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Dean’s back is a canvas of tan, well-toned skin, with fewer scars now than what he had before his resurrection. He’s rolling his shoulders a little, ostensibly to relax himself where he’s prone on the sheets, but Sam knows that this movement is how Dean wordlessly begs to be touched. It’s a language wholly Dean, limited to the flick of wrists and subtle shifting of hips, and it’s one that Sam knows intimately and would never have guessed would one day willingly share with another.
“Touch him,” Sam says. “It’ll help him relax.”
Castiel nods, raising his free hand to stroke careful lines along Dean’s hips, long fingers curving over the shape and then dragging up his spine. It’s barely perceptible, but Dean starts to press into the touch before remembering himself and changing the motion to look like he’s just getting comfortable.
Castiel’s other hand is preoccupied with pushing wet fingers into Dean, not that he has any problems multitasking. His expression is intense, concentration as high as Sam’s ever seen it as one hand stretches Dean open and the other soothes him to the invasion. There's nothing overtly sensual about the way Castiel moves, but Sam gets the feeling that he's is categorizing what every inch of Dean feels like before he will start using that knowledge to advantage.
When Castiel finally looks up at Sam, it is to nod a confirmation. “He has relaxed around my fingers. May I enter him now?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Sam says. “We good?”
“Fuck, yeah, we’re peachy,” Dean says, voice muffled where he’s panting into the mattress.
Sam places his hands on Castiel’s hips, guiding him forward into the space between Dean’s parted legs. “Dude, you got to spread ‘em.”
“You spread ‘em,” Dean mutters, which earns him a pair of angel-strength hands grabbing under his knees and shoving them apart. “Whoa!”
“You’re not being cooperative,” Castiel says calmly. He looks down at his erection, momentarily perplexed until Sam wraps a hand around it and manoeuvres it towards Dean’s opening.
“Slowly,” Sam says. His other hand is Castiel’s lower back, guiding him forward with just enough pressure, and both of them watch as the head pushes in.
Dean makes no sound, but Castiel’s body jerks, eyes blinking rapidly. “That is…” He takes a quick, shallow breath.
“I know.” Sam strokes Castiel’s cock, making him shudder. “You can take more.”
Castiel shakes his head. “No. He is too tight.”
“Hey, who you calling a tight-ass?” Dean demands.
“Take it,” Sam hisses, giving Castiel another measured push. It does the trick, and Castiel is sliding forward, groaning deep in his throat as his cock disappears inside Dean’s body. Sam bites his own tongue at the sight and sound of it, Castiel’s mouth dropping open and eyes fluttering shut, while on the bed Dean grunts and fists the sheets.
“Hey, you okay?” Sam asks, touching Dean’s shoulder.
Dean is laughing softly, and Sam knows this is partly because he doesn’t want to groan or whimper. He turns his head a little, meeting Sam’s eyes for a wink. “I know you’re jealous that I’ve got angel cock in my ass, but wait your damn turn, Sam.”
Sam rolls his eyes, raising himself up to return his attention back to Castiel, who seems to have regained his composure. He is breathing steadily, and is now studying his point of entry into Dean’s body.
“I want to move,” Castiel says. “The fit is pleasurable, but I’m afraid that I may hurt Dean.”
Sam nods. “Good instincts. You’ve got to wait for him to accommodate you. It’ll take a while, but when he relaxes you can, you know, pound as hard as you want.” When Castiel looks dubious, Sam adds, “He really, really likes it.”
Castiel nods, deferring to Sam’s knowledge. After a moment of quiet breathing, he turns his speculative gaze to Sam. “What shall we do in the interim?”
Sam laughs a little, knowing exactly what Castiel is thinking. He crowds in close and meets Castiel’s mouth, his lips parting and fitting against his with ease. Castiel is ready for the wet push of Sam’s tongue into his mouth, curling his own tongue around the intruder and sucking.
“Are you guys making out?” Dean asks loudly. “Hey, are you guys making out? I can’t see, let me—” Castiel disengages from Sam’s mouth to say, “Stay put, Dean.” One hand presses firmly to Dean’s back, shoving him back down. “I will pound you when you are ready.”
“I’m ready!” Dean insists.
Castiel inhales sharply, and Sam knows that it’s because Dean has just squeezed around him. Before Sam can reprimand Dean, Castiel has both hands on Dean’s back, their pressure no doubt showing Dean how much he means business. “You are going to get a pounding you will never forget,” Castiel promises angrily. Then, in a more normal tone, “Was that correct, Sam?”
“Depends,” Sam says. “How’s Dean feel?”
“He is shivering,” Castiel says.
“I am not!”
Castiel curls his fingers into Dean’s flesh, just enough to pinch. “I’m still an angel, Dean. I notice every quiver, every spasm – no matter how minute it is or how you try to hide it. I can hear the speed of heartbeat, feel the flush of your blood as it roars. All of this tells me that you are incredibly turned on, and are going to have a very intense orgasm.”
“Colloquially,” Sam adds, “You can use the phrase ‘come your brains out’.”
“Sam, I will need assistance,” Castiel says. Sam moves around him, kneeling behind Castiel and pressing his own erection into Castiel’s lower back. Castiel reaches for Sam’s hands, guiding them to hold on to Castiel’s chest and stomach such that they are flush tight against each other. “You will show me how best to pound Dean. I will follow your lead.”
“Oh, shit,” Dean says quietly.