#spnpolybingo

Title: something pretty

Pairing: CastielxDeanxJimmy

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 2,620

Notes: written for @spnpolybingo square ‘summer camp au’, underage (unspecified, all parties around 16-ish), drinking, incest, self piercings

-

“Where did you even get that?”

Dean squints in the dim light of the boathouse, the sun setting on the other side of the lake slanting in through the open face of the rickety structure and there’s a little piece of gem studded metal dangling from Cas’ fingers.

“You know the counselor, Lisa, wears skimpy bikinis?” Cas grinned. “I noticed she’s always got a different piece in her belly.

“He stole it, is what he’s trying to say,” Jimmy rolls his eyes, arms folded over his chest as he warily glances out the exposed front of the boathouse then to the door at the side which doesn’t have a lock.

“Of course I did,” Cas chides his twin.

Dean’s only known these two since the start of summer camp a month ago, but Cas has got stickier fingers than he does. Sure, Dean steals from the supermarket when the cupboards are getting bare, or sometimes from the salvation army, but Cas steals because he wants to.

“So,” Dean glances down the faded green t-shirt Cas is wearing with the holes ringing the stretched out collar, to the flat of his belly, “Do I get to poke you this time?”

“No,” Cas tells him gleefully, “You get to help me poke my brother.”

Jimmy sighs and turns his eyes up to the ceiling, clutching his arms tighter against his chest. “I told you no, Cas.”

“Yeah, but when do I ever listen.”

“Your nipple piercings got infected.”

“But they’re fine now, and I’ve got this.”

Tucking the piece of jewelry into his cut-off jean shorts pocket, Cas drops his backpack onto the wet-swollen wood of the boathouse and pulls out a quarter full bottle of vodka.

“Oh, hey, nice,” Dean reaches out, and yeah okay maybe sometimes he steals stuff like this too, usually from his dad, but Cas swats his hand away.

“It’s for Jimmy’s belly button first, it’s a disinfectant so our princess here doesn’t have to worry about an infection, then we get the rest.”

“I’m not a princess,” Jimmy frowns.

“You’re a little prissy, Jimmy,” Dean says, “But it makes it easy to tell the two of you apart.”

Cas laughs and grabs at his twin, tugging at the hem of Jimmy’s shirt.

“Jesus, Cas, you’re so much worse when you have someone that actually agrees with you.”

Cas slaps a palm to his chest, “Did you just take the lord’s name in vain!”

“Shut up!” Jimmy shoves Cas away, but then he uses the space to pull his own shirt up over his head.

Both twins are skinny and pale, despite spending the same amount of time out in the sun that has gotten Dean freckled and a bronzed. He knows they’re from a strict and very large Catholic family, but the religious upbringing doesn’t seem to be sticking for how many crude jokes they make. And probably the incest thing. And the stealing. And self-piercings.

Cas smiles approvingly, setting the vodka down and digging an apple and a pocket knife out of his bag. Dean didn’t actually get to see the first time Cas pierced himself at the start of the summer. Both nipples. The safety pins he left in are kind of weird, but Dean loves how he whimpers when they’re tugged on.

Cutting a small thumbnail sized chunk of apple out, Cas passes it to Dean. He takes out a safety pin and lighter, holding the sharp point of the pin over the flame.

Jimmy sighs like he’s resigned to this, but Dean’s pretty sure that he likes the trouble Cas gets him into. Cas is the one to lead, forge headfirst into whatever batshit crazy notion has taken his fancy on any given day, while Jimmy acts the voice of reason and enjoys the adventure while maintaining ‘I told you so’ status.

Grabbing the vodka bottle, Jimmy takes a swig and coughs, then pours some on his belly, uncaring of how it drips onto his jeans and darkens the waist, scrubbing at the skin of his navel.

“If this gets infected I’m not blowing you for like a month.”

Cas clucks his tongue, “Idle threats don’t scare me.”

Slipping the lighter into his pocket, Cas takes the apple piece from Dean and passes him the stolen jewelry. “Splash some vodka on that,” he tells Dean.

Cupping it in his palm, Dean pours a little on it and lets it sit, then takes a sip for himself. Jimmy angles himself better into a sliver on sunset orange light and Cas kneels in front of him. Holding the apple against the skin under the navel, Cas pinches in the middle, squints, moves his position slightly to the left.

“Just do it already.” Jimmy grouses.

“I know you’d rather I do it right,” Cas mumbles, then shoves the safety pin through Jimmy’s skin.

Jimmy squeaks, then scrunches his face up. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“That’s only half of it,” Cas tells him.

Leaving the pin hanging, Cas holds a hand out to Dean, and Dean drops the jewelry onto his palm. Cas tells Jimmy, “Hold still,” before yanking the safety pin out and shoving the jewelry through.

Dean winces as he watches, fascinated.

Cas hums, pleased, and pours more vodka where Jimmy is bleeding a little, then laps it up off his skin. Dean’s gotta admit, the belly button piercing is pretty cute. He’s always liked that kind of shit on girls, although there’s only a few white-trash enough to have them at his school, but it works on guys too.

