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The Great Winchester Prank Wars seemed like something that two arguably adult men should not be participating in. If you thought that pranks, of an escalating nature, held between two grown brothers in a Cold War Era bunker filled with more information about the supernatural than the entire hunting community combined, was rather frivolous and stupid, then you had never met the Winchester brothers at their best.
This one started entirely innocently. Dean swore up and down that he hadn’t meant to substitute salt for sugar, and that the new kitchen was still taking some getting used to. But real wars had been started over less, and a few mornings later, when Cas was jolted awake by the sound of loud screaming coming from the bathroom, it was on.
It took Cas nearly one whole day, many boxes of hair dye, and patiently going through the lather-rinse-repeat process of experimental hair care to finally get Dean’s hair somewhat closer to the shade it had been. Although in the right light (that is, any light), it still looked sorta green.
So Dean constructed a wall cutting Sam’s room off from the rest of the bunker. Sam returned from a grocery run to find the hallway cut short by a brand new wall. It was all rather artfully done, Dean had to admit: there was no difference between the fake wall and the rest of the walls in the bunker’s sleeping area. Dean had even coated the plywood in concrete, so it really did match.
When Sam, later joined by Cas, finished knocking down the fake wall, things got serious.
Dean tried to enlist Cas on his side of the war. However, he quickly grew so impatient with Cas and his naive lack of understanding of the fundamentals of a prank war that he gave up and focused all his efforts on Sam. And after Sam fished out the last of the alarm clocks scattered throughout the bunker (all hidden in extremely well-positioned places, scheduled to go off within five minutes of each other for the entire day), Sam tried for the Cas bid too.
It didn’t appear to be successful—after all, Cas ate several of the toothpaste oreos Sam had whipped together especially for Dean (and Cas had barely reacted, truly a testament to how weird the ex-angel was.) And when Dean wrapped the entire bunker up in clown-themed paper, pictures and wrapping paper, Cas was as spooked as Sam.
But then somebody replaced all of Dean’s tapes with pop music, children's choirs and, most terrifying of all, Dolly Parton songs. From Sam’s reaction to the sound of Avril Lavigne’s Girlfriend blasting through the Impala’s speakers, he was just as surprised as Dean. Even the tapes in Dean’s room were not safe, much to Dean’s great distress. Cas, it seemed, had entered the playing field all on his own. (However, Cas did not seem entirely ruthless: The next morning Dean found a box containing all of his tapes stacked carefully outside his room. It was only at that point that Dean realized Cas hadn’t actually recorded over his old music, but rather had meticulously copied every single one of them with its pop-music-double. Even Dean was rather impressed.)
Of course, this action made Cas equal game to the Winchester Prank War, though it was rather difficult to get the one-up on him. When Dean helpfully threw a bright red sock into Cas’ wash, Cas just wore the pink clothes like there was no difference. And Cas ate whatever food-related pranks they threw at him. Sam and Dean really should have thought better of the idea: After all, Castiel's big brother had been Gabriel, the trickster spirit who was so famous for his pranks, he had been mistaken for the Pagan God Loki. And from the way Cas reacted, unless Sam or Dean were able to manipulate the fabric of space, time and reality itself, they would not even come close to the kinds of angelic pranks that happened on the average boring Thursday evening in Heaven.
Dean finally cracked the code when he covered the floor of the entire bunker in plastic cups filled with water and feeder fish. The agitated angel spent the next three days carefully collecting and rescuing every single cup and fish in the entire place. And that’s when they learned that apparently, the bunker had an aquarium.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, Charlie asked Dean if she could stop by for a slumber party. To sweeten the deal, she offered to bring over drinks and movies. Dean eagerly agreed and set a date. Sam and Cas were only informed as afterthoughts.
They called a truce, since Charlie called earlier to say she would be in by noon. Cas actually looked rather deflated.
“We don’t want civilians getting in the way,” Dean explained. “They don’t know what they’re getting into, yknow?”
Cas nodded slowly. This was something he could understand. He must have been planning something, too, because he excused himself quickly after finishing the last of his breakfast. Sam sipped his coffee, watching Cas as he left. For a moment, Dean thought he saw a look of apprehensive relief in his brothers eyes before Sam said, “Wonder if Cas has ever seen Lord of the Rings?”
Dean laughed and stood up, walking back to the kitchen with his dishes. It hadn’t really occurred to him that Cas was the misplaced piece in their weird little bunker life. Somewhere along the line, Cas had shifted firmly out of the civilian stage and was now as much a part of their family as any of them. Which made him an equally target liable for pranks, when the mood struck.
By the time Charlie arrived, whatever Cas had been setting up had either quickly dismantled or else its contents were shoved out of sight, because the bunker was clean. Charlie stepped into the war zone without even a hint of gunpowder.
“I think we should have enough to—“ Charlie broke off, freezing as Cas emerged from the sleeping quarters. “Uh…”
“Oh.” Dean blinked, then he cleared his throat. “Sorry, forgot you hadn’t been introduced. Charlie, this is Castiel. Cas, this is Charlie.”
Cas raised a hand lamely, partially waving. Charlie’s mouth opened and she quickly went down the stairs. “Wait, Castiel…AKA the Angel who raised you from hell?” she asked, pointing from Cas to Dean. She had been reading the books, because of course she had.
“Uh. Yeah,” Dean said lamely. “Er, Cas is kinda mojo’d out, so he’s crashing the party.”
