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Dean doesn't make a habit out of it, going to bars for the explicit purpose of picking someone up. Or, that’s what he’s always told himself. Most of the time, it’s accidental—a few drinks and small talk, and he always ends up back at their place. He can’t trust the motel, not with Sam always there, or even Castiel on occasions when he flits in. One night stands have become a staple of his existence, puttering out in the last few years—too much time on the road, never enough to settle down for more than a few hours on someone’s plush comforter. But if he can make their night better just by being there, then he’ll take it.
But tonight, Dean has a plan. There’s a nondescript building outside of Burning Fork with no name, crammed between the walls of the local police precinct and a bakery. No lights, no signage, nothing but a padlock on the handle and a slit in the door. The password changes nightly, mostly to keep out non-locals and the cops—not that it kept any of the lawmen from visiting there themselves. Several of the local officers frequent the joint, Dean had learned earlier in the day; Sam and Castiel are in stuck in Lexington interviewing witnesses while Dean snoops out chicken coops in the backwoods for a rogue rugaru.
Supposedly snoops. Right now, his libido has the floor.
Colton accompanies him tonight, the officer still dressed in uniform, badges and all, his gun absent from its holster. He’s a few inches taller than Dean at the most, with gray eyes and chestnut hair and enough muscle to throw Dean around if he wanted. He barely fits into his clothes, and Dean has half the urge to reach out and stroke down his arm while Colton knocks four times, waiting for the slot on the door to open.
Dark eyes peer out when it does, narrowed and suspicious. Dean runs a hand through his hair and looks away, pretends to ignore the conversation between Colton and the attendant, at least until the lock unlatches and the door swings open. “No roughhousing,” the attendant practically growls at Dean while patting him down, lingering suspiciously long around his back pockets. “No taunting, no inciting a riot. Cash bar until two.”
Dean follows Colton inside the dimly lit excuse for a bar, thick with cigarette smoke and the faintest stink of weed off in a corner. The mission, Dean remembers—he’s not here to mingle. No small talk, no cheesy one liners. Get in, get out, bring them back to his motel for a few hours and hopefully never see them again. No harm, no foul.
He downs the shot Colton buys him to settle his nerves, the anticipation growing in his gut with every passing second. “You still on board with your little plan?” Colton asks close to his ear, both of them leaning back on the bar top, one of Colton’s arms around his waist, square palm splayed over his hip. Dean lets out a breath and steadies himself, finally ready to gauge his surroundings. A few of the men are off in their respective corners together, crammed into booths and talking almost into each other’s mouths; some linger alone with their drinks, eyes scouring between newcomers and the locals.
Three catch his eye: a black haired man on the cusp of thirty, a blonde with high cheeks and some of the sharpest eyes he’s ever seen, and a redhead with a prominent line of freckles across his nose and cheeks. At his side, Colton gives an assenting nod and squeezes Dean’s hip tight. “I’m already here,” Dean chuckles, still wary. “Might’s well get this show on the road.”
Gathered in a booth in a corner, Dean lays out the rules to his new posse, black haired Xavier at his side with his hand on Chase’s thigh, Jacob sitting across from them tucked in close under Colton’s arm. “Condoms only. No bruising, no marks above the shoulders, and if I yell out ‘Impala,’ that means game’s over. Don’t eat my ass then kiss anyone.” He stops to cover his face, well aware he might as well be a beacon in the middle of the room; no one mocks him, aside from Colton’s sneer and Xavier’s foot nudging his own. “No name calling, either.”
“We can do that,” Xavier shrugs, one of his braids falling into his face. He leans close and asks, loud enough for the group to hear, “How do you feel about facials?”
Dean groans, long, his head flopped back onto the booth’s couch. This time, Colton does laugh, right along with Chase, Chase’s stupid dark eyes delighted in his own pity. “That’s fine. And if you… pull my hair—.”
“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” Colton says with a grin. Dean goes even redder under his gaze but steels his resolve, clenches his hands on the tabletop. “Spanking?”
He swallows. “Go for it.”
“What about holding you down?”
“Absolutely.”
“DP?’
Dean nearly chokes on his tongue. “If you think you can,” he taunts, smug. His heart skips at the mere mention of it; not that he hasn't thought about two dicks in his ass before, but faced with the very real possibility of it becoming reality makes his hands shake.
It’s a miracle he’s able to make it out of the bar without sporting the world’s most impressive erection in public. Maybe it’s the chill in the air that calms him, or the steady chatter from the group and Colton’s hand on his shoulder, thumb massaging neat circles against his nape. Really, he’s thankful—anyone else, and he wouldn't have gone through with it in the first place. Colton’s number had been burning a hole in his phone for weeks, and at the first sight of a case in Kentucky, he jumped at it, uncaring of the risks or if anyone else cared. Castiel probably didn't; Sam didn't want to talk about it, not after the last threesome he walked in on in Daytona.
