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This Is Not A Drive-By	By : karmascars Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1991 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or make any money writing fanfiction about it.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
A/N: You were wondering when the smut happens? Well, this chapter is the start of it. There's a little violence first, though... Also, the lyrics used in this chapter are from the Train song "Drive-By", which I do not own.

CHAPTER FIVE

Castiel felt little emotion. Certainly not in the way of humans. Righteous fury, such as that directed toward demons, and infinite peace, in the glow of Heaven, or even brotherhood, when he joined in the song of the Host.
But as he winged his way north toward the dark, pulsing spot he now knew to be Sam, Castiel felt a sadness so palpable it roiled in his stomach. Were he human, he'd feel sick. Harmonizing with this sadness was a bright, hot anger, a miniature sun in his chest. He could think of nothing save what he had to do, and he could already see the look on Dean's face when he told him it was done.
Every so often, his mind would flash back to the sight of Sam standing there, dripping his own blood, his skin writhing with the particles of his decimated soul. Remembering that brought minute shivers that had nothing to do with the stratosphere's subzero wind chill. He knew it was possible - had known since his creation, as all angels knew so many things - but he also knew no one had ever done it before with positive results. It had been centuries since the last one...
Speaking of, the ebb and flow of time was just so difficult to grasp. How long had he been in flight? Castiel knew other things about Sam's new-found prowess that he'd deigned not to share with Dean; for instance, that Sam could travel with the speed of a demon, blink out of one place and in to another. Castiel could travel that way too, but for tracking he preferred to fly straight, rather than direct. Especially if he wasn't sure how to deal with his adversary.
At any rate, he judged his travel time to be around three or four days from where he'd left Dean, if the rise and fall of the sun at the corner of his vision was in any way accurate.
The fourth night, Sam's ruined essence flared strongly within a building just below him and he dipped, landing several feet from the structure. It was a cabin, surrounded for several miles by trees. Smoke channeled lazily though a thick chimney, and the firelight flickered through the windows. Castiel couldn't see movement inside, but only one thing in the universe had energies like that. He knew Sam was there.
Just as Sam most likely sensed him.
So he reentered flight and moved to the window, invisible to human eyes. He saw Sam standing before the fire, a drink in one hand and a phone to his ear. He was saying something and laughing, strolling aimlessly around that half of the room. Castiel tracked his movements, saw where he'd be in two steps, and appeared there, knife flashing up into Sam's ribs.
Except, almost predictably, he wasn't there. He was halfway across the room, raising a hand, and Castiel barely had time to brace -
- before he was slammed backward into the fireplace.
The angel reeled at the strength of the blow as he reoriented, healing. Sparking coals fell from his trench coat as he began to glow, his grace swelling within him, preparing to burn Sam out of existence.
Then he was shoved back down, his grace somehow out of reach. Castiel struggled, trapped against the designs of the grate, increasingly concerned when he failed to break free. Suddenly, he felt the rushing whisper of flame eating his clothes - he smelled cooking meat.
Pain flared into existence before he could even discern what it was. Sam's mental fist held him unerringly tight against the fire and the tempered metal burning his vessel's flesh. Agony tore through Castiel in waves, every nerve screaming. He bucked, twisted, just trying to escape, barely aware of the mindless wails wrenching from his throat. His back was melting, lava twisting through his muscles and setting his bones alight. He even felt his wings catch fire and burn til they were gone - even if that had to be a hallucination.
Because all this pain meant he was once again a mere human, and he was being charred alive.
Sam's face loomed, right in front of his, so close the angel's eyes crossed - or was that a precursor to passing out? The younger Winchester's eyes were so dark, the pupils blown wide, his irises two slender, writhing rings. The sclera glowed a faint silver. Blasphemer... Castiel couldn't even form the word, his throat torn from screaming, his lips cracked and dry.
When Sam stepped back the angel barely noticed, telekinetic force lifting his burning body from the fireplace. He hung in the air, face to face with his tormentor, eyes glazing as they stared at nothing. His skin was crawling with millions of tiny insects, all of them biting.
"I'm sure you've learned your lesson," Sam's voice said from a long way off, "but just in case -"
A rush of air as he was tossed across the room, and Castiel knew no more.