“Cool.” Charlie grinned. “You know I read the best fan fiction about you and Dean—“
“This is a fan fiction free zone, Charlie,” Dean interrupted, brushing past her.
“What is fan fiction?” Cas asked, looking to Dean and Sam for explanation.
“Believe me, you don’t want to know,” Sam said quickly.
Cas frowned, confused. And then Dean cut in with: “Hey Charlie, Cas has never seen Harry Potter.”
“What?!” Charlie turned sharply. “We are fixing this! Now!” She reached out and grabbed ahold of Cas’ arm, pulling him sharply from the room.
“Hey, Charlie, wait!” Sam called out, following behind them. “Do you even know where the TV is?!”
They watched a movie together, and somewhere in the middle of it, Dean started cracking into the drinks. Because nobody should be fully sober getting through The Dark Crystal. Then Charlie suggested they try a drinking game, and after that, things got significantly more entertaining for Dean. After the movie was over, they decided to eat. Luckily, Dean had prepared the food ahead of time and all he needed to do was pop it into the oven.
Of course, with all the liquor and general good feelings, Dean couldn’t help but slip a whoopee cushion into Sam’s seat when he stood up to fetch another bottle of beer from the fridge. Which Sam sat upon and subsequently turned beet-red at the loud fart sound effect. Of course, Dean and Charlie burst out laughing at it and even Sam laughed a little, and Cas was completely confused, as per usual.
It was harmless, Dean figured, and Sam didn’t say a word, only threw the rubber prank object at his brother, smiling.
Afterwards, once dinner and pie had been consumed, they sat around in a somewhat circle on the floor.
“Dean, that was heavenly,” Charlie said, leaning against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “If the food is always this good, I’m gonna move in.”
“Dean’s cooking is rather exceptional,” Cas said, smiling all earnest and bright-eyed.
“Yeah, says the one who ate toothpaste not even a week ago,” Dean said, gruffly, but smiling too.
“Aw look at you two,” Charlie teased. “Just like a couple. The fans would be going nuts.”
“We aren’t a couple!” Dean snapped.
“That’s not what the fic says.”
“I told you, no fan fiction in this house!”
Sam laughed as his brother threw a little bitch fit and Cas sat there, obliviously ignorant. Sam took another drink of beer, finished the last of it, and put the bottle down with the rest of the rejected bottles.
“Come on, let’s do something fun,” he said, leaning forward.
“Ooh yes!” Charlie beamed. “It’s not a proper slumber party without a few games.”
“How old are you? Twelve?” Dean asked, looking at Charlie. She gave him a look and he let her push his shoulder playfully. Then he finished the last of his beer and set it down. “Okay, fine.”
“What sort of games do you play at this sort of event?” Cas asked, looking between the three of them for answers, his expression honestly curious.
“You’ve never been to a slumber party before, huh Cas?” Charlie turned to him. He nodded, and she patted his shoulder sympathetically. “It’s okay. We’ll make this one a good one, then, shall we?”
“Let’s play ‘make-over,’ Sammy.” Dean gave Sam his greatest bitchy smirk. “You need one.”
Something that most people would not realize about Sam Winchester is exactly how dangerous he could be. And not in the tall, menacing, long-haired-and-muscular way that his physical appearance seemed to imply. No, even if Sam had the brute force and the knowledge to use it, that was not where his real power came from. His real power was in his mind. Once Sam set about doing something, nothing could sway him until it was over or he had changed it himself.
That’s why Dean had every reason in hell to be terrified when he saw that his brother had gotten another one of his blasted ideas. That glint in his eyes that made Dean’s stomach drop as Sam smiled, seeming completely casual.
“I have a better game we can play,” Sam responded, coolly.
“What?” Charlie asked, sitting up slightly.
“It’s called Gay Chicken—erm,” He broke off momentarily, flashing an apologetic look at Charlie. “I guess in your case, Straight Chicken.”
Dean glowered at Sam. This was his way at getting back at Dean for the whoopee cushion, and he knew it.
“I’m game, how do you play?” Charlie said before Dean could object, and Cas nodded along with her. He nodded along with most things.
“Basically, you just kinda move closer and closer and try and psyche the other person out. The first person to pull away looses.”
Charlie's eyes lit up. “I remember this game!” she declared happily. “We played it in a slumber party in middle school. First time I copped a feel.”
“Nice.” Dean grinned, giving her a high five.
“Alright.” Sam smiled and Dean froze, the smile disappearing quickly from his face as he realized that he had been roped into playing this game.
“I’ll go first,” Charlie said, grinning. “Show Cas how it’s done, right?”
“Right,” Sam said, cloaking his disappointment at the delayed fruition of his prank. But he still had time. Charlie’s eyes flickered between Dean and Sam, as if she was trying to decide.
“Okay then. Dean, will you be my straight chicken?” she said finally, smiling slightly.
“Certainly.” Dean smirked, scooting forward. They were facing each other now, their knees almost touching. Charlie took a deep breath, steeling herself. Then she reached out a hand and touched his shoulder. She slowly moved her hand down it, feeling her way down his arm. Dean smirked and locked eyes with her, then slowly reached his other hand forwards and touched Charlie’s knee.
“I give, I give!” Charlie cried, standing up sharply and backing away. Dean burst into laughter while Charlie shook herself like she was trying to get rid of the sensation of Dean touching her.