Jimmy’s whimpering while Cas tongues around the pink and agitated skin, pours more vodka on it. Cas looks up from his knees at Dean and smiles.

“Hey Dean, you want to see something pretty?”

Dean’s already stiff in his jeans. For one, he thought they were coming out to the boathouse for a little privacy, a little hands on fun. Then Jimmy took his shirt off and now Cas is tongue fucking his freshly pierced navel. So yeah, he’s got his expectations, which to be fair, they’ve only encouraged. And Cas is asking him if he wants to see something pretty.

The first time Cas said that, a week after they were all dumped at this free summer camp for ‘at-risk’ youths, that was when Cas had shown Dean the safety pins in his nipples, that were bizarre, but when asked if he wanted to touch them fuck yes Dean did. The second time Cas said that, he kissed his twin in front of Dean and Dean had jerked off in the woods behind the cabin after that. The third time Cas had asked him that, Jimmy had gotten down on his knees in the boathouse and gave Cas a blow job.

So yeah, Dean really wants to see something pretty.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, reaching for the bottle of vodka Cas passes him, after Jimmy’s taken another sip.

Cas stands, hands working Jimmy’s jeans open, leans close and murmurs something in his twin’s ear while Jimmy closes his eyes and nods, turns around. Cas pulls his jeans and underwear down to Jimmy’s ankles and Jimmy leans forward a little. He’s got a tight ass, narrow hips, knobs of his spine bumping up under the skin of his back. Cas puts a hands on Jimmy’s asscheek, pulls it wide and tips Jimmy forward a little so Dean can see the pink furl of his hole, hairless and soft and sweet looking. Dean licks sour vodka off his lips and nods stupidly.

Cas sucks one of his fingers into his mouth, being loud on purpose, before he circles it around Jimmy’s hole and presses inside.

“Tell my brother he’s pretty, Dean.”

“God, he’s so pretty.”

Jimmy whines and bends forward more, arching his ass up, and he reaches one hand back to pull the other asscheek that Cas doesn’t have a hand on wider, showing off.

“Jesus christ.”

Jesus. Christ.

“Have you ever tried this on someone else, Dean?” Cas asks, slowly moving his finger in and out.

Dean shakes his head no.

“Have you ever tried this on yourself?”

He can feel the heat in his cheeks and it’s useless trying to lie to Cas, so he nods his head yes.

“Try it on me,” Jimmy says high and breathy.

“Yeah, okay.”

Dean’s not a virgin. He lost that in the eighth grade. Sure, he’s mostly been with girls, but it’s easier. He’s fumbled around in the dark, in the backseat of a car, got his hands up a cheerleader’s skirt under the bleachers. Guys have always been more of a passing fantasy, a better not get caught with, that he hasn’t pursued. Not until Cas and Jimmy pursued him. And they are shameless.

He passes the vodka bottle back to Cas, after Cas takes his finger out of his brother, and Dean sucks on his own finger before he touches the hot skin between Jimmy’s legs. Running the pad of his finger over the small wrinkles that twitch under his touch, Dean marvels at it for a moment before he tries pressing inside. It’s tight, and resists, but Cas leans over and spits right where Dean’s finger is trying to go and that’s the filthiest goddam thing he’s experienced in his short life. Every time he hooks up with these two they show him something filthier. He slides inside and it’s so fucking hot and smooth Dean’s dick jerks in his jeans and drips precome.

Cas hums, takes a deep sip of vodka and passes it to Jimmy.

“I’m going to watch you fuck my brother.” Cas says.

It’s not a question.

The bottle of vodka clunks onto the boathouse floor and Jimmy bends further, bracing his hands on his knees and shoving back against Dean.

“Fuck. Yeah, fuck, you two are sluts.”

“So are you, Dean.” Cas tells him, something wicked glinting in those blue eyes. “Try another finger.”

Dean’s not sure one went in that well, but he’s broader and larger than the twins everywhere, one of his fingers almost two of Cas’ slim ones. Cas is grabbing something else out of his bag though, a bottle of baby oil, like what he sees the girls spreading on themselves when they go sunning at the lake beach. Cas drips it down Jimmy’s crack and Dean smears his fingers through it while Jimmy squirms and moans some kind of ‘yes, yeah, please’ and Dean gets two fingers into him easy.

Cas moves around in front of Jimmy, crouches down and takes his twin’s face in his hands, kisses Jimmy filthy and noisy. Without his intense scrutiny straight on Dean, Dean loosens. Spreads a hand over Jimmy’s hip and smoothes up the curve of his back. Twists his fingers in deep while Jimmy shivers, body clutching around him and it’s nothing like fingering a girl.

The lake ripples with a gentle breeze, lapping at the supports under the boathouse, and the sun has dipped under the horizon leaving them in inky twilight gloom. It smells like musty old lakewater has seeped into every crevice of the boathouse, swollen it to creak and shift under them. Dean could be doing this in the primitive cramped outhouses of the camp and he’d be ready to go.