Dean laughs under his breath; Daytona’s about to be left in the dust.
His shirt is off before he can unlock the door to his room, Xavier’s hands tugging the cotton over his head in a rush. Once inside, Xavier shoves him in the direction of the bed, not before capturing him in a heated kiss, both hands cupping his ass and squeezing. Dean moans into it, allowing Xavier to deepen his kiss, tongue sliding against his own while he undoes Dean’s fly. His pants land on the floor shortly after, underwear foregone for the occasion; just enough to wear in public but less to take off, especially at the rate they’re moving.
The kiss ends just as soon as it began, and Dean barely has the forethought to consider his surroundings before Xavier shoves him on the bed, Dean landing firmly on his back, cock bobbing against his hip. He’s hard, not even ashamed of how it twitches under the scrutiny of the men divesting of their shirts around him, under Colton’s watchful eye as he climbs into bed next to him, manhandling him onto his stomach. “Take it out,” Colton says to someone and reaches over Dean to palm his ass open, exposing the plug Colton had put there himself just an hour before.
At his back, Dean feels another set of hands caress him, a finger sliding between his cheeks and tapping the plug, just enough of a shock to keep him alert. He’s practically in Colton’s lap now, that fat cock standing proud between his bare legs, veins swelling purple along the underside. He set the rules earlier—nothing bare, not even for blow jobs; still, his mouth waters just from the need, restless from where he’s been shoved.
Someone—Chase probably—toys with the plug for a long minute, drawing it out of his ass far enough to tease before shoving it back in, drawing out choked moans. “He’s wet,” Chase remarks once it’s removed and tossed aside, Dean’s hole fluttering from the loss, aching for something, anything, to fill the void. He gets his wish when Xavier tosses Chase a condom, Chase wasting no time sheathing himself and shoving into Dean’s ass, still wet and loose from the plug and Colton’s preparations.
He almost comes right there. If it weren’t for the cock ring, he would have, all over the bed—and he wouldn’t have stopped them from continuing, either. Instead, Dean moans as Chase begins to thrust, one knee on the bed by Dean’s calf, the other on the floor while he grasps Dean’s hips.
It’s more than he could’ve imagined, being there, surrounded by the men that keep touching him, the men that keep pulling his hair and keeping his head straight, that keep forcing him to watch their faces. His mouth finds Colton’s dick first, desire overshadowing the taste of latex on his tongue; he’s huge, bigger than Dean previously thought, his lips wrapped tight around his thick shaft as he bobs his head, tracing his tongue with every upward pull over every ridge, every curve.
Colton rewards him by yanking his hair, his cock nearly slipping from Dean’s mouth with the force. Dean manages to hold on, at least until Chase slaps his ass and mutters something along the lines of, “Fucking tight ass.” Dean lets up long enough to pant out a whimper, head bowed at just the right angle to see his own cock throb between his legs, already dripping precome. “Fuck,” he groans and takes Colton’s cock again, sinking to the base in one go.
“I wanna get his mouth,” Chase says after a short second, pulling out before Dean has time to categorize just how he feels.
It’s bordering on obscene how much he wants the next cock inside him, fucking him deep. He ignores the lube being tossed around in favor of deep throating Colton again, earning a soothing hand raking through his hair and to the nape of his neck for his troubles. “We ain’t even started yet,” Colton coos, cocky as sin about it. He pulls his cock free and slaps Dean’s tongue with it, saliva dripping from the condom and the corners of Dean’s mouth; the resulting smacks are loud in the room, sweat beginning to bead in his hairline from the rising temperature, no relief in sight.
Perfect.
Jacob shoves in deep next, his cock significantly longer than Chase’s had been but not nearly as wide. Dean clenches around it in ecstasy and shoves his face against the sheets, his fingers white knuckling Colton’s knees. “Head up,” Colton scolds and fists Dean’s hair again, jerking him upright; Dean’s arms nearly give out when Jacob hits him just right, both hands squeezing his ass while he fucks him with intent, practically shoving Dean onto his dick.
I’m not gonna make it, Dean considers briefly, just before Chase comes back with a new condom and thumbs his lower lip. I’m gonna come too soon. Dean accepts him eagerly and locks eyes with Chase, all while Colton twists his hair to the point of pain, enough to keep him rooted, keep him alert long enough for him to call it off if he needs to. Fat chance.