~#~#~

Dean found himself back in that country town where he'd met Kendra, having driven there without actually giving much thought to where he was going. After he recognized the place, he decided to stay the night - there were happy memories there. Plus, Liv could pour some awesome drinks.
He got a room at the same motel, a double on the ground floor out of habit, and tossed his duffel on one of the beds. A cursory examination in the mirror showed him the beginnings of a beard and some smudged circles beneath his eyes, so he took the time to shower, shave, even brush his teeth again. By the time he felt ready - and was finished antagonizing himself for being such a girl - it was coming on full night.
Dean strode off down the street, breathing the cooling air, feeling more confident by the step. By the time he was opening the door to the bar, he was actually smiling.
The whole town was in there. Well, pretty much. Every table was full, and there weren't any seats left at the bar either. There was a dance floor now, a new addition built into the left wall, and as Dean stepped in the DJ (there was a DJ. Dean did a double take.) said something unintelligible into the microphone. Dean's gaze slid along the wall, the people moving on the dance floor.
"Oh, my god - Dean?"
As he turned, the song started.
"On the other side of a street I knew, stood a girl that looked like you..."
Dean's jaw dropped to the floor.
It was Kendra, but it was Castiel. It was Kendra and she looked exactly like Castiel.
"I guess that's déjà vu - but I thought this can't be true..."
Her once shoulder-length auburn hair was now a short, black mop, and she'd gelled it a little. She was thinner, and paler, and her eyes were that spring-sky blue. She was even wearing a khaki jacket, over a white collared top and a little tie.
Dean stared. He didn't smile. After an awkwardly long moment, her own little grin faded a bit. "Don't you recognize me?"
He struggled out of his shock, shoved himself back into his bar routine. "'Course I do, babe, just taking in the new look is all." His grin felt forced, but she didn't seem to notice. She twirled, and he noticed her navy blue pleated skirt when it flared up, lit by the strobes. "Whaddaya think?" she asked back over her shoulder, as she moved toward the bar, beckoning. "This has been me post-recovery."
Dean pointedly did not stare at her ass, which was perfect in that skirt. "It's really... unique - hey, recovery from what?"
They reached the bar and the locals parted easily for Kendra, who dragged Dean in with her. He leaned on the bar-top, facing her with maybe an inch between them. She looked up at him with eyes that suddenly seemed to big for her face. "I was... well, it was bad." A shadow crossed her face. "I've been in the hospital pretty much since I saw you last. I just got released yesterday." She picked at her sleeve. "'S why I'm so pale."
Jesus tap-dancing Christ. Dean leaned in. "Pale suits you," he murmured in her ear, feeling triumphant when she shivered.
"Wanna get out of here?" she purred, her hand finding his thigh.
He laughed. "Does Liv do bottles to go?"

~#~#~

They were undressing each other in her bedroom before Dean realized what was wrong.
He'd been thinking it was just leftover anxiety from the shock; you know, seeing your friend in a bar only for it to be an old girlfriend who now looked pretty much exactly like your friend... But the feeling wouldn't go away, and Dean wondered if he should know why.
Then Kendra would turn and look at him, or hold out her hand a certain way, or her eyes would flash and he would think, Castiel.
The third time it happened, in the latticed darkness, he understood. His hands faltered on Kendra's bra.
Holy mother of god. I actually wish she was Castiel. That WTF moment grabbed him and refused to let him go. Dean left off his ministrations and crossed the room, grabbing their bottle of whiskey and chugging a good bit of it.
"Dean?" Kendra's gaze followed him, her eyes like shadowed diamonds. "What's wrong?" She slid over to him, gliding her hands over his shoulders, toying with his hair.
He ran a hand through the gelled mass on her head, loosening strands with aimless fingers. "I... this isn't -" he broke off, frustrated, unable to put it into words. Kendra cupped his cheek. "I'm not the same as before, I get it," she said. Dean shook his head. "No, it's not that - but it is - look, Kendra, you're beautiful, okay? But you look... exactly like someone else..."
Her nose wrinkled. "Another girl looked like this? Did you ask her why?"
"No," he laughed, a hushed chuckle that to him sounded a little manic, "it's a guy."
Angel.
Kendra canted her head quizzically. "A guy? Why is that a -"
Her eyes widened, and her mouth formed a little 'o'.
Dean sighed. "It's not like that, I just - well, let me show you." He broke from her embrace, walked into the darkened living room, and looked at the ceiling. "Castiel!" I must be drunker than I thought. "Get your ass down here!" Then, belatedly: "Please."

