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~ooooOOOoooo~
January 24th
Dean pushed his plate back, eyes closing as the last vestiges of silky chocolate and pillowy whipped cream were chased from his tongue by a final swallow of rich, mellow whiskey. He didn’t need to drink as much as he used to; vice has long been replaced by stronger, more stable influences as a way to keep his guilt and grief and regrets at bay. His fingers no longer constantly itched for the feel of a bottle beneath them, and his throat seemed to yearn for the numbing burn of alcohol on the increasingly-fewer days when the darkness seemed especially close.
His birthday used to be one of those days: a reminder of parties in the backyard of their house in Lawrence, of a mother who baked him a cake and kissed him when she said “Happy Birthday”. A reminder of the life stolen from he and Sam both, of all the times when its very observance was cursory, or when his father missed it entirely and didn’t give any appearance that it bothered him that he had. Dean would’ve given up celebrating it at all if it weren’t for Sam’s dogged insistence that they retain something of normalcy, something to remind them that they mattered as much as the innocents they struggled to save, even as the world threatened to destroy itself around them.
But now, though… now his fingers had barely uncurled from the old-fashioned glass before Castiel had risen from his chair, reaching out one slender hand until the pale fingers were tracing the curve of Dean’s jaw. “Dean,” was all he said, one syllable that throbbed with meaning. That was all it took to draw Dean’s eyes open, letting him drink in the sight of deep blue eyes and tousled black hair and lips of pale rose that drew into a small, appreciative smile. Dean moved his chair back, standing up and following that gentle touch into Castiel’s arms, where the angel was waiting for Dean to join him in a fervent, yet somehow placid kiss.
And then there were hands splaying across his shoulders, gliding down his arms and enfolding man and angel both. Sam drew them in, his breath ruffling the fine hairs at the back of Dean’s neck before soft lips brushed in its wake. Dean moaned into Castiel’s mouth, tiny shudders wracking his frame and making Castiel grip him tighter, holding him up even as Sam’s caresses made his knees go weak.
A sensation of falling, but totally supported. A third pair of hands, clever and quick to slip beneath his clothes. Gabriel had joined them, though which angel had moved them to the group’s bedroom Dean neither knew nor cared. The mattress had been Gabriel’s custom creation: large enough for any permutation the four might fall into while on it, conforming to support their bodies for sleep or sex. It rested only on a short bed platform, mere inches from the ground, ensuring that when someone accidentally fell off, it wasn’t enough of a drop to be harmful… or even noticeable, depending upon the circumstances.
Dean grinned into another deep kiss from Castiel, remembering a time when he himself had spilled off the side of the bed while he and the angels had been teasing Sam to mindlessness. His brother hadn’t noticed; neither had Castiel, really. Gabriel had glanced up with a wicked grin before returning to the dark mark he was busily sucking into Sam’s left hip, and Dean had come scrambling back into the bed with the enthusiasm of a teenager.
“Something amusing, Dean?” Castiel’s question rumbled against Dean’s jaw even as Sam was tugging Dean’s jeans down to Gabriel’s waiting grip. Of all the men working to pleasure Dean just now, Castiel’s fingers were always the surest, as if seeking and manipulating Dean’s erogenous zones were purely muscle memory.
Perhaps it was, since Castiel had remade his body from mauled, decomposing desiccation into something vital and solid, something capable of feeling again…
Dean didn’t answer, the fleeting reminder sending him surging against the angel hungrily. Vaguely, he heard a growl; was it Castiel, or his own throat that had made the sound? He couldn’t be sure. But Castiel responded to his sudden vehemence, hands gripping tight as he met the fury of Dean’s lips by opening beneath them and letting Dean have what he wanted.
If Sam or Gabriel were concerned about Dean’s unexpected assault on Castiel, it didn’t show. The pair backed off for a moment, then found new places to fit: Sam sucking and biting and kissing across the axis of Dean’s shoulders, from the nape of his neck and down each knob of his spine; Gabriel’s hands bracing Dean’s legs where he wanted them and then slipping beneath and between them, clever tongue tracing the long vein of Dean’s erection.
Breath stuttered in Dean’s throat, dissolving the hot devouring drive of his assault on Castiel’s mouth. Castiel murmured in response to Dean’s shuddering moan, his voice gentle in Dean’s ear. “It’s all right, beloved… you can let go now… they’re very good, aren’t they…? They know you so well… just let go… just let us…”
That deep voice alone could unmake Dean’s control. With all three working on him, he barely had a chance. By the time Castiel had Dean positioned where he wanted him: on elbows and knees, the weight of his upper body counter-braced by Sam’s own strong hands; Dean’s ability to think was tenuous at best. Sam was kissing every part of Dean he could reach, his impossible hair tickling Dean’s forearms. Castiel himself had slipped from beneath the elder hunter; Dean sensed his heat withdrawing for a moment, but then it was back, and the same fingers that were always so confident of where and how to caress Dean’s body were wrapping around his hips, spreading Dean’s lower cheeks with intent.