Cas steps next to Dean, settles a hand on his forearm as Dean curls his fingers inside of Jimmy, and pulls him slowly out.

“You’ll take care of Jimmy with me, won’t you?”

Dean nods dumbly and opens his mouth when Cas puts the rim of the vodka bottle to his lips, kisses away the stinging taste. Jimmy straightens and kicks his jeans off, a fresh red bead dripping down from his belly button, and his dick is slapping hard against his stomach under it, as he digs around in the back pack for a towel. Neatly folding it - and really, it’s kind of cute when he’s prissy -  Jimmy sets it on the boathouse floor and kneels on it. Cas gets a hand in Dean’s jeans, shoves them down and pulls his dick out, stroking it firmly as he nips at Dean’s mouth. He nudges Dean down, and Dean kneels behind Jimmy’s spread legs as Jimmy drops forward onto his hands.

“Do I, uh,” Dean starts, thinking he should probably ask about a condom, but it’s not like he can get a boy pregnant, and Cas passes him the bottle of baby oil so he slicks himself up.

Cas pours another shot into Jimmy’s upturned mouth and settles in front of him, kissing him messily and grabbing his tousled hair sharply.

Dean’s dick slips between Jimmy’s thighs when he tries to push in, then up, so he grips himself in one hand and insistently presses against the pink tender muscle that barely lets him in as Jimmy gasps and Cas shushes against his mouth.

He’s vice tight and so hot around Dean that Dean thinks he’s gonna finish right now, and he has to stop and rub at Jimmy’s back to distract himself. Cas is nosing along Jimmy’s neck, murmuring in his brother’s ear, one arm draped over his shoulder and fingers trailing against his shivery back.

“Is… is that alright?” Dean asks.

“Tell him what you want,” Cas says in Jimmy’s ear, staring at Dean.

“I…I, uh… f-fuck me…”

Head sagging, shoulder blades jutting up sharply, Jimmy rolls his hips backward and buries Dean almost to the base. Dean snaps his hips forward reflexively, fingers tightening against Jimmy’s waist.

Cas kneels up, pulls off his shirt because he likes how Dean stares at him, shimmies his shorts down and guides his brother’s mouth onto his dick. As far as Dean can tell, Jimmy’s happy to be some kind of living sex doll, pliant to Cas’ suggestions and hands, mouth easy to open, legs quick to spread. They’ve probably had some fucked up kind of childhood, but Dean’s fucked up too and he’s horny and he kind of admires them.

Dean rocks his hips against Jimmy, pulls out and slides in slowly while Jimmy bobs his head on Cas’ dick with a wet sucking noise. Cas tangles a hand in Jimmy’s hair, pulls him forward at the same time that he thrusts. Dean can hear Jimmy gag but it only makes him shove forward harder, trapping Jimmy between them and he squirms in a way that squeezes around Dean’s dick. Swearing, groaning, Dean screws into him fast and dirty because he’s not going to last.

Cas fucks his brother’s mouth while Dean comes deep in him, but Cas pulls out so he can jizz all over Jimmy’s face.

Dean pulls out with a slick squelch that makes his spent dick twitch, sits back on his heels panting, gaze fixed on the pink-red gape of Jimmy’s ass that drips white down the seam between his legs. Splinters dig into Dean’s knees, the noise of the water fading as the wind dies down and the night deepens. There’s no clouds in the sky and the moon is almost full, silver light glinting off the water and shining into the boathouse.

Cas pulls Jimmy up onto his knees and turns him around. Jimmy hums, leans back against Cas’ chest. There’s tear tracks streaked down his cheeks and Cas’ come dripping off his chin. Jimmy’s dick is softening, stomach glistening with white streaks, and the dark water logged wood of the boathouse floor in front of him is spattered with pearl white puddles.

Cas palms Jimmy’s dick and he shudders.

“You’re so pretty,” Dean murmurs, about both of them, and the twins give him matching satisfied, secretive smiles.  

Title: good mood morning

Pairing: Wincestiel

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 1,550

Notes: written for @spnpolybingo square used ‘Ace Character’, Ace Sam, explicit Destiel

-

Sam is usually the one to put on the first pot of coffee in the morning, but Dean is usually the one to have the first mug.

Sweaty, hair pulled back in a small ponytail, Sam jaunts down the stairs to the war-room after his jog in a good mood. The sky was still pinkened from sunrise when he went out, the forest bursting in a riot of green almost overnight. It’s finally spring. No one is dying, the world isn’t ending. It’s definitely enough to put a jaunt in his step.

When he rounds the corner into the kitchen, pulling his earbuds out, Sam pauses to see that Dean isn’t enjoying his first mug of coffee, rummaging through the cupboards and thinking about what to make for breakfast.