A single finger sinks into his ass alongside Jacob’s cock, undoubtedly Xavier’s. Dean’s stomach flips just from the feel, his cock giving a hard jerk when it presses against his prostate mercilessly. Dean moans around Chase’s cock and grips the bedspread, momentarily stunned. “Keep it up,” Chase admonishes and pulls out, slapping Dean’s cheek with his dick. Colton uses the reprieve to take Chase’s place, and Dean takes to his cock with enthusiasm, eyes nearly rolling back into his head just from the taste. “God, those lips,” he hears Chase murmur, vaguely, just before Colton pulls at his hair again, the pain just enough to bring him back.
“Want him too,” Xavier says, and Dean only has a second to marvel over Xavier’s flexibility before Colton pulls Dean off his cock. Xavier’s dick tickles the back of his throat when he pushes between Dean’s lips, and Dean nearly gags on it until his nerves settle, until Xavier’s finger, still in his ass, coaxes him back to calm. I want this, Dean tells himself and swallows Xavier down, lips pressed to the thick curls at the base of Xavier’s cock. I want all of them.
And he does, more than he even knows. Blindly, he reaches for Chase’s dick with his free hand while he pulls back on Xavier’s cock, teasing the head with the tip of his tongue; he strokes Chase’s cock with whatever higher brain function he has left, his attention pulled in every direction—Jacob fucking into him, Xavier’s cock in his mouth and finger in his ass, Colton’s hand in his hair and the other slapping his ass red, his own hand on Chase’s cock, slick with spit.
It’s intoxicating, incendiary—he wants to burn like this, with this night scorched into his memory for as long as he lives.
Dean’s shaking by the time he pulls off Xavier’s dick, his cock begging for a single touch; even with the ring, he could come like this, just from their cocks and fingers in his ass, in his mouth. Still, he finds the strength to mutter, “Wanna ride you,” to Colton, eyes blurry. Tears streak his face, along with the spit spilling from either side of his lips; it’s too much, and still not enough.
Jacob and Xavier pull free with the words, and without thinking, Dean crawls over Colton’s lap when he lays across the bedspread and sinks down onto his dick. He feels even thicker now, cock engorged and throbbing against his walls, a steady pulse that lights the fire burning through his veins. “Fuck me,” Dean whines and fists the sheets beside Colton’s head. “Fuck me—.”
And Colton does, both hands on Dean’s ass as he thrusts up, hard enough to leave Dean shouting with every shove in. Xavier’s fingers tease his rim while Dean sucks the fresh latex over Jacob’s cock, his other hand pulling at Chase’s, alternating between the two with enthusiasm. Two of Xavier’s fingers breach alongside Colton’s cock, stretching him further than he thought possible, all while Colton continues to pound into him, bypassing his prostate entirety.
This isn’t about Dean—this is about what Dean can do for them.
Xavier slaps his cock against Dean’s rim where he’s full and pours more lube there, shoving his fingers back in with the added wetness. It’s too much, he nearly shouts, just as Xavier pulls his fingers free and replaces them with his cock. Colton slows long enough for Xavier to push in alongside him, and all Dean can do is moan as he clenches around both of them, hot and thick and everything he’s ever wanted. “Please.” Dean pulls off Chase’s cock to gasp, his chest seizing in rapture, breaths coming in clipped pants. “Please, please, fuck me—.”
Colton moves first, this time easing Dean into it while Xavier moves in opposite strokes, pushing in just as Colton retreats. Again, again, again, and Dean practically howls, his voice shot. Hopefully the neighbors next door won’t hear how delirious he sounds, won’t hear how loud he’s begging when Colton and Xavier pick up the pace.
The louder he gets, the harder they thrust, until Dean can’t hear the sound of their rough pants and the slick noises of Chase and Jacob jerking themselves off on his face, fists moving in quick bursts over latex. All Dean can do is mouth at them and let them slap his tongue, too caught up in just breathing, feeling everything Colton and Xavier give him, his neck and chest burning scarlet in complete arousal.
“I’m gonna come,” Xavier announces, winded.
Dean mourns when he pulls his cock free, Colton following his lead and promptly shoving Dean onto his back, head at the foot of the bed. Ripping the condom off, Xavier jerks off, the fat head of his cock inches from his lips, pearling with precome. Dean could reach it with his tongue, suck him down and never come back up for air. Another time. Another day, when he’s sure everyone’s clean and they can do this like he wants—bare, with nothing between them but sweat and lube.
Chase is the first to come; Dean wraps his arm around Chase’s thigh while he streaks Dean’s face white, come spurting across his forehead and into the crease of his nose, over his eyelid. He savors it with closed eyes, listens to each of them find their release, come drenching his cheeks and the hollow of his throat, soaking into his hairline, down his chin. Colton holds off long enough to finish across Dean’s lips, and Dean licks off enough to sate his thirst, swallowing it down without hesitance.