The first pass of Castiel’s tongue over Dean’s quivering, taut rosebud of muscle drove a shout from Dean’s lips.
Even after all this time, it always felt like a shock to Dean when one of the angels rimmed him. Sammy hadn’t tried to, nor had he Sammy. It was an unspoken line, one that they might eventually cross one day, but not for now. For now, it was Sam’s turn to whisper in Dean’s ears as Gabriel licked at Dean’s erection and Castiel’s tongue licked Dean’s muscles to pliancy, lips framing kisses and endearments with equal facility.
“You look so hot like this…” Sam’s voice was low and sensual, not quite the gravelly growl that Castiel’s could reach. Sam was more like smoke in the dark, curling around the senses and beguiling them. “Do you have any idea how long I wished I could see you like this without some meaningless slut beneath you? You’re ours now, Dean… ours… you’re so fucking beautiful…”
Dean could only moan in response, limbs shaking so much that he couldn’t be sure he’d still be upright if not for Sam’s broad hands bearing him up. Castiel’s tongue was inside him now, and the angel was ever-so-gently sucking on the outer ring of muscle. Gabriel had moved his attentions, for the moment, to the quivering purse just beyond Dean’s erection, lapping at it with little kitten licks and drawing first one side, then the other into his mouth.
It was the one time the archangel never used his teeth, doing this: any other sensual act, even fellatio, he would often let the scrape of his sharp, white teeth add a frisson of danger to the heat of the moment. But not this, not with Dean or with Sam, as if to remind them that their greatest vulnerabilities were safe from the archangel.
There was no attention being paid to Dean’s erection now. The three of them loved to do this to him: to focus his other erogenous zones and leave his leaking, aching hardness to itself, all the while keeping him in a position that prevented him from putting his own hands into play. One slick finger had worked its way inside him, and Castiel’s tongue withdrew as a second joined it. Dean actually had to fight the passion fog draped across his senses and count where everyone’s hands were; Gabriel’s, he realized. It was Gabriel’s fingers inside him, scissoring and slick with oil.
And then one of Castiel’s hands lifted from his hip, and one of his fingers joined Gabriel’s. Dean’s whole body shook, his hips thrusting back towards the fingers inside him, the ache intensifying until all he knew was a need to be filled.
“You need it bad, don’t you?” Sam whispered. The fingers of one long hand had strayed up to thread into Dean’s short hair, flexing on the scalp. Dean’s breath shortened to quick pants, each one ending in a tight sound of want. “Which one do you need, Dean? Who do you need right now?”
The question was never one Dean could answer, because the answer was that he needed them all. If he could have them all, he would, without hesitation…
A fourth finger slid in: another of Castiel’s. Dean’s body bucked hard, almost coming off the bed as he reared up and back, needing more… Sam caught him… caught and held and kissed him as four fingers worked inside him, until the slick of those fingers was dripping down the inside of his thighs and he could cry for wanting more…
Pressure snubbed in. Dean’s whole body seemed to roll over inside in welcome, muscles pulling and grasping… aching for the way being filled made the empty places go away…
And then another. Dean gasped into Sam’s mouth, pulling away with huge eyes as Sam eased Dean back onto both of the angels, letting Dean’s weight help them slip inside… deeper and deeper, one aching inch at a time, until Castiel was cradling him against his chest and Gabriel was above him, sharp features somehow wondering as he finally got in for a deep, cherishing kiss to Dean’s lips.
Every ounce of tension seemed to drain out of Dean’s frame as the incredible, almost-too-tight fullness seeped into his very core. It was a strange sort of relief, having this: the Trickster angel that had saved his brother’s soul and the steadfast Power that had saved his own were both buried deep, and Sam was brushing kisses along the lines of his face. They were all here. They all needed him. They all loved him.
When the angels started moving, a rhythm of short undulations that built like a rolling tide, Dean simply gave himself over to it. He let go of everything, let them take care of his body and his need to come, let the kisses and the quiet murmurs of all three voices wash over him. He almost wouldn’t have noticed their change in position, if it weren’t for the brush against his lips. But then Gabriel was on his back beneath Dean, and Castiel was behind him, holding him upright, and Sam was off the bed, the tip of his own long, hard need poised near Dean’s mouth.
