. "Are you okay if - "
"Sam, if I ever say no to a blowjob, 'specially from you, get my Taurus out from under my pillow and shoot me," Dean responded, then leaned back. He hefted his belly in both hands as he laid down, giving Sam as much room as possible. It sloshed loudly, grumbling. "Just, y'know. Don't feel like you gotta do this. It's okay."
A sharp little laugh popped out of Sam. "Dean. I wanna do this."
He tugged Dean's ruined sweatpants the rest of the way down, his boxers. Dean snagged a couple pillows from the head of his bed, packed them behind his shoulders, and laid down. His belly bowed out slightly on either side, but for the most part was full enough to keep its shape.
He pulled it up with one hand, Sam pushing. Sam could already see Dean's dick, but wanted the whole thing visible, all the way down to the glossy thicket of hair curling around the base, trailing off into scales that patched his lower stomach. He'd seen it before, a whole lot even before the first time they had sex, but it had been months since he'd been able to just sit there and stare at it.
Part of him was relieved. What with the whole ouroboros thing, he'd been afraid things might have changed besides Dean's eyes and teeth and skin, even though he wasn't sure Dean would have been able to keep such a good attitude if something had happened below the belt.
Sam had seen what he'd consider a fairly normal amount of cocks, in the porn he didn't watch all that often and in person. And he'd always thought Dean's was nice. Ready-for-a-closeup nice, with its blushing head and proud curve and impressive, throbbing girth. The slit was already drooling precome at a steady pulse.
"You just gonna breathe on it?" Sam didn't realize how long he'd been looking until Dean spoke up, voice husky and mouth full. "'Cause I'm pretty fucking hard here and it's been a long time, but I think I might need a little more than that."
"Right." Sam rubbed suddenly-sweaty palms on his thighs, worked up a mouthful of saliva, reached up to grasp Dean. He twitched when he got close.
A shudder pinwheeled down Sam's spine, coming settling hot in the base of his stomach. He opened his mouth, grabbed onto Dean's cock, and stopped pushing up on his belly when he took the head into his mouth.
It tasted...not how he would have expected. Not like cocks usually did. No real hint of musk or anything else nasty, and Dean didn't taste like apple pie and whiskey or anything, but there was absolutely something sweet there. Something savory. Something wholly Dean, but not quite human. Kind of, Sam realized now, like his blood had been, the flavor still lingering behind his teeth and under his tongue.
Dean had gasped when Sam got his mouth on him, and now he let out a low, rumbling groan that Sam felt more than he heard. A little gush of pre crept sugary across his tongue.
Sam moved slowly down Dean's length, taking in more and more of him, babying a gag reflex that had been deadened by years of being choked out but hadn't had to contend with a cock in a while. When he got as far down as he was going to be able, mouth and part of his throat filled entirely by Dean, one hand on velvety scales on a soft thigh and the other on his balls, he felt Dean falter and let go of himself. His stomach settled where it wanted to, part of resting against Sam's head. He hardly minded. It wasn't like he couldn't handle the weight, and the solid warmth of it stirred something electric in his own hard, pulsing dick.
He pulled back, sucking as he went, so his mouth gave a loud pornstar pop when it slipped free of Dean's tip. Amelia had taught him that one. Her signature move. It only felt right to be using it on Dean now.
"I missed this," Sam told Dean, voice already rough from having Dean crammed into his throat.
Dean chuckled, rough and strained. More pre bubbled from his slit. "Kinky little fucker."
"I'm taller than you," Sam pointed out, just a kneejerk.
"Yeah? And I'd outweigh you even if you were twins."
Sam dove back in. He knew from experience he couldn't deepthroat and things wouldn't go well if he tried, so he focused on his hands, his tongue. With Dean's head wedged into the corner of his jaw and one hand back on his shaft, he drooled down his length, hollowing his cheeks and starting to bob his head. His scalp rocked against Dean's underbelly, and it sloshed, Dean belching above him. Sam felt pre drip out of his own cock, enough his boxers couldn't absorb it all and a drop ran down his thigh.
He hummed, eyes squeezed shut. He squeezed Dean's thigh appreciatively, unable to believe how big a handful of him he could take and still have so much left over. Dean was insanely vocal, which even in the beginning hadn't been anything new to Sam, who'd used to have to wait in the car when he had somebody in the room. Being on the receiving end of it again was all kinds of incredible, a chorus of grunts and sighs and moans and half-babbled dirty talk. He could hear him eating between all of it, and thought he could feel it, too. Maybe it was just his imagination, but Sam could have sworn that his belly was getting heavier up there. Bigger. Fuller.