“Aw, done so quickly?” Dean teased, unable to resist.
“I’ll keep my touching purely platonic, thank you very much.”
Sam had joined in the laughter but now he grinned at Dean dangerously. “Okay Dean—“
“I won so I get to pick who I play next,” Dean cut in quickly before Sam can get anything out. Sam debated arguing it for a moment but then shrugged and settled back on his hands. Dean stared between Sam and Cas, weighing his options.
Sam had this smug expression on his face that Dean wanted nothing more than to wipe it off, but even with the alcohol-induced over-confidence, Dean didn’t want to have to kiss his brother. Because he knew the Winchester stubbornness was as alive and well in Sam as it was in him, and Dean wanted to get the easy pickings out of the way first.
“Do you think you got how to play it, Cas?” Dean asked, turning quickly towards Cas and bypassing Sam entirely.
Cas nodded thoughtfully. “I believe so. It is a test of resolve. We used to play something similar, when we were fledgelings in the garrison.”
This brought many images to mind—chiefly, that Cas had once been a baby angel. And apparently even angels had their horny teenage phase. Dean tried to picture what that must look like, and something in his expression must have given his thoughts away because Cas added quickly, “It was very different of course. We tested our resolve with shows of force and strength.”
“Oh,” Dean said, his stomach twisting a little for unexplainable reasons. “No shows of force or anything, okay? Just touching.”
“Intimate touching?”
“Er…yeah.”
Cas nodded, resolute. “Very well. Let us play Gay Chicken, Dean.”
Dean couldn't help but smirk. Finally an opportunity to make Castiel squirm. He had been waiting for this chance for what seemed like forever. They faced each other, and Dean took a moment to think about what he was going to do, how to best approach the matter. He came up with a plan, but before he could implement it, Cas sat forward and was suddenly very close to Dean. He didn’t waste any time, and Dean could feel his breath on his skin. The skin of their cheeks were actually touching and Dean could feel the rough edges of Cas’ stubble, the warmth of Cas’s skin. His lips only barely brushed Dean’s before Dean pushed him roughly away, scooting back.
“No way!” he snapped. “I am out.”
Cas blinked a little, then he smiled, his eyes lighting up.
Charlie laughed and she gave Dean a decidedly platonic hug and one of the cocktails she had mixed up while she was out. Dean decided the cocktail was not strong enough for what he had just experienced, and after downing it, quickly retrieved the bottle of whiskey from his bag and drank straight from it.
Then he looked at his not-so-smug brother.
“Alright Sammy,” Dean smirked, appreciating the irony. “Your turn.”
Sam looked at Cas and nodded. “Lets do this.”
Cas opted for the same method of quick move-in that he had done with Dean, but Sam was ready. He moved with Cas, his hand sliding up from Cas’ knee up his thigh towards his crotch. Cas put a hand on Sam’s chest.
Sam was so close to Cas, for a moment it looked like they might kiss before Sam twisted a little away and Cas responded in kind. They mouthed each other for a little bit, Sam working Cas’ ear and Cas biting lightly along Sam’s neck, a hand hiking Sam's shirt up so he touched Sam's back. Sam seemed to be lasting the longest, but Cas gave no signs of relenting. It was only when his fingers were undoing the buttons on Sam’s jeans that Sam pushed them away and held up his hands.
“Okay, you win dude.”
Cas sat back for a minute, blinking. Then he smiled brightly again.
“We have a Gay Chicken champion!” Charlie declared happily, handing Sam and Cas their drinks. Sam raised his glass in mock toast to Cas and then drank from it. Cas sat there looking like it was Christmas morning.
Eventually Charlie called it a night and kicked Sam and Dean and Cas out. Cas stumbled into his room, unsteady on his feet and still grinning brightly. Sam and Dean, however, did not go their separate ways, instead making their way to Sam's room and flopping down on the bed, passing the whiskey back and forth and talking.
“I can’t tell who chickened out faster,” Sam was saying, sloshing the whiskey. “You or Charlie.”
“Shut up,” Dean said, darkly. “Cas caught me by surprise. You’re supposed to start off slow, y’know? Its cheating.”
“Naaah,” Sam slurred. “You’re just a big Gay Chicken.”
“I would still beat your ass at it.”
Sam sobered up a little. “You want to try me?”
“Bitch, you’re going down,” Dean said. And then he leaned sharply forward, putting a hand firmly on Sam’s chest and pushing him down. Sam let out a little surprised huff as he hit the mattress, blinking. Dean’s hand didn't leave Sam’s chest, and instead, he leaned over Sam, trapping him and grinning down, his eyes determined. His hand slowly moved down Sam’s chest towards the bottom of his shirt. Sam’s hands found Dean’s waist, and he lifted his head enough to kiss Dean.
Once their lips made contact, for a second Dean flinched, like he would pull away. But then he caught the triumphant look on Sam’s face and his eyes set with determination. Then he was kissing Sam back.
Sam pulled Dean’s shirt off and tried to roll Dean onto his back so that he could be on top, but Dean fought him a little on the matter, though he was ultimately pushed down by his little brother. Sam’s hand felt along Dean’s chest, feeling the muscles and scars. Sam’s thumb flicked Dean’s nipple and Dean shuddered under the touch.
It had been months since either of them had gotten laid, Dean told himself. This arousal was just pent up sexual frustration. But whatever internal hesitation Dean experienced didn’t stop him from pulling off Sam's shirt and kissing Sam’s collarbone, then biting it.