Sam stands at the bottom of the few steps into the kitchen, bends to stretch to his toes, raises his arms and stretches them behind his back then forward. He considers getting his own mug of coffee and having yogurt and granola for breakfast. He doesn’t eat a heavy breakfast like Dean, not most of the time, but it’s nice to be in the kitchen when Dean cooks. You can tell the coffee is kicking in when he starts to hum a little and sway his hips. The food always smells good, and Sam always swipes a piece of bacon or begs a bite of greasy eggs. But he doesn’t have to wait for Dean. He could have his yogurt.

Dean’s probably being lazy and cuddling in bed with Cas. His visits are longer and more frequent, but he insists that his relation with heaven must be maintained. Sam gets it. He doesn’t have to like it but at least he’s not as grumpy about it as Dean is.

Pulling down two white mugs, Sam considers a third for Cas. It’s hit or miss with him. Sam fills two mugs, black. Wrapping his headphone wire around his phone then sticking it back in his pocket, pulling at the hem of his shirt to fan himself off, Sam enjoys the aroma of coffee, the quiet of the bunker, the unusual good mood of the morning.

With the full mugs of coffees carefully in hand, he makes his way down the hall to Dean’s room - mostly Dean and Sam’s room, sometimes Dean and Cas’ room, and if they drag another mattress in and settle two of them on the floor then Dean and Sam and Cas’ room. The doorway is open a crack, so he doesn’t bother to knock, hip-bumps it open and steps in.

Sam stops a step into the room with a quiet ‘oh’.

Cas is curled on one side, pillow clutched to his chest and face buried in it, legs tangled in the blanket and he looks like he could still be asleep but Dean is behind him, part-way on top of him really, hips rolling steady and there’s a sheen of sweat on his face, flushed red down to his freckled chest.

The arm that Dean has wrapped around Cas’ waist, hand moving steadily under the blanket, stills, and Dean presses himself against Cas. “Mornin’. Hey, coffee in bed?”

Sam moves to the desk and sets the mugs down. “You’re never this quiet.”

They’re not. Even for as thick as the bunker walls are, even in the library, Sam can usually at least hear an echo.

The blankets shift and Cas pushes himself up onto an elbow, squints blearily at Sam and his hair is tousled wildly. “Good morning, Sam.”

“Morning, Cas.”

Sam takes half a step toward the door, half a step towards the desk chair. He’s got something he could read in the library. Or that yogurt and granola to get to. But, Cas is looking very human and pliable and sweet, and Dean is watching Sam’s wavering carefully. Dean lifts up on one arm, back muscles flexing as he holds Cas’ hip down and pulls out, in the stillness Sam can hear the wet slide, pushes back slow and controlled.

“Stay.” Is all Dean needs to say.

Sam nods, sits at the desk at the foot of the bed, picks up his coffee mug.

Dean’s a show off. He preens. He likes being watched. Sam will forever like watching his brother. Sometimes, it even turns him on just to watch.

Sex was always something that Dean made seem natural and necessary and inevitable. Sam has only ever had a few partners he’s been comfortable enough trying for it. It doesn’t do anything for him, not like it seems it should, but he enjoys giving it to his partners, he enjoys the intimacy of it. After some of the truly fucked up shit that’s happened to him, he can’t always get it up, but using his fingers or toys when he’s in the right mood, it makes him feel just as good to get his partner there.

He sips his coffee, and Dean rolls his eyes at that, settles down onto his elbow and starts slowly rocking against Cas. There’s a quiet huff where Cas has buried his face in the pillow again, his hips shifting back like he’s asking for more, and his feet peek out of the end of the blanket, toes curled.

Sam watches, and drinks half of his coffee before he sets it down. He’s a little aroused, but mostly, it’s nice to be allowed in on this. Him and Dean have always been closer than brothers should be, but the sex come and goes between them. Since Cas, there hasn’t been anyone else in their weird little love triangle.

Sam does love Cas. Almost as fiercely as his brother.

Dean’s pushes and pulls at Cas, moves his lax body as he wills, positions a thigh up higher so he’s wider open and the blanket moves, strong hard muscle of his legs bared, the vulnerable space between his thighs above where Dean’s cock has him stretched, the roundness of his balls pressed to the bed. He has got a great ass. Sam can appreciate that, even if he doesn’t want to do anything to it but fondle it when they cuddle.

Pressing Cas almost stomach to the bed, angled just so, Dean brackets his arms beside Cas’ chest and moves over him faster and more purposefully. Dean’s breathing quickens as he moves in an easy, fluid ripple. Dropping his head to Cas’ neck, he kisses the back of it and along the swoop of Cas’ shoulder, then tells him, “Touch yourself.”

Sam kind of wants to touch himself.

Cas grumbles, pushes the pillow off the side of the bed and his face is flushed too, stubble dark across his jaw, brow creased. He wiggles a hand down and adjusts himself in the second that Dean gives him, bicep flexing as he starts to jack off and Dean fucks into him rougher, animalistic, pulling those wounded confused grunts out of Cas like his body always surprises him when it reacts like this. Cas shivers and shakes and his body tenses while Dean focuses his intent, puts his mouth on Cas’ neck and rattles the headboard against the wall.