Sam pulled back off. Slow, to leave a trail of saliva between Dean's head and his lower lip. He knew there was no point in putting on a show, since there was no anatomical way Dean could see him over his own beast of a gut, but something about it felt right anyway. He tongued that oddly-sweet pre out of Dean's slit, teased at his frenulum.
"I am never gonna forgive you," Dean gasped out, "for all the sex we lost out on 'cause you were so far up your own goddamn ass. On a - " He shook when Sam took him back into his mouth, moving his hand up and down the shaft as he sucked. "On a tight schedule here. Not long 'til I'm too fat for this."
Down low inside, near Sam's balls, something twinged hot and delighted, triggering another rush of pre into his boxers
"Don't have much of an imagination, huh?" he panted rawly, pulling off again. "Lotta ways to have sex that don't involve a cock." He moved his hand down Dean's thigh, towards meatier parts. "Or ass."
"F-fuck," Dean said shakily, and Sam grinned before going back to work.
Dean was doing a surprisingly good job of keeping still. Or maybe the weight of his belly and the rest of him just kept him from easily grinding up into Sam's mouth. Sam's own hips, on the other hand, had begun to involuntarily rut into the air. The friction of his boxers as they pulled back and forth over him wasn't nearly enough, but it was better than nothing.
Dean pulsed in his mouth, getting close. Sam's head bumped back and forth along the underside of his stomach, and Dean moaned through a full mouth. Taking his hand off his cock, Sam ghosted a large knuckle against the pucker of Dean's hole and (to his surprise and glee) it fluttered eagerly. Even after all this time. I knew it. Good thing his mouth was too full for any "bottom bitch" jokes that would have undoubtedly ruined the moment, and good thing enough of his brain was still working to keep him from just shoving a finger into Dean dry.
Right as Sam could feel Dean cresting, the door opened.
A few things happened at once: Dean jerked hard in reaction. Sam nearly had to dislocate his jaw to keep his teeth off him. And Castiel let out a startled little, "Oh."
Then Dean came with explosive, shocking force, entire body moving like an earthquake had just been triggered at the center of him, muffling sounds that would absolutely have been shouts with his hand. Sam swallowed as much as he could as fast as he could, since he didn't really have any other choice. But a good amount of come was dripping from his mouth, connecting him and Dean for a brief moment, when he practically tore his mouth off him and launched himself backwards. Right onto his still-sore tailbone.
Dean's come tasted...well, come was come, no matter what. But there wasn't a whole lot of the usual bitterness. There was something fruity in there, something salty, something a little bit sour. Weirdly enough, the closest thing Sam could compare it to in the moment was a sports drink. Meant to replenish, to sustain.
Somehow, the pain and the embarrassment hadn't done much to help with Sam's erection. Even as he blushed furiously, he clapped one hand over it and hastily wiped at his mouth with the other. Never mind that the damage had been more than done by now.
Castiel was standing halfway in and halfway out of the doorway, the pot Sam had seen on the stove balanced on one hand and a pan of cornbread in the other. A six-pack of beer dangled by the handle from a pinky. He was wavering, looking like he wasn't sure whether to stay or go. Bastard didn't even have the decency to look halfway as ashamed as Sam felt.
This was absolutely not the first time he'd popped in on them in the middle of sex, but it somehow felt worse than every single other time combined.
"I'm...I'm sorry," he said after a second's silence.
"Cas!" Dean exclaimed. Sam couldn't see his face, but based on the pink flare on his much-abused belly, he was blushing, too. "Son of a bitch, get the fuck out!"
"Sorry," Castiel repeated, making a beeline for Dean's table at a brisk pace.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Dean demanded as Castiel set everything down and guided the table over.
"I didn't know you two were…" Castiel paused. "Back together. Since when - ?"
"No." Dean pushed himself up on an elbow to the point Sam could see him, holding out a finger towards Castiel. His pupils were so thin they were almost lost in the blazing green of his irises. "Uh uh. He's bad enough - " He jerked his head towards Sam. "I am not going over this with you, too."
"Of course," Castiel said apologetically. "I understand."
And then he just stood there.
"C-Cas - get out!" Sam exclaimed.