“Hey—“ Sam snapped. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”
“Is that defeat I hear?” Dean flashed a grin at Sam.
Sam scowled and then went back to feeling Dean up, and Dean went back to giving his little brother a hickey. They were shirtless and kissing and marking each other up, daring the other to quit. They appeared to have come to an impasse, at least from Dean’s perspective. Sam was sucking on Dean’s nipple when Dean decided to end this game. And he had no intention to flinch first.
He went for Sam’s pants, swiftly undoing his belt. Dean heard Sam’s sharp intake of breath and grinned. But Sam said nothing, so Dean slowly, painstakingly, undid Sam’s pants. He had an erection, but then again, so did Dean. Dean swallowed hard.
“Oh…Um…” he started. Sam leaned forward over him, one hand cupping Deans head, grinning maliciously.
“Chicken?”
“Shut up Sammy.” Dean smirked, and Sam momentarily lost the confident air. Dean kissed Sam and they were back at it. Sam started touching himself and then rubbing Dean through his jeans. Dean bit back a moan, but then thought better of it. Winning the game at this point was more important to him than upholding his manly big brother rep.
“Oh, God, yes,” Dean moaned, exaggerating. "Yes!”
“Jerk,” Sam said, but he didn’t stop, pulling Dean closer.
“Bitch—“ Dean stopped then grinned. “Yeah, thats right, I’m your little bitch.”
“Wh—“ Sam blinked for a moment and then smirked back, missing only a beat. “Yeah, you are my little bitch. Why don’t you suck my cock you dirty little whore?”
In retrospect, Dean would realize that this was the point of no return. But in the haze of drunken determination and poor decision making, Dean thought that sounded like a great idea.
“Yes, Daddy,” Dean purred and kissed his way down Sam’s stomach.
Sam groaned. “That was terrible.”
“You give?” Dean flicked his eyes up to his brothers face.
Sam smiled, his best bitch smile. “Blow me.”
And that is exactly what Dean did.
Dean woke up with a crushing hangover and the terrifying knowledge that there was not enough therapy in the world to make him forget the events of the previous night. Dean took a long, cold shower and then started cooking a breakfast that could have fed an army instead of just four people.
Then Charlie emerged with Cas—Castiel was carrying a beat up copy of Harry Potter And the Sorcerers Stone that Charlie had on her at seemingly all times. Eventually Sam joined them, avoiding Dean's eyes while Dean graciously avoided Sam’s.
Sam and Dean did not look at each other, or talk to each other, or even recognize that the other was really in the room, but Dean was positive that the bruises and marks that he had (as well as the ones he had made) were like bright blinking marks on his body. Like a lighthouse, or a spotlight, drawing attention to their presence and, by extension, the activity that had created them. But mercifully (Dean may have foolishly said luckily, but luck had nothing to do with the Winchester brothers), Charlie and Cas were not drawn to the light of the marks and bruises and instead busied themselves in conversation. They didn’t even seem to notice the change in Sam or Dean’s behavior, or that anything had shifted between them at all.
Somehow, that made everything much easier. They managed to keep as far away from each other as they could while still both being around to see Charlie off. If Charlie or Cas noticed that anything had changed between Sam and Dean, they didn’t let on.
They stood around in a circle in front of Charlie’s bright yellow car, and Charlie gave Cas a big hug.
“It was nice to meet you, Cas,” Charlie said, smiling. “And don’t worry, soon we’ll get your poor heathen mind learned up on the goodness of Harry Potter.”
“No, please, don’t turn him into a nerd too,” Dean moaned.
“I’ll see you soon,” Charlie said, pulling away from Cas.
“Yes,” Cas nodded, glancing back at the bunker. “I am not going anywhere very fast…so I should be…’around.’” He even used air quotes and everything, but Dean could hear the pang of sorrow in the angels voice. But Cas didn’t let it show, and Charlie didn’t pick up on it because she had already turned to give Sam a hug.
There was somewhat of an unspoken agreement between Dean and Sam. Through the bits and pieces that made it through the haze of drunken memories and the crushing hangover, Dean knew they had had sex. Or at least, something very closely resembling sex. But they had simply, silently and unanimously agreed that the point was moot and went back to their battle stations. Not even Sammy lets-talk-about-our-feelings Winchester seemed to want to touch the topic with a ten foot pole.
Which was a good thing, really.
The prank war commenced as usual. Dean’s computer went on lockdown and then the keyboard grew plants, and Sam’s room was filled to the brim with balloons. Things almost returned to normal, except for Cas.
Since becoming declared the Gay Chicken Champion of the Bunker, Cas took whatever opportunities for revenge (aside from his patiently thought out and executed pranks) by means of Gay Chicken. Cas, who had no personal space of his own, took to invading other people’s spaces in much more serious terms. Mainly he was groping them. And he seemed to enjoy it, in a nonsexual way (because now that Dean thought about it, besides dealing with the physical reactions his new body put him through, Cas didn’t even glance at women when they were out). It was a game Cas could always win, and with his new, human ego, Cas loved to win.
And the worst thing was that Cas was good. While it had been a tiring task to teach Cas how to handle his new-found physical sensations (when Dean had received a series of desperate phone calls from Cas when a surprise erection crashed the party, like he was a pubescent kid with problems about over sharing), it seemed the solution of plopping him down in front of porn and letting the videos instruct him was a terrible idea because Cas now kissed and sucked and, presumably, fucked like a porn star. Cas was all about imitation.