~#~#~

Castiel groaned awake, his languid stretch becoming a series of convulsions and a high-pitched whine when the severely burned skin on his back stretched and tore. He remembered pain, but this was something new and unimaginable. It felt as though there wasn't an unburned scrap of skin left.
He forced himself to take stock. Any pain at all means I'm human, which means a finite reserve of... whatever energy I had accessible at the time... Even his thoughts came in pained gasps. Thankfully, he'd been mid-battle, so he'd gathered quite a bit of grace into his vessel before the branding.
His vessel. Jimmy! Castiel closed his eyes, delved deep within, to find that place where Jimmy Novak's spirit slept.
There was nothing. Jimmy was gone. For the first time, Castiel was alone in a human body. Fire ripped across his skin, but it was his skin now. He felt a whisper of relief. At least... at least he doesn't have to be around for this, Castiel thought wearily. He didn't even know if Jimmy'd felt the branding, at what point he'd slipped away. The angel held out despondent hope that the devout man hadn't felt a thing.
Castiel inhaled, and his burns constricted, the air rushing back out of his scorched human lungs with a hiss. Holding himself completely still, nostrils flaring with tiny, pained breaths, the angel assessed his surroundings.
No Sam. The fire was practically dead embers, and the air was cold. His clothes were basically shreds and ash.
Castiel tested his strength. There was enough available grace to heal and then some, so he got to it, mending the ruptured skin as best he could. He knew the brands would remain - and there were more of them this time, that couldn't be a good thing - but at least he'd be able to move without suffering. He thought about trying to drag a blade through them all and shuddered. No, better not – for now.
He made standing up his next mission, and slowly achieved it. It was more than difficult to keep his new skin from pulling, and he'd never admit to most of the noises he made, but after interminable minutes he was on his feet and staggering toward the door.
Upon pulling it open a gust of icy Northern wind whipped it out of his grasp, banging the solid wood against the wall and forcing tears from Castiel's eyes. I suppose I'm not walking away, he thought. He also decided there was no way he could get the door closed, being so drained.
Castiel felt his energy waning. How will I get out of here? he thought. I'm miles from any civilization. He regarded the door. Driven snow was piling over the threshold.
Suddenly, a voice he knew, a golden rasp within his waning grace. Castiel!
Dean.
The hunter was far away, across the country. He was also rather drunk. Castiel felt a wry smile on his lips as he tried to divine Dean's exact location. I'll only be able to survive one flight -
- I'll have to make it count.
He took a deep breath, felt the oxygen energize his human cells, and threw himself with all he had in Dean's direction.