The angels shifted inside him, pressing deep, and Dean let out a moan as his mouth opened for Sam’s length. His gag reflex was almost non-existent, thanks to a past Sam didn’t know about, and Dean gave over the last of his control, gratefully slipping out of himself as his throat opened to accommodate his brother’s erection.
How long they rocked this way, Dean didn’t know. He only knew the blurts of Sam’s salt against his tongue; the press of his angels gently moving inside him. His own untouched erection was almost unimportant; when his lovers gave him something like this, orgasm became an afterthought. It was nothing compared to being allowed to just let go, to be carried by his lovers’ passion and let them worry about whether or not he came. Dean wallowed in the sensation of being carried and cared for, his tongue and throat massaging Sam’s need and his deeper muscles milking at Castiel and Gabriel.
Hours passed, or maybe seconds, and then Gabriel was using those clever hands on Dean’s erection, stroking and playing to make Dean squirm. It spiked urgency in Dean’s blood, carried over to the rest of them, and then Castiel was controlling Dean’s questing hips and Sam was holding his shoulders and they were all moving with more purpose, letting Dean thrash in the need for release as they all worked towards getting him there… Dean fought it, wanting to get at least Sam there first, wanting the spill of saline in his mouth before he…
Finally, with a strangled groan from Sam, Dean won. Dean always won when it came to this. Sam’s massive body shook as his hips stuttered against Dean’s face, pulsing his release down Dean’s throat. Dean trembled as Sam finally slipped away from him, and then Gabriel’s hands were stroking him with intent and Castiel was taking up a deeper rhythm, counterpoint to Gabriel’s hips still rolling against his own in short, measured waves. It carried Dean back out of himself enough that he finally came with a soft cry, which Gabriel leaned up to kiss away as saline pooled between them.
Spent and sated, Dean let himself hang between them. Castiel reached his own orgasm as Dean’s was finally tapering away, and Dean shivered at the heat pumped into him by the angel that had given so much to remain by his side. Only Gabriel had not come yet, and Dean found himself looking down into the archangel’s smiling golden eyes, a question reflected in his own.
“We’re not done with you yet, big boy,” Gabriel offered by way of explanation. “The night is young.”
Another deep shiver. And then before Dean knew it was happening, he was flipped onto his back, his legs caught high against Gabriel’s shoulders and Gabriel was thrusting deep, riding Dean hard while both Sam and Castiel watched.
The archangel cheated outrageously. He always did when he had Dean to himself. Eldritch feathers tickled already stimulated skin. Magic seemed to lend Gabriel more hands than Kali, for all the feeling of fingers that gripped tightly at his scalp and slid in beside that pistoning hardness and clung to his hips tight enough to bruise. And Dean loved it, let Gabriel have his way, sensing the way his abandon at being thoroughly fucked by the archangel was arousing his other two lovers.
Arousal built and broke for a second time; Dean cried out as Gabriel continued to take him right through it all and out the other side, finding his own orgasm as Dean hung, limp and panting, in the position Gabriel had put him in. His limbs sprawled as Gabriel rolled away, leaving him splayed out and vulnerable.
Without warning, Sam was there. Dean let out a shaky laugh of spent passion as Sam slid into the cradle of Dean’s hips, wrapping Dean’s legs around his waist and pushing into Dean’s body with ease. Sam was big; even with the double-penetration of the two angels, Dean almost felt overfull from just his brother. And then Sam was lifting him, bracing Dean against the wall behind the bed, and Dean had to hold on for dear life.
It went on until the wee hours of the night. The gift Dean received that made his birthday easiest to bear wasn’t the thoughtful one from Sam, or the outrageous one from Gabriel. It wasn’t even one from Castiel that sometimes felt like he’d decided upon it through a strange chain of free associations that only the angel could make. It was their need for him, a need that only Dean could slake, the certain knowledge that without him, their passions and lives would somehow be incomplete. And the three of them knew it, and gave themselves over to telling Dean, with words and caresses and bone-wrenching orgasms, that on this day, they celebrated the day that he came into this world because they would be lost without him.
After the last shuddering spasms died away, after a whisper of angelic grace dried the sheets and cleansed their bodies, Dean was always nestled between them. Tonight, it was Sam and Castiel around him, with Gabriel tucked in behind Castiel’s slightly stockier frame. They were naked and warm, drifting towards sated sleep, and Dean’s mind was quiet for the first time in months.
As sleep finally started to carry him away, he heard them whisper, “Happy birthday, Dean.” And he smiled, because it had been.