And there was seemingly nothing Dean or Sam could do to get a hand up on him. He didn’t have many belongings that they could mess with, and he seemed to be more or less indifferent to any physical pranks they inflicted on him.
Sam successfully got under Cas', and coincidentally, Deans skin, though, by setting loose a bunch of cats in the living areas. Dean and Cas had to round them up while Sam sat laughing on the couch. Cas was greatly distressed when the cats had gotten to his fish (not that they put much of a dent in the population) while Dean counted out nine cats despite the collars indicating there were ten. Number Seven eluded Cas' and Dean's greatest efforts to find.
Cas wanted to keep the cats because of course he did, and he only conceded when Dean pointed out that the near constant sneezing was not going to go away and his allergies were a real problem. So the former angel took the nine cats and tried to find them good homes (despite, as Cas put it, no longer being able to ask where they would best be suited), while Dean did a deep clean of the bunker for any remaining cat hairs.
Dean plotted his revenge, and Cas retaliated by pinning Sam against a corner. And oh god, why was that so hot?
While Dean tried his best to block out the drunken mess that had happened between him and Sam, Dean knew it had been pretty hot; in a retrospect, I totally didn’t suck off my little brother kind of way. Because, Dean rationalized, sex was hot, regardless of who he was having it with. And watching Cas feeling up (and being felt up) was also incredibly hot. And it was very unsettling.
After another week of this, Cas was really freaking Dean out, and not just at the game anymore. Cas’ touch, the whispers of breath against Deans skin, the warm softness of Cas’ lips, all of these things began to torment Dean. He was not exactly one for the tease—he had always liked the actual event more—but soon his fantasies started to creep dangerously close to Castiel territory.
Dean knew that soon, either Cas stopped this stupid game or Dean was going to bend him over the table and fuck him until he passed out. Dean was praying for the game to come to a quick end.
Dean couldn't even stand to be in the same room with Cas now, and even the barest glance caused Dean’s heart to race. When Cas said his name, Dean nearly jumped out of his seat. It was torment.
One stressful morning after Cas had finished breakfast and left the room, Sam leaned across the table.
“He’s got you trained like Pavlov,” Sam teased.
“Shut up.” Dean didn't know what a Pavlov was, but it was just the sort of smarmy thing Sam would say. Probably some sort of nerd reference. “I thought human Cas would be significantly less terrifying than Cas when he was God!”
Sam’s teasing expression melted away as he nodded earnestly. It was obviously grinding on him too, because Dean could see the stress set in his brother’s shoulders and jaw. “It really has gotten out of hand.”
“This is your fault,” Dean hissed at Sam.
“Me?” Sam said indignantly. “You were the one who broke the truce to begin with!”
“You suggested we play that fucking game. You created this monster.”
“How was I to know that ex-angels are just as stupidly neutral on the whole sex thing as fully juiced angels?!”
“You created him, you stop him,” Dean growled. “I for one, am not going near Cas again."
Sam scowled, but then another thought crossed his mind and his eyes got that stupid, dangerous glint again. Dean’s stomach dropped, like somebody had dumped a block of ice in it.
“I have an idea.”
“Your last idea got us in this mess,” Dean pointed out.
“All we need to do is defeat him,” Sam said, holding up his hands a little. “We lost, and now his whole throne is completely unchallenged. This is just a big ego trip for him. We need to knock him down a peg.”
“How?” Dean hissed. “Even YOU chickened out."
“One on one, sure,” Sam said, and color flushed across his cheeks. “But come on, you and I were too stubborn to stop last time.”
Dean flushed, too, but then after the initial humiliation wore off, he started to piece together what Sam had said. “Wait, are you suggesting…”
“Two-on-one, gay chicken.” Sam set his jaw. “We can beat him that way.”
“That’s cheating,” Dean said slowly, searching for some sort of excuse. Anything.
“Dude,” Sam intoned darkly. “It’s either this or we continue dealing with the Gay Chicken Champion.”
Dean went pale and swallowed hard. “Two-on-one it is.”
“So how do we do this?” Sam asked, peeking around the corner at Cas, who was sitting obliviously at the table and eating a sandwich.
“What do you mean how do we do this? We out gay-chicken him!” Dean hissed, glowering at Cas.
“I know that Dean,” Sam said, exasperated. “But we’ve got to have some strategy to this. Going at it blindly will throw our chances of surprising him.”
“What, are you saying we Battleship this?”
“I am saying we should plan something.”
Dean turned to his brother and sighed, holding up his hands. “Okay, okay. What do you think we should do?”
Sam swallowed hard and glanced back at Cas. “Dunno yet. But we gotta go far. I mean, more than even we thought about going.”
“What, you thinking fuzzy handcuffs and satin panties?” Dean scrutinized his brother.
“What?! No!” Sam shuddered and then bristled. “Were you?”
“No.” Dean quickly turned back to glance over at Cas. “Actually, I got an idea.”
“I am worried.”
“Shut up.” Dean swallowed hard, concentrating his hardest on not looking at Sam or Cas. “We’ll just….Jump him, you know. Push him into a room and go all prison bitch on his ass.” Dean could practically hear Sam’s surprised bitch face so he quickly added. “We aren’t going to rape him or anything, just scare him a little.”