Moan stuttering low and wrecked, Cas’ shoulders hunch as he writhes under Dean and comes into his fist, onto the mattress. Sam can’t see that part but he sees Cas’ face, mouth slack as his eyes roll back, body sagging limpy to the bed post-release. Dean lays down against him, moves deep in him with short needy thrusts and stifles his groan into Cas’ neck.

Sam might be halfway hard. Okay, a third.

He picks up his half empty coffee cup and finishes it while Dean and Cas pull apart slowly, kissing and touching. Cas rolls over to spread a hand on Dean’s hip and claim his mouth.

Dean flops on his back, arm stretching under Cas’ neck as Cas settles onto his chest, curls against him. Dean makes a grabby motion at Sam.

It is the cuddling part that Sam likes best.

“Dude, I’m all gross after my jog. I need a shower.”

“Dude, we’re both gross too,” Dean grumbles.

Fair point.

Standing, Sam kicks off his shoes and shuffles around the side of the bed opposite Cas. There definitely isn’t room for three grown men to sleep comfortably on one of these mattresses, but three grown men can uncomfortably cuddle for a few minutes before showering.

Sam mirrors Cas, curves along Dean’s side with his head resting on Dean’s chest, his nose and Cas’ a few inches apart. For Sam, this position means his butt is hanging off the side of the bed and his feet are awkwardly propped on the footboard.

But then Dean drapes his arm over Sam’s shoulder, and there’s the lightest touch of a kiss to the top of his head. Sam can hear his brother’s heartbeat, and watch Cas’ blue eyes droop. Cas reaches over Dean’s bare stomach and finds Sam’s hand to hold. Scooting closer to stretch his head across Dean’s chest, Sam kisses Cas, gently, letting Cas deepen it.

Dean gives them a cheesy, “Aww.”

Sam nudges his bony knee against Dean’s leg.

The good mood morning is now a good mood day, and Sam thinks that maybe he’ll ask Dean to make pancakes for breakfast.

Title: Intersection

Pairing: DeanxDonnaxJodyxSam

Rating: Gen

Wordcount: 879

Notes: written for @spnpolybingo square DeanxDonnaxJodyxSam

-

There’s a cheerful knock at the front door, and Jody extricates herself to answer it. A cityscape of empty beer bottles towers on the coffee table, a pizza box empty but for a few crust scraps. Dean noisily continues munching on popcorn, the bowl settled in his lap, and Sam can hear happy greeting conversation coming from the front hallway.

Dean got banged up on the hunt. Nothing serious. Well, at least not life threatening. There are a few new stitches in his forehead, his bad knee is now very bad, and tomorrow Sam will find a rorschach of bruises across his side. So, he gets a pass to sit and eat and be the rightful center of attention.

A blond head pops into view with a bright “Hiya!”

“Hey, Donna, good to see you,” Sam answers as he stands and gathers all the beer bottle towers onto his fingers that he can, tucking the pizza box under his arm.

“Donna, c’mere,” Dean greets from the couch, his face turned to her like a sunflower.

“Sorry I didn’t make it in time to help …”

Donna starts, but Dean waves her off. They’d taken care of it. Dean’s had worse.

Donna moves to Sam, and he stoops down to kiss her cheek as she gathers him into a hug. When they part, Donna’s warm soft hands cup his cheeks and she pulls him down again to kiss him on the lips.

Sam warms with the attention.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t I get some of that sugar too?” Dean says from the couch.

Donna smiles at Sam, moves on to Dean, settling down next to him to give him a hug and a kiss too.

Smile lingering, Sam takes the trash to the kitchen, passing Jody on the way. Jody stops, takes the pizza box from his arm and tucks it into the trash while Sam sets the beer bottles with the recycling. Jody has a new bottle of Reisling just opened - Donna’s favorite - as she goes back to the den.

Donna and Dean are chatting amicably, movie on the screen forgotten, but Jody takes control of the remote and picks out something new to watch that they can all enjoy. Sam settles down, or tries to, into the spaces between the amiability and familiarity that the four of them share.

Sam and Dean have always been a thing, and they hadn’t meant for anyone else to find out. They never expected to be caught in the back seat of the Impala together. It always seemed, to Sam at least, like their own private world sealed away in a tight-closed bubble, whether they were on a no-name backroad nestled between waving cornfields, or in a cracked asphalt parking lot, or just that one desperate time in Jody’s driveway.

Sam can’t say that he regrets being caught, after all the cramped fear and worry, it was waved away with a shrug.

He still finds himself tensing, sometimes, waiting for something that hasn’t come yet.

Jody and Donna, they’re going steady themselves. At least, as much as hectic schedules and distance will allow. He knows they keep up with each other daily online. Intimately.