~#~#~

Several tense moments, no sound of wing-beats. Kendra's posture indicated her thoughts regarding his current mental status. Finally, she put a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "Dean..." she began softly.
"No, this just means something's wrong. I have to concentrate on him -" and his voice broke off as he heard, as though from a long way off, the sound of something coming in fast.
"Get out of the way!" He swept Kendra into the corner of the room, just as midair cracked open and Castiel tumbled across the carpet.
His whole body was smoking and for the longest moment he didn't move. Dean just stood there in the dark, gripping Kendra to him, staring at the huddled mass of angel on the floor. "Cas..." escaped his lips before he knew he was breathing again, and the angel lifted his head.
Blue eyes struck him through the gloom and he heard Kendra gasp. Then Castiel unfolded himself, standing, and she whistled low.
The angel was mostly naked, save for seared shirt and pant cuffs flopping around his limbs. His entire body was streaked with soot, his hair looked like he'd rolled around in static, but his eyes... his eyes were like sky-bound gems in the shadows, full of so many things racing just behind them, and Dean was drunk enough to find it so striking that he started to tear up.
"Dean," Castiel began, that low voice sliding through Dean's ears and down his skin. Dean stepped forward to touch his arm, to make sure he was real. When the vision didn't waver the hunter broke into an enormous grin and tackled him. "You son of a bitch!" he roared. "I thought you were dead."
"No, I wasn't -" Castiel choked, trying to pry Dean off and failing miserably, "- but I can die now, so please -!"
Dean stopped mid-roll. "Wait, what?" Then he ran his hand down Castiel's back and his eyes widened almost comically. "What the fuck -" He shoved Castiel over, and there they were. Hideous, scrolling symbols, newly scarred and burned so deep into the skin that Dean was sure in places they touched bone.
Castiel lay, his face smashed into deep pile carpet, feeling Dean's hesitant finger tips on the healed lesions. Delicate, tickling sensations sent interesting signals through his human body. He was examining those when he heard Dean's sharp intake of breath, the probing finger having dipped into the deepest brand and touched one of Castiel's ribs. "Not again... god, Cas," the hunter breathed, still running a finger over the burns. It still tickled, a little, but it also did something between his hips that felt like it had when he'd turned on the Impala for the first time. Power, and something else. Is this... lust?
He was distracted from those by the sound of the girl creeping closer, curiosity overwhelming her fear. "Is he okay?" she whispered.
"I am fine," Castiel said, muffled by the carpet. Dean snorted and rolled him back over. "You're one resilient angel, Cas." Unspoken was I can't think of you any other way. It was beyond Dean, at that point, to consider Castiel as a mere man, even if it was technically the truth - and as he looked down at the soot-covered body, he wondered if it even mattered.
Seeing the look in those green eyes, Castiel smiled, allowing Dean to haul him to his feet. It felt strangely good to be the weaker one, to receive help, although it occurred to him that he must have been thrust far, far into his humanity for him to consider weakness a good thing.
"So... angel, huh?" she said from the shadows. Castiel couldn't see her properly, and that was bothersome. "Are there any lights here?" he asked. She gave a short laugh. "Yes, there are." And she moved, flipping a switch on the wall.
Castiel blinked in the sudden light, then focused on her. And blinked again. Looked at Dean, who was steadily flushing crimson, then back to the girl that looked just like his vessel.
Then back to Dean. "Please explain this to me."
"Yeah, I think I'd like to hear whatever you come up with," Kendra said. She was pulling Dean's shirt over her head, but the hunter barely spared that a glance. He hadn't even made a quip yet. He was staring in to Castiel's eyes like he might have found the entrance to another world. Castiel was confused - and mesmerized.
Then, like the turning of a page, Dean was fine. Grinning, confident, bit of a swagger. He grabbed a bottle from a nearby shelf and took a swig. "Here's what's going on. You," he pointed to Castiel, "are an angel of the L - well, were, until my crap brother -!" Dean broke off with a snarl, but then he clenched a fist and drank some more and then he was smiling again. "And you," he waved a hand at Kendra, "are an incredibly creative, gorgeous girl who just so happened to spin the roulette wheel and your new look is actually -" he gestured with the bottle "- him."