"Right. I should. Sorry." Castiel turned and darted to the door, then paused, and looked over his shoulder. "Dean. It's probably not appropriate, but I still feel like I should congratulate you on the increased sensitivity. It's probably due to the significant weight ga - "
"Get out!"
Finally, Castiel went. Sam sat there for a second, one hand supporting his weight behind him and the other dragged halfway back through his hair, just staring at the door to make sure that it didn't open again. He could still feel two spots of color burning hard and high in his cheeks. Eventually, he mumbled, "Oh my god, I thought we trained that level of cluelessness out of him years ago."
"We? Please, we both know I did most of the potty-training there. He barely ever walked in on you naked." Dean grunted, very painstakingly pushing himself into a sitting position. Sam scrambled to help him up, but by the time he got to his feet, Dean had already made it. He'd always had a strong core. "You okay? Second time you've fallen flat on your ass in the last hour, and that thing's bony as all hell."
"I'm fine." Almost unconsciously, Sam's hand went to his ass. Probably a good thing they weren't having penetrative sex anytime soon. "How 'bout you? I mean, was it…?"
"Good?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "Oh, Sammy, lemme tell you. That was something else. Got a slutty little mouth on you, don't you?"
Sam's blush, which had been slowly fading, returned with a vengeance.
"Honestly," Dean went on with a lecherous grin, "even being walked in on wasn't bad. Ticked a couple of my boxes, that's for sure."
As Dean reached for the soup on the table, drawing the ladle floating in the pot up to his mouth, Sam decided not to ask. He came over, awkwardly adjusting around his erection as he sat down on the bed next to him.
"Was what he said true?" Sam asked eventually. "Cas. About the...sensitivity thing."
Dean swallowed a mouthful of noodles and beef. "Maybe," he admitted after a second's thought. "I mean, probably. That back there was hands-down the best you've ever given me, but could've just been 'cause it's been so long."
"Right." Sam brought a leg up, hooking one heel on the edge of the mattress. "Could be. Interesting to really test that out. Figure out if you really are more sensitive. Why that is. Where it's centered, what triggers it…"
His dick very interestedly twitched at the thought of putting Dean through a long series of rigorous sex experiments. Of course he was expecting to be shot down immediately. Instead, Dean busted open a beer on the edge of his table and purred, "You wear nothing but a lab coat during that, and you got yourself a deal."
Sam blinked at him. "Seriously?"
"Why not?" Dean smirked. "You experimenting with weird shit is what blew this door wide open. Think I got it in me to help you out with some, y'know. Research."
Sam pulled in a shuddering breath. The next thing that he knew, Dean's hand was between his legs, feeling out the shape of his cock inside his jeans and boxers. He jumped, the touch so unexpected it electrified every bone in his body for a second, but not unwelcome.
"Yeah. Thought so." Dean made eye contact with Sam as he took a long pull from his beer. His pupils had rounded back out...mostly. "You didn't finish."
Sam opened his mouth to say that it was okay, but it didn't come out. Maybe because he was aware that both he and Dean knew that it really, really wasn't. Coming now would mean the first guilt-free orgasm he'd had since Dean popped up out of the alkahest.
"Wouldn't be right to let you fly solo after the way you took my cock just now." Dean wrapped his lips around the mouth of his bottle in a way that would have been ridiculous in any other situation, done by anyone else. He must have bitten at his lips during the blowjob. They looked even fuller and pinker and more inviting than normal to Sam. "I'll take care of you."
"Gonna have to be hand stuff," Sam managed, even though he was shivering with the force of how good it felt just to have Dean's hand on his groin. It was like the layers of fabric made no difference at all. "Can't be your mouth 'cause I don't think pre is gonna - "
Before Sam could finish, and before his brain could catch up with his mouth and make him realize that Dean hadn't even explicitly offered to suck him off, the door opened again.
"Oh, you gotta be - " Dean immediately snatched his hand off Sam, who hastily hunched over to try and hide the obvious shape of his throbbing cock in his jeans. That made him realize Dean was still naked from (with the way his shirt was rolled up) chest to ankles, and that you could absolutely see his soft dick from a certain angle. Like, for example, where Castiel happened to be standing. "Cas, I swear to god, I will heave my fat ass off this bed and stake your feet to the kitchen floor with goddamn angel blades if I gotta."