Sam shifted a little and leaned against the wall. “I guess that could work…” he said finally.
“Okay, but you’re not allowed to talk,” Dean said, huffing a little.
“What?!” Sam bristled indignantly. “Why not?”
“Dude, your sex talk sucks.”
“It was supposed to suck!” Sam whined. “I was trying to psyche you out!”
“Yeah well it sucked.”
“And yours was any better?”
“Listen Sammy, I am your big brother and if I say—“ Dean’s argument was cut abruptly short by the sound of chair legs scraping against the floor as Castiel stood up. Sam rolled his eyes and pushed past Dean, looking for all the world like he had simply strolled in from another room. Dean glared after him and then rounded the corner, coming face to face with Cas. He froze and Castiel paused so as not to bump into Dean.
“Hello Dean,” Cas said, unperturbed.
Dean swallowed hard. They were staring at each other, at an impasse. Cas watched him slowly with those blue eyes and he took a breath as if to speak but Dean quickly moved out of the way and Cas continued on as if the standoff had never happened. Dean’s entire being felt hot, and he tried to channel the humiliation into the knowledge that soon the shoe would be on the other foot. He took a deep breath and raised his eyes, only to meet Sam’s gaze.
“Dude, we are ending this tonight.”
“It’s not gay if it’s a threesome.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Dean glared purposefully forward. He hadn’t meant to say the mantra he had been repeating over and over again for the last hour out loud, but he had. Then again, there was a lot he hadn’t planned to do. Like attempting to gang up with his kid brother to freak out a former angel. That definitely was not on Dean’s bucket list. Yet here they were.
It’s not gay if it’s a threesome.
“You’d better not chicken out on me, Sammy,” Dean said finally, trying to shake Sam’s confused stare with a gruff threat.
“Oh, I won’t. You’d better not give either,” Sam said quickly. “Or else I get to listen to my music in the car. For the rest of the year.”
Dean scowled. “No way in hell.”
Sam gave Dean his best smirk. “Then don’t chicken out.”
Dean was about to argue, but then Cas rounded the corner and Sam and Dean wordlessly executed their plan. Sam’s strong hands caught Cas by the chest and pushed him back into the room (Dean’s room, because he had lost the rock-paper-scissors match and because Castiel’s room only had a twin bed) where Dean’s body quickly filled the space, trapping Cas there.
Cas looked only momentarily surprised as he took them in, glancing between the brothers before turning his gaze to look at Dean. “Oh,” He said calmly. “Are we playing this game again?”
“You better believe it, Cas.” Dean tried to pull off his most threatening smirk, stepping closer to Cas. Behind him, he heard Sam close the door. “And this time, Sammy and I are gonna make sure you’re the one calling it quits.”
“Is that a threat?” Castiel asked, cocking his head slightly and advancing on Dean. Suddenly all Dean could hear was his own rapidly increasing heartbeat and his constricted breaths. All he could see were those damn blue eyes. But then Sam was behind Cas, rescuing his brother (although Dean sincerely hoped that Sam did not realize that was what he was doing) and putting a hand under Cas’ jaw, turning the angels gaze away from Dean.
“You’d better believe it” Sam said, lowly, stroking Cas’ cheek in a way that was almost soft and caring. Dean used the moment while Cas was distracted to move closer to the angel, his thigh slipping between Cas’ legs.
Cas let out a little huff of breath, moving back a little, encountering Sam’s broad chest. Sam moved his hands to Cas’ arms and dropped his head. His long hair fell like a curtain over his features, and he would have almost looked like a girl if he wasn’t the size of Sasquatch. He was kissing and biting at Cas’ neck now, and Cas closed his eyes, lifting his head a little, baring more of his neck to the younger Winchester.
Dean moved forward, one arm sliding around Cas’ side, the other feeling up his chest through the fabric of his shirt. Cas’ hands moved from Dean's arm to his shoulder, creeping under the sleeve of his shirt until his hand slotted so perfectly over those scars where he had first touched Dean. His hand fit perfectly still. Cas opened his eyes then, and whatever fast fading nerves Dean had had suddenly disappeared and he leaned forward and kissed that stupid angel on his mouth.
Cas melted against Dean’s lips and, God, he was kissing back. Dean's lips opened to the heat of Cas’ mouth. They didn’t break even when the rumble of a moan came from the back of Cas’ throat as Sam found some sort of sweet spot.
Sam slipped his hand around Cas’ hips, around the edge of his jeans. His thumb brushed against Cas’ exposed skin where Dean had already pulled the shirt up, gripped tightly in a wrinkled fist. Cas moved away from Dean, mouth parted sweetly and face flushed, all blushing and short of breath, almost like a girl (but like no girl Dean had ever been with).
“Dean,” Cas gasped, moaning as Sam dragged his tongue slowly across a place he had marked with his teeth. “S-Sam…”
“You can end this,” Dean tried, “All you gotta do is say the word.” He only halfway hoped Cas would say uncle.
Cas looked at Dean, blue eyes sharp now, the blush fading. He reached to Dean’s head and pulled him down and into another kiss. “Never,” Cas breathed against Dean’s lips, staring through dark lashes and biting Dean's lower lip ever so slightly.