Kendra and Castiel regarded one another. Castiel could see her taking in his ragged appearance, perhaps wondering how an angel flew so low. He felt a very human urge to cover his nakedness, but shook it off. He had nothing to be ashamed of... his mind flashed back to an apple and a snake, and he wondered if this new feeling sitting deep in the pit of his stomach was simply that very human accoutrement, original sin.
"Do you need some clothes?" the girl asked. Her lips twitched but it wasn't really a smile. Castiel nodded. "I suppose I do."
"I don't know what I'll have that'll fit you..." She wandered back into the bedroom, muttering about phases, and Castiel was left standing with Dean, who was pointedly not looking at him.
But then something dark came over the hunter's face. He took another drink, then he thrust the bottle at Castiel. "Drink this," Dean said roughly, "then we'll go and get some more. Forget about this shit for awhile."
The angel eyed the booze like it could bite him, but after a beat accepted it and downed two great swallows - then promptly set about coughing like his lungs were on fire. Dean chuckled, rescued the bottle and held him up as the fit subsided. He watched Castiel's eyes as the angel stared at the carpet, as they glazed and dilated from the alcohol suffusing his system. He's human now, Dean thought sadly. It'll hit him harder than last time. And as much as he was looking forward to observing the results, Dean felt a bundle of icy steel settle in his gut when he thought about how it happened.
Gradually, though, he became acutely aware of the slender frame in his arms. Castiel had never seemed to radiate this much warmth before – or any temperature, for that matter. He had a heartbeat, too, and heated breath puffed across Dean's skin. Even though those horrible brands were pressed up against him... his body reacted to the presence of another body – the naked angel in his arms – and his cock twitched in interest even as he belatedly realized he should probably be pulling away.
Then Castiel turned in Dean's arms to look at him, a slide of skin on skin that chased through nerves, and smiled lazily. "I do feel better," he said, only slurring a tiny bit.
Dean laughed, delighted, and took another drink himself. He released Castiel, who stood without swaying, who turned and reached out for the bottle.
"Well, here's what I could find," Kendra said as she bustled back in, dumping an armload of clothes on the sofa. Two pairs of eyes tracked her movements. "And I figured we might be needing this," she added, holding up a handle of Captain Morgan.
Castiel only made it to halfway dressed. The clothes were mismatched, based on an approximation of his size, and while they found a shirt that fit him, all the jeans were too tight. Even Kendra's lazy pants stretched tight across his ass, which she took multiple opportunities to smack. He left those on, enthralled by the softness of the material, but the shirt rubbed his brands uncomfortably so he lounged without it, every so often surreptitiously comparing his own bare chest to Dean's.
The hunter's golden-tan skin, firm pectorals and abs, and the stark darkness of his tattoo all flowed together into something fascinating. Castiel couldn't help but feel like his own pale expanse, slender and lithe-muscled, was somehow lacking – but there was alcohol, and camaraderie, so very soon he forgot to care.
And every few minutes someone raised the cry of "Shots!".
They were all three different kinds of drunks. Dean for the most part had always been a smoldering anger kind of drunk, but he usually buried that in lascivious wit and one-off sexual encounters. Kendra was a giggly drunk, but not in an obnoxious way - the last time Dean was here it was contagious, and they laughed for two hours straight about nothing at all. It felt amazing. Never in his life had Dean had a reason to laugh nearly that freely, or that long.
Castiel, it turned out, was a "professor" drunk. He was currently regaling a rapt Kendra on the variegated minute differences found in human eye color. The shade of her contacts fascinated him, especially after they took a photo together and he saw just how identical he and she were. He was waxing eloquent on on human mutation and micro-evolution when Dean decided they needed chips. "In the kitchen, if I have any," Kendra said muzzily.