"I'm not here to interrupt your coupling." Much calmer than the last time he'd walked in on them, Castiel approached Dean's table with a tray Sam didn't bother to pay too much attention to, setting it down. Sam waited with clenched fists for Castiel to leave, very much not looking forward to the talk that they were going to have to have with him once they were finished here.
But yet again, he didn't leave. Just sank into the easy chair that Sam had somehow never noticed faced the bed. And watched them expectantly.
"Cas," Sam began slowly and deliberately, erection starting to wither by the second, "what are you doing?"
"Dean is about to...reciprocate." Castiel gestured at Dean, as demurely as he could probably manage in the situation. "Initially, I was going to give you two your privacy, to the point of going so far as to leave the bunker. Then it occurred to me that, given the circumstances, it might be better if you had someone nearby to intervene if necessary."
Dean was the first to speak. "You think I'm gonna bite it off?"
"Not on purpose," Castiel replied, and the note of apology in his voice was pretty small comfort.
"Oh, you can't be serious." Sam dragged both hands down his face, then told Castiel as firmly as he could manage, "Cas, we don't need you. Thanks, but we'll be fine."
What caught him like a broom handle across the ankles was Dean letting out a gusty breath through his nose. Sam looked at him, incredulous.
"Do you seriously want him in here watching us?" It came out of him in a hiss.
"Oh, fuck no," Dean responded instantly. "I mean. Not, y'know, normally. But with what happened today…" He tipped his head, sucking his teeth as Sam stared. "Besides. Look at him. You think we're getting him outta here?"
Sam looked at Castiel again. He did have to admit that the finality with which Castiel had planted himself in the easy chair, still watching the two of them, did suggest that nothing short of an angel-banishing rune was going to oust him. And with him still missing his wings, Sam would rather not run that risk.
"Can't believe I'm saying this, but. I'd feel better," Dean added. "For you."
Sam's teeth worked at the inside of one cheek. He wanted desperately to dig his heels in hard, let his voice climb the octave it wanted to, and pitch the wild little-brother hissy fit that he knew he had in him. But he was in his thirties, and he couldn't imagine many things less attractive, and he wasn't even sure that the fact he'd just given Dean a really good blowjob would be enough to cancel it out.
"Fine," Sam said shortly. Because honestly, when he really thought about it? They'd both done worse in front of Castiel.
He looked at him again, just staring at the two of them with his hands on the armrests. It...almost looked like he was hard in the slacks that he insisted on wearing still rather than jeans, but it was probably just the way that he was sitting, and it wasn't like Sam knew what Castiel's erections looked like. Dean did though, he realized as a fragmented memory of motel-room porn flashed hard into his head.
That made Sam think about how close Castiel had been to the two of them since this whole thing started. How much he'd helped. How much of both of them he'd seen. What Dean had said, about how he liked this, had a "thing" for overfeeding him. Sam swallowed, feeling his heartbeat between his legs, and wondered if caution was the only reason Dean had been willing to let Castiel stay in the room.
Dean was shifting himself, grunting. Sam moved to help him, just pulling his sweats the rest of the way off because there was no point in trying to yank them back up, and finally happened to look at the tray that Castiel had brought into the room. A squeeze bottle of honey. Another of chocolate. Whipped cream. Maraschino cherries, the nearly black kind, floating in dark, sugary syrup.
It clicked for him, what the intention was. As he helped Dean maneuver himself onto all fours on the foot of the bed, Sam's breath shuddered and hitched its way into his lungs. He climbed up himself, fumbled his belt open, his jeans down. And then Castiel was suddenly there, a hand on the small of his back.
"I know today was difficult for you," he murmured, "and you've been working so hard for so long. Just enjoy yourself; I'll make sure he's fed."
The honey was in his hand. He popped the cap with his thumb. Sam looked at Dean, on his hands and knees. His swollen gut dragged the bedcovers with every breath, pupils narrow, breasts hanging round between his soft biceps and skin flushed with excitement under the freckles and the scales. Honestly, with how much he'd eaten, how big he was, Sam would have expected his belly to rest heavily on the mattress...but he seemed to be so full gravity wasn't having much of a sagging effect, and somehow, he had the core strength to keep his back from bowing.
God, his ass was enormous. So round and plump and soft. Like risen bread dough.
Sam's cock had gone all but flaccid during the conversation with Castiel, but he wasn't having that problem anymore, watching Dean slowly lick his lips.