They only broke apart when Sam helped to pull off Cas’ shirt and Cas turned away like a flower to the sun, his lips making contact with Sam’s lips. Dean stripped off his own shirt and hooked his fingers around the belt loops of Cas’ jeans, pulling the angel's hips against his own. Cas moaned as they began to grind together, Sam pressing him from behind.
Cas’ hands rested flat against the bare of Deans chest and he pushed him back slightly, pulling away from Sam. Castiel jerkily started to undo Deans belt, and Dean was more than eager to help him.
Somewhere along the line, Dean made the mistake of meeting Cas’ eyes again and got lost in them. Cas had eyes that were like a poet’s grab bag of metaphors. The sky. The ocean. Cornflowers. Sapphires. Pick a metaphor, any metaphor, and then make it more blue. That is the color of Cas’ eyes. Of course Dean was stupidly trying to put together a mental string to describe them, and he wasn’t even the poetic type. But there he was.
That is, until Cas’ mouth wrapped around his cock, and suddenly he stopped caring about words in general.
And yeah, Dean now knew that Cas was as good at the porn stars he had watched.
He was only vaguely aware of Sam moving behind Cas, stripping off his own shirt and maybe doing something to Cas, but Dean stopped focusing on that because Cas was so good, he nearly went over the edge before Cas pulled away.
“Fuck, Cas.” Dean moaned, eyes closed and fighting the tension that had built up, the intense need for release. “Why’d you have to stop?”
Cas just smiled at Dean.
Dean let himself collapse and breathe while Cas turned his attentions onto Sam, and Dean found himself unable to turn away. He just watched as Cas pulled Sam’s pants down, pushing Sam onto the bed while he knelt before him. He watched the way Sam’s hand found the back of Cas’ head, the way Cas took Sam’s cock into his mouth without hesitation.
Hello, unexpected and slightly creepy surprise voyeurism kink. But goddamn, it was hot and Dean liked it.
Dean watched the way Cas’ head bobbed up and down, listened the little shaking breaths and moans and nonsense that came pouring from Sam’s mouth, his head tilted back and eyes closed. The porn had inadvertently turned out to be the absolute best idea Sam or Dean had had this year. This side of the apocalypse even.
“Dude, we should rent you out,” Dean huffed, trying to reclaim his breath. Cas’ head shot up and he looked scandalized.
“That would be prostitution, Dean.” He scowled.
“Less talk, more blow job,” Sam said, but Cas looked too offended.
“We’d never have to worry about making rent though,” Dean pointed out.
“You don’t pay rent.” Cas scowled deeper.
“We still stay in hotels and groceries and that rabbit food Sam eats costs a lot of green.”
“Less talk, more blow job, please.”
“Shut up Sam,” Dean said, and Sam huffed and smacked his head back against the wall. Cas continued giving Dean the evil eye, so Dean pressed his luck and grinned. “I mean, of course, if you are too chicken…”
Castiel wrapped a hand around Sam’s cock and gave it a few reassuring tugs, moving closer to Dean so they could stare eye-to-eye. “I am not the whore here, Dean,” Cas said, tilting his head ever so slightly. And fuck, that was all Dean needed.
He grabbed Cas’ face, pulling him up into a kiss. It was hot and sloppy and Dean could taste Cas’ need on his tongue. Cas’ hand was still working Sam’s cock
“My turn,” Dean gasped out finally, tripping around Cas’ tongue and lips and Cas obliged to let him go.
Dean knelt slowly, pulling Cas’ hips closer to him. He kissed the inside of Cas’ thigh, and up, one hand resting on his hip. Dean took his time, savoring Cas’ every twitch and moan. By the time Dean got to Cas’ cock, he was practically begging for it. Dean took Cas into his mouth and Cas let out a moan, but it was cut off by Sam, who pressed him into a kiss.
Dean enjoyed every inch of Cas in his mouth, his hands working Cas just the way he knew he liked (and now he knew Cas liked it very much), and he could barely keep his eyes off the former angel. So Dean just took it all in. When Cas’ hips moved, like they had a mind of their own, fucking into Deans throat with force that caught them both by surprise, when Cas groaned while kissing Sam, when his arms flexed and moved and the light shifted against his sweaty skin and Sam moaned too. Dean ate every moment up.
“Dean, Dean, I…am…” Cas gasped, barely making out the words. Whatever coherency he was trying to piece together was lost as his hips bucked again. Dean could feel him, so close to the edge that Dean almost let him go over the falls. But he pulled away and Cas groaned, his head falling back onto the mattress.
Dean grinned up at him, hoping that his message had gotten across loud and clear about whose bitch was whose. He waited a moment until Cas raised his head to look down at Dean.
“You are…really terrible at this,” Cas gasped finally, but his shortness of breath gave away the lie. Sam snorted with laughter and Dean glowered.
"Well your face is terrible at this,” Dean responded, for lack of a better comeback.
Cas smiled a little. “On the contrary, I think you found my face to be quite adequate at this.”
“Sammy, stop laughing!” he snapped, turning to smack his little brother up side his long shaggy head. And he was totally not blushing.
Sam’s laughter settled, but his smile was still plastered over his face.
“Come on,” Sam said, motioning Dean over. “Come here.”
Dean moved over to the bed and Sam caught him by the lips. Dean pressed against him, and they were all probably going to walk away with bruises, but he had long since stopped caring because Sam’s large hand was wrapped around him and Sam brought them together, and Dean could feel the heat of Sam’s own pulsing pleasure against his.