~#~#~

Castiel watched Dean go. Kendra watched him watching.
"You really like him," she said eventually.
Castiel turned wide blue eyes to her. "I... I do not know what this is. I've never –"
She canted her head to the side, bird-like, an unconscious mimic of the angel before her. "No friendly touching in Heaven?"
"No... not that it is considered a sin, but without a vessel an angel is sexless." Castiel marveled at the spider-silk tremors that ran through his skin when her fingertips ghosted across his arm. Tiny hairs stood on end, and he tried to find words to express his awe and confusion. He felt stunted, voiceless, empty without his grace and on top of it all, rather drunk.
So he said, "And Dean prefers women."
Kendra leaned in close, smelling of citrus and rum. "I think I know to solve this." Then she was perched on his lap, straddling him, and at the new sensation Castiel's lips parted.
"Follow my lead," she purred, and kissed him hard.

~#~#~

Dean came back to find Kendra on top of Castiel. It seemed the angel was an eager student when it came to human sexuality.
Dean could only stare, the bag of pretzels in his hand forgotten. Kendra had taken her shirt back off in the minute or two he'd been gone, and pale skin on pale skin was a sliding, shifting kaleidoscope that sent warmth rushing straight to his cock. Two shaggy, black-haired heads explored flushed lips; Kendra ground her hips down and Castiel moaned into her mouth, and the sound was like a jolt of electricity through Dean's system.
Castiel's hands wound shakily through the girl's hair and Dean flushed with jealousy, something his drunken mind couldn't quite analyze. All he really knew was he suddenly wanted it to be him dragging those sounds out of the angel. Castiel was, after all, his angel. And his angel, as ancient and powerful as he always has been, was a millennia-old virgin.
Dean might not have chosen this tableau for Castiel's sexual education – or even considered himself a viable participant – but neither did he have anything against Kendra. No matter what look she had on, she was a spark of a girl, and vivaciously sexy. So Dean didn't interrupt them.
He just joined in.
He waited until an opportune moment - the angel discovering what a tongue kiss was like - and then lifted them up and forward, sliding in behind Castiel and tracing the grooves of those sickening brands. As terrible as they were, Dean knew they had to be sensitive from their hastened healing, and sure enough Castiel arched from his touch, bucking his hips into Kendra's, uttering another wanton moan. It was delicious. Dean shivered, and before he knew what he was doing he attached his lips to Castiel's neck and suckled deep.
The angel let out a keening whine and Dean's cock twitched in reply, rigid against the small of Castiel's back. One of Kendra's hands found the back of Dean's neck and led him forward over Castiel's shoulder to kiss her. She tasted of rum, and something faintly spicy that could only be forcibly fallen angel. Dean mapped her mouth with his tongue, wanting every bit of that taste, vaguely wondering what it would be like at the source. Between them Castiel shifted sideways a bit, then his lips and tongue found Dean's neck, licking and sucking a line up to the tender spot behind Dean's ear.
When the angel's questing tongue found his spot Dean flinched, moaning into Kendra's mouth. His hands followed their own agenda, reaching blindly around, one of them finding a pert breast, the other a burgeoning erection.
Kendra hummed appreciatively, and Castiel gasped.
Dean somehow managed to find a rhythm between massaging Kendra's nipples and stroking Castiel's cock, grinning as they both stiffened. It didn't occur to him to freak out about touching another man's dick – it was Castiel, for god's sake, and he deserved to feel good. Dean broke the kiss with Kendra and switched hands, dragging his nails over her collarbone just hard enough to raise redness, his other hand toying with the head of the angel's erection. Dean let his tongue lave over Castiel's neck, tasting sweat and ash. Kendra bent her head to Castiel's and they kissed fiercely, drawing whimpers from the both of them. It was a messy kiss, teeth clacking, tongues dancing in midair, one of them sucking the other's bottom lip, the other exhaling a crescendo.
Castiel had never, ever felt this way before.
Whatever Dean was doing to his... penis, was amazing. Friction, the pressure - he never wanted it to end. The girl and her soft skin pressing him up against Dean's muscled chest was like being sandwiched between a cloud and a lightning strike. Kissing felt great, whatever Dean was doing to his neck was flat-out gorgeous, and as the hunter's strong, sure hand worked down below Castiel felt something building in the pit of his stomach. He heard himself as though through liquid, stuttering his confusion to his partners – who immediately broke their kiss, and stopped touching him. Castiel panted, confused. "What - what's wrong?"
He could hear Dean's grin in the voice that he could feel radiating through his back. "We just don't want you to come on her couch, Cas. Come on."
Dean stood behind him, helped him stand. Something hard was pressing in to his back and he realized that it was probably the same thing that was happening to him, happening to Dean. "Come on, angel," the hunter was saying, "come to the place of magic and mystery."