"What…" Sam's voice was so husky. He cleared his throat, tried again. "What are your teeth like?"
"Not gonna hit you with 'em," Dean purred.
"He won't," Castiel agreed before dragging a hand through Dean's thick hair. It needed cut. "He's a good boy."
Sam gasped when honey drizzled unexpectedly onto his cock. It was thick and heavy, and he knew it was only room temperature, but it felt so cold against his hot, tender skin. Castiel coated him from tip to base, globs drooling off either side to drop slowly to the floor and runneling along his slit, and Sam thought briefly about the mess and the possibility of a UTI before Dean's mouth was suddenly on him and he didn't care anymore.
Dean dragged his tongue with almost excruciating patience over Sam's head, diligently cleaning off every drop of honey there. Sam gasped again, and Castiel pushed him closer, hand still on his back. Dean took him eagerly even as his cock was all but shoved down his throat, a rill of honey piling in folds against his lips until he opened his mouth a little wider to suck it in. His nose was in Sam's now-sticky pubic hair. He could feel the flutter and pulse of the gag reflex Dean was suppressing against his shaft.
Sam let out a helpless moan as Dean pulled slowly back, lapping and sucking at spots he hadn't managed to fully clean on the first go. He nearly jumped when Castiel squeezed chocolate sauce that had apparently been in the refrigerator onto him, but then Dean's mouth was back, and the heat of it, and his tongue was almost boiling hot as he bathed him from top to bottom in a series of slow, industrious licks. Next came the whipped cream, even colder, light enough for Castiel to really pile it on, much to Dean's delight as he slurped off half and then swallowed Sam down again to get the rest.
Sam's hands went to Dean's head, fingers slotting through his hair, holding him automatically as he went down, then back up, bobbing his head as his mouth and throat worked, sucking and swallowing and humming. His fingertips touched the fine scales on the back of Dean's neck, marching down out of his hairline. Just when he felt sure that he was getting close, after what felt like hours spent in varying degrees of hardness, Castiel said Dean's name, and he pulled off.
Sam couldn't help a frustrated groan, something very close to a ruined orgasm rolling through his lower stomach as he was forced to let go of his brother. Dean grinned up at him with sharp teeth and swollen lips.
"Whatsamatter, Sammy? Almost there?" His voice was absolutely wrecked. That alone was enough to make Sam twitch. Dean turned his attention to Castiel then, puzzled. "You, uh - ?"
"Here." Castiel had opened the jar of cherries. He pulled them out one by one, placing them in Dean's mouth with a level of care that seemed agonizing to Sam, in his current state. Like he'd somehow caught Castiel's drift, Dean held each cherry in his teeth so Castiel could pull the stems free. When he had a good mouthful of them, Castiel set the jar down, picking up the whipped cream in one hand and the chocolate in the other before turning back to Sam.
He covered him like he worked the counter in an ice cream parlor and had just been slipped a twenty by a customer wanting a sundae. Piling whipped cream practically to Sam's navel, even going under to coat his balls. Drizzling what Sam quickly realized was the entire bottle of chocolate over him before reaching for the honey and repeating the process. Once he seemed satisfied with his handwork, not only was everything from belly to balls on Sam an absolute sugar overload, so was essentially the entire area beneath him. He was sitting in a gooey, seeping mess, but seeing as how most of it was on him, and about to end up inside of Dean…
Yeah. He didn't care.
Cherries still in his mouth, bowing his cheeks, Dean dove in the second that Castiel stepped back. His sheer enthusiasm made Sam glad for a second that they weren't alone in the room, but he shouldn't have worried, Dean going tongue-only to clean every inch of him that wasn't cock in slowly-narrowing circles. Thighs. Lower stomach. Balls, given an extremely thorough and teasing bath that had Sam biting his lower lip and thinking about autopsies to keep himself from going off. He was gonna make it to the big finish if it killed him.
The overbearing sweetness didn't seem to bother Dean at all, even though it made Sam's teeth ache just watching him. And he somehow did it all without appearing to swallow a single cherry.
One hand having found its way to the back of Dean's hand, Sam trembled with the effort of not pushing him towards his cock, breathing fast and shallow. He got there on his own soon enough.