After that, he falls into a lull, filled with the sounds of pants being zipped back up and shirts pulled on, the door opening and closing. Colton stays behind and wipes Dean down, cleans the come from his face with a wet washcloth and between his legs as well as he can, until Dean flutters back into awareness, a pleasant ache buried in his bones. “Looks like you took that well,” Colton laughs and pecks Dean’s lips.
Dean pulls him in with a heavy arm, practically giggling into their kiss. “Wanted that for a while,” he says.
Colton joins in and pats his chest, thumbing a peaked nipple. “You sure you don’t wanna come?” he asks, letting his hand slip down to Dean’s belly, teasing his overheated skin and skirting dangerously close to his cock, probably purple with blood.
“I’ll take care of it,” Dean murmurs, head lolling to the side. “Got someone comin’.”
And he does. Shortly after Colton packs up and leaves his card atop Dean’s duffel, Dean lets himself settle into the mattress and sends out a single thought, the only name his endorphin-clouded brain can concentrate on. The only man he wants to see. “Castiel,” he says, barely a breath.
It takes another few mintues for the door to his motel room to open and flick shut, the lock flipped closed in its wake. Dean knows the sight he makes, cock still erect between his legs, his body flushed red from exertion, sweat dripping from everywhere imaginable. Belatedly, he wishes Colton would have left the evidence on his face, left him for the world to see just what went down.
“You look like you enjoyed itself,” he hears Castiel murmur in his ear, amused about something. Dean flutters his eyes open and barely fights back a grin when Castiel climbs onto the bed and over his waist, still donning his coat, shoes left by the door. Dean kisses with languorous passion, Castiel more adamant, licking Dean’s mouth open until Dean gives in, lets Castiel have his way. “Did you come?”
“Didn’t,” Dean affirms and rubs himself against Castiel’s crotch as evidence, delighted to feel the hard line of Castiel’s bulge through his slacks. “Saved it for you.”
Castiel chuckles, kisses him again. “Good boy,” Castiel whispers into his ear, smug; Dean’s cock twitches and bubbles fresh precome, arousal tearing through him again, so hard it hurts. “I think you’ve earned something special.”
Dean pants when Castiel sucks a mark beneath his ear, whines when Castiel pulls away to strip himself of his clothing, all of it tossed to the floor. Dean’s still slick when Castiel pushes in, this time bare, thick and warm in his ass. “Let me come,” Dean begs, eyes rolling back. “Please, Cas—.”
“Soon,” Castiel affirms; he spreads Dean’s thighs and pulls Dean’s legs around his waist, fucking into him slow, deep. Dean whines with every push, every time Castiel pulls out, only to shove right back in, a torturous rhythm designed to make him shout. And he does, loud, a plea—Castiel basks in it and places a firm hand to Dean’s chest, splays his fingers over his sweat soaked flesh.
“Come,” he orders, and Dean can’t help but obey. With the slightest hint of Castiel’s Grace seeping in, Dean comes, the come endlessly spurting from his cock secondary to his orgasm, a continuous wave of heat and pressure seizing every limb, every blood vessel until his vision blackens at the edges. Only then does Castiel let up, does Castiel remove his hand and resume thrusting into him, until Dean feels him come deep in his ass, cock thick as it pulses, endless.
Castiel doesn’t pull out this time, not that he ever does after they’re finished. Dean relishes in the afterglow and strokes his fingers through the release painting his stomach, a puddle that stretches up to his neck, a fleck caressing his cheek. “You’re amazing,” Dean slurs, still shuddering in the Grace-tinged aftershocks.
Castiel kisses him, so chaste it hurts. “Lovely,” Castiel tells him, pressing every syllable into his skin. “Beautiful. Every part of you, Dean.”
“Gonna make me blush,” Dean laughs. He lets his eyes slip closed, allowing Castiel to kiss his neck after he pulls out, sucking a dark mark to his pulse point. A reminder for when he wakes up, when he sees the evidence in the mirror tomorrow morning. A night he won’t forget, no matter how hard he tries. “Think you were on to something,” Dean says, fatigue overwhelming.
Castiel hums and sprawls out at his side, their feet tangling near the pillows. “And what’s that?”
“’S not the same when it’s not you.” Dean kisses Castiel’s eyelid, falling lax in Castiel’s embrace. “Loved it with them, but I wanted you there.”
“We can arrange that,” Castiel says, conspiratorial. “I think you’ll like it.”
Dean’s cock twitches again, too spent to show immediate interest. Yet… “‘M listening.”