Dean waggled his eyebrows at Kendra, who swiped at him, taking another draw from the bottle. She swaggered when she was drunk, he noticed, wishing he had a free hand to smack her ass. Castiel was drunker than both of them, newly human and weak, and he stumbled even with Dean holding him up. The brands on his back collected darkness, small serpentine wells begging to be regarded. Perversely, Dean decided the best course of action was to play with them, sliding his thumbs across the raised edges. A series of shivers ran through the angel's body, and he mumbled something that wasn't English. Dean smiled, and steered.
When they reached the bedroom Castiel flopped blissfully on his back on the feather mattress. Half of his face, of his pale body, was in shadow.
He was absolutely stunning.
Dean couldn't stop himself, couldn't help sliding up on top of the angel, their bare chests gathering friction as he made his way to Castiel's mouth and captured it. He saw beauty, he sought to claim it. Something clicked in his mind, that drunk as he was he knew he'd never remember - he was the requisite hunter, bringing death to evil and seizing the desirable as his own.
He vaguely heard Kendra make a noise, felt her lips at the juncture of neck and shoulder. She felt like a gusting breeze. Castiel was a tornado.
The angel bucked his hips into Dean's, tossing his head around on the bed, exquisite noises pouring from his throat. He was lost in the sensation, in the hips rolling across his, the lips claiming his, the smell and taste and feel of Dean Winchester.
Then those lips were pulling away and he whined his disapproval, as he felt Dean roll to one side of him and a warm, soft body frame his other side. Dean and Kendra locked lips, braced above him, and the sight of them so engaged sent another rush to Castiel's crotch and led him to desperation, to find someplace to put his hands.
His right hand found Dean's cock, pressing hard against his jeans, and began to fumble with the unfamiliar zipper. His left hand found Kendra's hip, danced its way down and plunged into something warm, and wet.
Castiel heard her gasp against Dean's lips, so he moved his fingers, working up inside her, matching his movements to her sounds. His thumb caught a button of flesh down there and she full-out squealed, grinding on to his hand and leaving Dean's lips to latch on to Castiel's collarbone. Meanwhile Dean was gasping, making obscene little grunts and bucking into his other hand. "Cas... fuck, Cas, you -" Then Dean's mouth found Castiel's neck, teeth bit into tender flesh, Dean's hand found his dick and Castiel was seeing stars.
They all three matched rhythms deliciously, hips and hands and lips sending them on a joyride, their voices mingled in groans and panted breaths. Even when he recaptured Castiel's mouth, Dean couldn't tear his eyes away from the angel's face – Castiel was beside himself with pleasure, riding Dean's hand like a pro, wrist-deep in Kendra and wrenching noises out of her they could probably hear three counties over. The angel's face was a shifting portrait, and just seeing all of that, knowing he was the cause, sent pulses of heat to the tip of Dean's cock. Precome smeared Castiel's hand, lubricating his strokes, then his thumb slipped over the head and Dean moaned like a porn star.
Ecstasy built within their bodies until they were screaming, all movement one fluid surge toward release.
Castiel was, understandably, the first to climax.
He didn't know what was happening. The incredible feeling of electric heat dancing through his body, collecting at the ends of his nerves was growing stronger by the second, spiraling into his cock, hard as bone in Dean's hand. He felt light, he was losing control – one more stiff jerk, Dean did something with his wrist and Castiel screamed his release, hot come spurting over Dean's hand and his own chest.
The hunter chuckled, low in his throat, fucking wetly in to the angel's grip. Even boneless as Castiel was, shivering from the rush, he had enough presence of mind to tighten his grasp and twist like he'd felt Dean do in the end, thumbing the head of the hunter's cock even as his other hand spun inside Kendra and on that little mound of flesh.
She and Dean came simultaneously, his shout and her squeal each warring for loudest.
Dean felt himself coming and just knowing that it was Castiel's hand doing the honors was enough to make him actually shout out his orgasm as it ripped through his body. His hips jerked into Castiel's, pumping his load all over the angel's hand and thigh.
That blissful hand removed itself, and Dean raised lidded eyes to watch, breathless, as Castiel tasted the spunk on his fingers. Did he just hear – "Mmm..." A shudder of just-this-side-of-too-much slid through him and he dropped his gaze, resting his cheek on the angel's shoulder and breathing in the scent of freshly-sexed Cas.
He heard Kendra sighing, and snuggled in, not caring about the mess. We can clean up tomorrow, he thought, a ridiculous grin spreading on his face. Sticky fingers slowly entwined across Castiel's chest, none of them knowing whose hands they were holding.
Castiel felt his hunter smile, nestled against his shoulder, and the angel dozed off, content.
Dean tasted like the sky after snow, and new beginnings.
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This Is Not A Drive-By