"I get all tingly when you take control."

Three words: Dean in panties.

-

Castiel trails his fingers over the lace and ribbons and bites on his lower lip in indecision. There are so many colours and shapes and designs and textures to choose from… this store – Victoria’s Secret – truly has a wide range of very appealing underwear to offer.

Castiel has long been aware of Dean’s ‘secret’ collection of lace panties – on a few occasions he glimpsed Dean pulling them on, when he checked in on his hunter unexpectedly, though Dean never was aware of being observed, however briefly. On his wandering exploration of the Bunker (or the Batcave, as Dean enjoys calling it for some odd reason – it’s neither a cave nor are there any bats), he also noticed the panties tucked secretively away into a far corner of Dean’s underwear drawer. As his and Dean’s relationship progressed into physical intimacy (much to Castiel’s elation and an entirely new, overwhelmingly peaceful feeling of completion), Dean had recently revealed the small collection to him. He’d blushed so absolutely prettily, the charming, deep pink tinge flooding his cheeks, neck and all the way down to his freckled chest, and Castiel expressed just how very much he liked Dean’s proclivity for lace underwear. He’d expressed that liking in words and actions alike, most thoroughly.

Therefore, when deciding to present Dean with a few more items into his extremely pleasing collection, Castiel had directed himself with logic and picked the store Victoria’s Secret, since Dean’s collection is a secret, now shared with Castiel.

((Never, my friend!))

Each long ring of the phone felt like it lasted a whole damn hour. Dean bit his lip, forced himself not to whimper since there was no one around to hear him, and rolled onto his back, eyelids fluttering as the motion caused his slim dildo to slide a little deeper into him, shoved against the bed and moving around inside as he rutted his leaking ass desperately against the sheets.

Finally, fucking finally, there was an answer. “Cas?”

oh hell asfhsadkjfhjh

Inspired by the following dialogue from 3x10:

Dean: (about to drink the African dream root tea) Well, shall we dim the lights and sync up Wizard of Oz and Dark Side of the Moon?

Sam: Why?

Dean: What did you do during college?

TW for brief mentions of homophobia/homophobic slurs and CW for alcohol/ drug use. Featuring subish/cockslut/bottom!Dean, first time, and a trace of praise kink. Also, Dean totally has a thing for cowboy boots. NSFW.

Dean having a super secret and hella huge collection of panties he’s bought over the years. Satin. Lace. Silk. Pink. Blue. Black. Red.

Dean nearly having a stroke when he and Sam have to interview a witness at her place of business… a high-end lingerie boutique.

It’s the angle. Sam drags Dean back by his hair to bend him further, arch his back and lean. Sam is spread out on the mattress. He can’t see, but he can feel. His hands on Dean’s sides, he fucks into Dean’s slickened hole and batters. Dean gasps. Over and over, that wet slap of skin, the smaller noise of Dean’s cock bounced against his middle forces more growls from Sam’s throat.

"More," Dean snaps, "fuck you, more."

Sam finds Dean’s shoulder and wrenches enough to tug his muscles. Taut, Sam won’t hit the right angle to spark, but that isn’t what they want. Hard. Harder. Dean won’t move from the twist that Sam has manipulated, so Sam can reach around to feel what he can’t watch. He palms over Dean’s stomach, presses fingers over his navel, lower, until that butt of flesh moves underneath.

"Fuck. There, Dean. God. It’s right there."

His touch as light as he can manage, Sam rams up and holds. Dean moans. Another finger-push and Sam swears that he can feel the head of his cock, that thick breach through muscle to mark up Dean’s insides. He doesn’t need to move again. A pinch over that spot and he imagines that this is him, he’s touching himself through Dean, and he comes. Shouts. Comes again.

"Can you feel it? Can you feel how fucking deep I am inside you? How full you are? God, Dean, so perfect, so good for me, fuck—"

Dean is weaker. He balances and jacks his cock to Sam’s praise and the wet heat inside. Sam softens, pulls out. Dean falls back to lie on top, legs still either side.

"Fuck," he pants.

"Stay the fuck still."

"Oh yeah? You gonna make me?"

"I’ll rip that ass apart."

"Only if you got the balls to fuck me."

Sam slams inside, just enough lube to stop a tear and not enough to stop that wide ache. Dean pushes back on his haunches. He impales himself, fucks back out of time. Sam grabs his hips to still him, but demon strength forces Dean back.

"C’mon, Sammy. You ain’t been a fuckin’ bitch your whole life. If you’re gonna fuck, fuck."

"Shut your fucking mouth and take it, Dean."

"Would if you’d move that ass and give it to me."

Hips buck bruises against Dean’s ass. Dean grunts.

"Harder, you fuck. You gonna screw or keep fuckin’ makin’ daisy chains with my ass?"

"You want it to hurt, huh? Wanna see what it’s like being owned, Dean? Broken up?"

"You wish," he sneers. "You keep fuckin’ like that and I’m gonna have to jerk to finish."

The next thrust sparks fire through Dean’s belly, that sweet spot found and crashed. Sam aims and hits over, over, over again. Sweat pours from them both, all lust stone and stiffer cocks.

"The problem with you," Sam pants, "is that you’re so easy, one dick’ll never be enough. Your hole’s hungry for more. What’d you have in Hell, Dean? Two at once? Three?"

"And yours ain’t even one. So fuckin’ move."

Sam crushes his fingers into Dean’s sides.

"Come," he snarls.