Sam’s been the recipient, a handful of times, to Donna’s idea of sexting. It’s mostly suggestive flirtation and soft sentiment.

It’s nice.

Jody’s the one that sends artistically lit nudes.

Dean’s got a bag of frozen peas on his bad knee, propped up on a stack of pillows that Jody piled on the coffee table. Said table which has now been pushed askew so Sam can sit on the floor with his legs stretched out. The couch is a three person affair, and Donna takes the middle spot, tucked underneath Dean’s arm as she snuggles against his chest.

The Riesling has been distributed in mismatched coffee mugs. Sam’s leaned back between Donna’s thighs, one of his arms stretched over her leg to settle in Dean’s lap. Donna’s nails prick shivery trails through Sam’s hair, absentmindedly playing. Jody is backed into the far side of the couch, but this is only so she can slant her bare feet into Sam’s lap, and he obligingly rubs them.

They shift and settle and slowly fit closer together as another movie winds down, and Sam doesn’t think any of them are really paying attention.

Claire has been criss-crossing over the country chasing hunts, and it reminds Sam so much of what he and Dean used to live for, while Alex has gotten herself a job working night-shift at the hospital. The girls won’t be there to interrupt all night.

But.

Sam thinks they’ll end up kind of how they are now. Piled together, comfortable and lazy. Dean needs to take it easy. Jody is worn down from working two kinds of jobs, whether she admits or not. And Donna’s been on the road a while, trying to catch up to their hunt.

Sam, he enjoys the company of people who know him. A touch through his hair that’s reassuring. Warmth surrounding him. The familiar cadence of his brother’s easy breathing, the new rhythm of two friends who are growing steadily more than. Tomorrow, a sunny breakfast and the intersection of lives at crossroads that are mundane and simple and gentle.

That’s all he needs.

Title: two hard working ho’s

Pairing: DeanxSamxClaire

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 2,520

Notes: written for @spnpolybingo, square ClairexDeanxSam, age of Claire is undefined and may be interpreted as underage, bondage, edging, incest, au, prostitute Claire, bottom Dean

-

She’s small. Each tit you could cup in the palm of a hand, with an ass you could span with both. Her blue eyes are big and wide, blond hair falling in messy waves over one shoulder while the other side of her head is braided back. She’s timid in the set of her shoulders and how she holds on to the strap of her bag, but she matches Sam’s gaze and she talks a tough game.

“You didn’t say anything kinky, I want two hundred.”

Sam closes the motel door behind her and she almost suppresses her flinch.

With a small hum, Sam circles around her, pulls out his wallet, gives her a few more bills. She doesn’t look like she’s sure she really wants to take them, although it’s clear from her dingy clothes, the ripped jean-shorts she’s probably trying to pass as artfully ho, that she really needs that extra cash.

Hey, Dean can’t blame her if she’s having second thoughts.

He’s tied down star-fish spread, one wrist to the bed with a belt, one wrist with old electric cable, his ankles with rough camping-grade rope, secured to the frame under the mattress. Still, as limited as his mobility is, he moves his head in an approximation of a friendly nod, lips stretched grimace-wide around the wiffle-ball black gag in his mouth but he can mumble a garbled hello to her.

She stays rooted at the edge of the bed, staring, tucking her money away.

Sam steps behind her, one hand lightly pulling her hair back as he leans over her, lips grazing her neck, and there’s some arousal there as she leans back and her tongue darts out against her lip.

“What’s your name?” Sam asks.

“Claire,” she answers immediately, brow twitching with the slightest consteration, and Dean thinks it might just be her real name.

Christ, he wonders if Sam checked out if she was legal to even buy a pack of cigarettes.

Right now, that’s not really important to Dean. What matters is how much his fucking dick hurts, a hot insistent throb, left alone with a cock ring on after Sam gave him a stellar blow job that just almost, almost tipped him over the edge. Dean’s been squirming and sweating into the mattress for what feels like hours. Maybe it has been hours that Sam’s been out, finding Claire. The small vibrating plug inside him keeps a semi-steady trickle of precome dribbling onto his belly, dripping down his sides, every muscle in him tensed and tight and Dean doesn’t fucking care how old she is and how new she is to this.

“Claire,” Sam repeats.

One of his arms snakes around Claire’s narrow waist and up, hand cupping a breast and in the span of Sam’s hand they’re itty-bitty. Looks like the perfect mouthful to Dean.

“That’s my brother,” Sam says, “Dean.”

Claire jerks, mouth twisting down, but Sam’s got a hold on her as his other arm circles, hand sliding down between her legs, his muscles flexing as he squeezes her bodily.

“What?”

Claire’s face is pinched and she’s squirming and Dean feels for her, he really does, but there’s not much he can do about it.

It’s easier, when he can’t do much.

“Mhm,” Sam kisses her ear, pulls her shirt up and her bra down, resumes his position with one hand on a breast and one between her legs. “What, you want another extra hundred for that? It’s yours.”

“Oh what the fuck….”

Dean’s not sure if it’s a question or a statement.