Sam was muttering dirty nothings against Dean’s skin when Cas crept up behind Dean, pulling himself up against Dean, the heat of his mouth opening against the skin of Dean’s side and back, and Dean shuddered.
“Dude,” Dean managed out. “Get the…” But it was cut off by Cas’ snaking mouth finding Dean’s. But Sam must’ve gotten the message, because he detached himself from his brother and reached towards the bedside table. Cas’ eyes flickered curiously away from Dean, settling on Sam instead.
When Sam produced the condoms and bottle of lube, Cas’ eyes grew wide. Dean had told Sam to grab them as a last-minute preparation because…because at the time, Dean had thought that somehow, a bottle of lubricant and the thin latex would be enough to frighten the angel who had fearlessly stared down hordes of demons and even other angels. Rather, so he had hoped.
But true to his unwavering nature, Cas was not frightened away by the condoms. Actually, he looked rather excited, which in turn, made Dean shiver with anticipation.
“Gimme that,” Dean said, snatching the bottle out of his little brother's hand, opening it quickly and coating his fingers in it. Cas watched, still as a statue before Dean shoved him back onto the bed and pushed his thighs open with his knees.
“Hey Cas.” Dean grinned over at the angel, leaning over so he could meet Cas’ eyes. “Knock Knock, ready or not, I’m coming in.”
Sam groaned and Cas opened his mouth to respond, but then Dean pushed his fingers inside him, and Castiel's words fell short and his head dropped back down
Dean had one hand on Cas’ cock, and the other was still working the former angel open. He was vaguely aware of Sam moving behind him, but he concentrated more on keeping up the rhythm he was working that made Cas moan the way he did, all throaty and needy and hungry and desperate.
Dean nearly yelped when he felt slick fingers pressing up against him, and he turned his head quickly to glare at Sam. "What are you doing?!” he cried.
"What am I supposed to do while you and Cas are busy? Twiddle my thumbs?"
“Yes!"
Sam’s eyes got very dangerous as he pressed his fingers purposefully against Dean’s hole. “Sorry, is that defeat I hear?” He asked, smirking.
Dean sucked in his breath sharply and forced himself to relax and turn his attention back to Cas. The pause had only succeeded in riling Cas up further, his head thrown backwards, arching his spine with want.
It didn’t take long before Cas was ready and Dean pulled away to sit up, and Cas rolled onto his side.
“Oh god Cas,” Dean moaned, wrapping an arm firmly around Cas’ waist, hauling the angel’s back against his chest. “I am gonna fuck you.”
Castiel looked over his shoulder, meeting Deans eyes and smiling like the devil. “Is that a promise?”
Then Dean slipped inside of Cas and began rocking his hips, and they were lost in the sensation as Cas gasped and moaned, and made noises that were not any kind of fair. This was something Dean had a handle on, he could fuck someone—even a male someone—but then Sam was still working Dean open, and there was an entirely new set of sensations washing through him. He wanted more.
Castiel began rolling his hips, shifting against Dean, when Sam's fingers finally pulled away, and Dean could feel him shifting. Then Dean felt the press of Sam’s cock against his entrance, and he internally began to panic.
“Dude,” Dean began to say, hands flailing out to find Sam’s chest or head or something solid to cling to but then Sam, the bastard, pushed inside Dean and Dean swore into Cas’ flesh.
“Sam, Sammy—“ Whatever Dean’s thoughts had been, or whatever he was about to say about Sam—his little brother Sam—fucking him in the ass was suddenly lost because Sam was doing something with his hips that Dean was fairly sure should be illegal, because he stopped caring. Dean shuddered into a moan and rocked against Sam and Cas simultaneously, pressing his head against Cas’ hot skin and feeling Sam from behind.
They found a rhythm, synced between Cas’ bucking and Sam’s rocking. They had all been close when they had started, and there were no more words or even solid thoughts that could be pulled from either one of them.
“God,” Sam moaned, and Dean felt Sam’s orgasm, the pulse of his cock inside him. He pulled away and muttered something Dean could make out, though he pretended he didn't hear the words love and you directed at him. Instead, he concentrated on what he was doing to Cas, shifting, bucking his hips less consistently, his rhythm thrown off by Sam while Cas gave up the will to continue to rock and instead let Dean thrust.
When he came, Cas screamed into the mattress, choking out something between Dean and Sam's names during the intensity of his orgasm. The shudder that ran through Cas was enough for Dean and he came inside Cas, his own orgasm hitting him hard, and he let out his own strangled cry.
They collapsed onto the bed, still mostly tangled in each other. There was a few hot, sticky moments of panting before they even bothered to detach so that they could lay side by side, effortlessly fitting together, wrapping their arms around shoulders and legs slotting together perfectly with other legs. In the sweaty, panting and quiet moments that passed, they all stared up at the ceiling, as if it could provide some sort of answer to some sort of question that they couldn’t quite articulate.
Somewhere in the afterglow, Dean drew in a deep breath and lulled his head over to meet Sam’s eyes.
“Call it a draw?” Dean asked hopefully.
Sam nodded, wordlessly gulping in air. “War’s over dude, I give up."
“Me too.”
“Cas?” Sam couldn’t even lift his head to look at Cas, who nodded mechanically, still staring up at the ceiling. Then Castiel turned and look at Sam and Dean, all bright eyed and excited again.
“Can we play this game again?” he asked.