Sam wasn't really sure what he'd expected from a blowjob given with a mouthful of maraschino cherries, but it hadn't been nearly as good as the reality. They'd kept enough of their shape and firmness, even tucked back in Dean's cheeks, to roll against his cock like soft marbles, the texture like nothing he'd ever felt before and never would have imagined would be so good. Dean's mouth was honey and cream sweet, lips sticking along his cock with chocolate residue, and Sam pumped pre steadily down his throat, and Dean swallowed, and swallowed, and swallowed. All while his stomach made the happy noises that Sam was used to from it.
Yeah. It didn't take long at all.
Sam cried out with what might have been Dean's name in his mouth as he exploded straight down his throat. There was none of his own fumbling from Dean - he took every drop with no hesitation, and kept right on bobbing his head and humming through the entire thing, wringing an orgasm that just kept on not ending out of Sam. His hips bucked, he couldn't help it, he shoved Dean down onto his cock, and not once did he feel teeth against his shaft. In fact, from the way Dean's ass rose and a flush bloomed across his skin, he would have said he liked it.
It was the best climax he'd had in months. Worth the wait in every single sense of the phrase. Shattered an easy place into his top ten, and maybe he was biased by the fact he was still in the middle of it and pleasure had crossed his eyes so hard his vision was blurring, but Sam thought it might be his best ever, period.
The gentle tapering end was almost a relief. Usually, Sam tended to be disappointed when his orgasms shut down, feeling like they could've stood to go on a little longer, but. With this one, he felt like if it had lasted another second or two, important things might have started breaking apart. He sat there, Dean very gently pulling his mouth off him with a thick string of pink maraschino drool connecting them for a second, and finally swallowed his cherries as Sam distantly shuddered with the aftershocks.
"How was that?" Dean rasped after clearing his throat, swiping a stray smear of whipped cream from his cheek into his mouth with a thumb.
"Uh," Sam said, and blinked at him, a rush of unfiltered love making his afterglow even rosier than normal. "Good."
Dean grinned. "Looks like it was about like mine."
Sam just stared. If that was accurate, how in the hell had he managed to yell so coherently at Castiel right after? Sam felt like he barely knew English anymore.
Every nerve ending in his body was still blown sensitive when, a couple seconds later, something splashed across his stomach. Something hot. Sam stared down at it, white and thick and dripping slowly down as a familiar scent tinged with something else, then looked over at Castiel, who was very calmly tucking himself back into his slacks. He hadn't even noticed him take his cock out.
"I'm sorry," Castiel apologized. Though he didn't sound all that apologetic. "Masturbation, especially aiming, is somewhat new to me."
There was a whole lot in Sam's brain just then that wanted to come out of his mouth, but the orgasm seemed to have knocked temporary holes in his head, so the only thing that didn't leak free before it reached his tongue was, "Your come smells like lightning."
"I'm an angel," Castiel answered, like that explained it.
"C'mere, Sammy." Dean beckoned him forward, and Sam very reluctantly forced his body to move, already fatigued and sore from the strength of the orgasm. The next thing he knew, Dean's tongue was swiping across his stomach again, cleaning him up, taking a come chaser with his cherries.
If Sam hadn't literally just finished, and finished hard, his cock might have filled again at that.
Once he was done, Dean moved with painstaking difficulty to lay down. Sam helped him, Castiel coming around the other side of the bed to feed the tube from his soda reservoir into his mouth. Sam imagined they could all use the rest that would come with not having to worry about feeding him.
He laid down against Dean's side, skin damp and tacky. He needed a shower, but for now, this was fine. He even liked it, the memory of Dean's tongue tingling on his skin.
When Castiel settled in on Dean's other side, Sam wasn't even surprised. Even with the size of the bed, there wasn't much room for all of them. Hand on Dean's belly, rubbing absentmindedly, Sam thought about getting a larger one sooner rather than later. Getting it into the bunker would be hell, but...he was sure they could figure something out, magically speaking.
He'd been spooked off anything more esoteric than steel and paper for months now, after what had happened. But maybe it wasn't so bad. After all: it had led to this.
They laid there for a long time, the three of them. Sam even dozed off for a while. He was brought awake by Dean pulling the soda tube out of his mouth and rumbling, "Y'know, I could really go for some fried chicken."
Sam and Castiel rose almost in unison, both of them taking a second to touch the belly that hadn't deflated at all. Sam rubbing, Castiel patting. He met Castiel's eyes briefly, then looked away, embarrassed, before bending down to offer Dean a kiss he gladly accepted.
When he straightened back up, Castiel was smiling.