Claire fits her hands to Sam’s forearms, tips her head back so he can get at her neck better, rocks her hips against him.

“So,” moaning as Sam tweaks a stiff nipple, she shudders, “So what, do you, want to both fuck me, like after each other, or,” groaning as Sam deftly undoes her shorts and pushes his hand inside, Claire’s on her tip toes, “or at the same time?”

Dean doesn’t really care what he’s getting in this equation, he just needs to get something. He knows Sam’ll give him what he needs, and probably something he doesn’t expect, but he’s been left so long with this heavy heat in the pit of his gut that if he didn’t have a gag in he’d be begging for the barest touch. All he can do is push his hips up, dick swinging fat and wet and so fucking red.

“Yeah, Dean, I know,” Sam reassures him, watches him over Claire’s shoulder, smiling wide enough to bring out the dimples. “I want you to suck my brother while I fuck you,” Sam tells Claire, “But don’t let him come.”

“How do I…” Claire looks at Dean, at the sorry state of his dick ready to go off at a stiff breeze.

“I’ll let you know if he gets too close.”

“Yeah, you do this a lot, huh?”

There’s that attitude in her voice, maybe she’s not as young as Dean’s guessed or maybe she’s older than she should be.

“We do,” Sam tells her.

He yanks her jean shorts down, flimsy slip of a dark thong going with them, and she’s got the smallest patch of pale blond curls at the top of her mound. Dean’s mouth waters. He needs to do something, anything, with his hands or his mouth or his dick. It drives him mad to be tied down, relegated essentially to furniture. Sam knows this.

Claire trips against the shorts around her ankles as Sam spins her, peels her shirt off, her bra, pushes her face forward onto the bed between Dean’s spread legs. Her long hair falls softly against Dean’s thighs, tickling, as she brings a hand up to brace on his hip, her big blue and not-so-innocent eyes lined with thick black looking at him. There’s amusement there, probably at his cost, some kind of smug satisfaction that at least she’s not in his position.

A loud crack echoes and Claire’s eyes go shock-wide as she gasps. Sam just spanked her. It won’t be the only time. Claire whips her head around to him, and Sam is opening a condom as he says, “So, get started.”

“Condom?” Claire demands, reaching a hand back to the just opened one, brooks no argument as she rolls it over Dean’s dick, and Sam gets another for himself.

Her skin is pale and there’s scars in neat lines on the insides of her forearms as she strokes a hand up Dean’s hip, touches his side with long fingernails painted chipped blue, and simple black stars are tattooed on her upper arm across her shoulder. She looks at him questioningly, and Dean puts every ounce of pleading that he can in his eyes and the whiny noises that make it past the ball gag.

Claire dips down, purses her lips around the head of his dick, flicks her tongue over it as she sucks and does this little twist and Dean damn near about shoots at that.

It wouldn’t just be Claire in trouble if he comes.

Sam tugs his shirt off, gets his jeans open, no underwear, rolls the condom on and that’s the most that he undresses when he kneels on the end of the bed and spreads his hands over Claire’s backside, lets her know he’s there.

Mouth on Dean, Claire tips her hips up, the smooth pretty curve of her back flowing towards Sam’s neat sharp angles.

Dean could cry.

It’s a slick wet sound and the startled stuttering cry as Claire pulls off, mouth hanging open and her shoulders roll. Yeah, even when you expect it coming, Sam’s dick is always startling.

Moving over her, Sam clasps a hand against the back of her neck and pushes down, “Keep going.”

Eyes rolling, Claire groans and takes Dean into her mouth again. Less technique, now, as Sam fucks her from behind. Moving with him, his pace sets her sliding along Dean, mouth slack and spit messy as she loses focus. It’s hot and slick and it would be so fucking easy to let go, his stomach cramping with how bad he needs it, toes curled and he’s pulling hard enough to hurt against his restraints, but a loud crack echoes again and Sam has a fist her hair saying, “Easy, he’s too close.”

Okay, maybe Dean is crying a little.

Claire gives these breathy little grunts every time Sam shoves into her, his big hands on her wide hips pulling her back onto it. She’s fallen onto her elbows bracketing Dean’s thighs, soft breasts brushing against him, mouth purposefully left wide and loose as she tongues and breathes against his cock in the worst kind of tease. Her pretty hair gets tangled with spit against his balls. Sweat beads on her forehead, her hands gripping hard into his sides as Sam fucks her stupid, makeup smearing, she blinks hazy and unfocused at Dean.

The sight of Sam’s body flexing and rippling behind her, tan and broad and every bit of it confident control, has Dean’s body juddering with phantom orgasm. Sam curls a hand under Claire’s belly, touches her where it makes her spasm and drop Dean’s dick out of her mouth, chanting ohgodohgodohgod.

Everything stops.

Sam pulls out, hand grazing down her back, and Claire is snagged right on the cusp, her face twisted with almost almost.

“Did I say you could stop?”

“Fuck,” Claire groans, drops her forehead to Dean’s sweaty hip, drags her tongue over his dick, and Sam starts again slowly.

Lazy, unhurried, easy he rolls his hips, moves his hand between her legs, nips across the swell of her shoulders and Claire’s mistake is to Dean’s detriment too. He’s pretty sure he’s whining loud enough behind his gag to warrant some concern, but all he sees in Claire’s eyes is her own need, and in Sam’s that familiar cruel amusement.

Claire earns a few more swats to her pretty ass when she brings Dean too close, and as Sam slants her hips up higher, Dean can see the pink imprint of his hand spreading over the top of her ass. Everything throbs and he can’t focus on which hurt is the most, which need is the most.

Sam finds even more slights to stop Claire just before. He always does. And when he finally, precisely when he wants to, presses into her and against her with intent purpose that hurtles her over that damned edge, Claire shakes apart so violently Dean worries she might hurt herself.

His dick, of course, is lonely and cold on his belly at this point.

Sam hauls her up by her long tangled hair, pulls her to straddle his lap as keeps fucking up into her through it. Fingers circling expertly over her clit as he works in deep, he pulls through another few rolling orgasms as Claire spasms and clutches on tight to his forearm, tits bouncing so sweetly and her face scrunches up in what you would think is pain.

When Sam finally lets her go, she’s drenched. The jeans spread tight over Sam’s thighs, halfway down, are dark and wet. Claire collapses in a sprawl over Dean’s thigh. Dean has empathy for her, but come on, she’s done her part, she could just give him a quick squeeze and relieve his pain.

But no, Sam taps her ankle, tosses her shorts and top to her, passes her a few more bills. Claire, in a stupor, stumbles up right and pushes her hair off her face.

“What, seriously, you kicking me out now?”

“We’re done,” Sam flicks a finger between him and her, “I still have to take care of him,” Sam flicks a finger to Dean.

“I could - “ Claire starts.

“No.” Sam strips the condom off.

They don’t use one, between them.

Sam’s still hard, unfinished. As much as he’s a sadistic jerk that gets off on the power of edging other poor, unsuspecting souls - and his brother, who always suspects - Sam is amazingly in control of his own dick too.

He pushes his jeans the rest of the way down and Dean wants to bite the insides of his thighs.

“Man, I can’t walk.” Claire drops into the wobbly, scratchy upholstered chair in the corner of the room. “Can’t I watch?”

Arms slung along the back of the chair, all sated easy slouch and she doesn’t seem to care if they’re brothers now, Claire has a familiar dopey smile on her face.

Sam shrugs as if to say ‘fine’. He unknots one of the ropes holding an ankle, snaps the electric cable off one wrist, leaves the other two restraints tight. Dean makes a swipe at his gag, Sam bats his hand away.

Pulling the vibrating plug out of Dean, Sam tosses it over the side of the bed and Claire’s eyes track it curiously. Sam grabs the lube on the night-stand, slicks his fingers to spread wet inside Dean. One free hand, Dean clutches at his brother’s shoulders, curves his fingers against the shifting muscle and tamps down violently against the sharp surge of arousal that almost pushes him over the edge at the perfunctory stretch of Sam’s fingers inside him.

Sam tugs his free leg high, knee bent, slings it up and braces his arm at Dean’s side, keeping his leg wide and high as Sam slides inside, bright wide stretch of him so suddenly sweet it sweeps up and down Dean’s body with shocks.

“Shh, shh,” Sam shushes him, swipes a thumb against Dean’s wet cheeks.

Curled over him, bracketing him, pinning him down, Sam fucks Dean mercilessly. Lurching way up beyond what he thought was the edge so fast he’s reeling, somewhere in the fucking stratosphere, body gone white and wide and undefined, Dean screams as he jerks, tenses, breaks and quakes and he ascends into the fourth fucking dimension.

Sam is shivering on top of him when he comes back down, hair hanging over a red flushed face, sweat dripping off the tip of his nose onto Dean, muscles flexed tight as he finishes with his hips pressed flush into the cradle of Dean’s thighs.

“Holy shit.”

Oh yeah, Claire’s still here.

Sam huffs, tosses his hair, straightens. He unbuckles the gag first, knowing it’s not Dean’s favorite. Carefully eases the cockring over a swollen sensitive dick. Dean flexes his jaw, his tongue. Sam works on the last two restraints.

“I don’t know why you guys have to pay some cheap hooker, like, you could make money if you went into porn or something.”

Sam’s laugh is wry. “I’m pretty sure you can walk by now.”

“Do you guys have like, a mini bar or something?” Is her non-answer. “I could use a drink.”

The look that Claire sends Dean, now that he’s not tied down and silenced, is something darker than her words say, something questioning.

Dean summons the strength to sit his jelly body up, smiles his most charming smile at her, voice raspy as he shoves a foot in Sam’s side and say, “Yeah, Sammy, c’mon, don’t your two hard working ho’s deserve a drink?”