Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Things have been bad. For weeks.

Dean's not doing well, having you around all the time now since you moved in with the Winchesters. It bothers him how you come out of the shower only wearing that silky blue bathrobe that's almost see-through when the light hits just right. Or when you do your stretching exercises in the yoga pants with the cut-outs. Or when you scold him for leaving his clothes lying around the entire house. That last one, especially, he can't get over. He started leaving his things out on purpose. So you'd do it more often. 

He's been having a tough time focusing on anything, really, and sometimes he worries he's going to suffer from a circulatory collapse, with all of his blood rushing downstairs when he's too close to you for too long. It really has been hard.

Sure, he takes care of the raging boners you give him on a daily basis just from, well, being you. But it's getting more and more difficult to live off those scraps when you're so, so close. All the time.

It's the worst at night. When everything's quiet, and he hears you and Sam going at it like animals. During the day, he can just find something else to do. Get out of the house. But when he's lying in bed, eyes firmly pressed shut, and he hears that high-pitched moan that's seared into his brain by now, it drives him crazy. Once, on a Thursday night, he almost came without even touching himself, just from listening to the sounds you were making. You had a tiny little bite mark below your jaw the next morning, one that he only saw because he had to pick up the fork he dropped at breakfast when you bumped into him. He wondered what other marks your long-sleeved shirt was covering.

Somehow, having you living with the Winchesters is making things so much better and so much worse at the same time. The place has changed since then. It's livelier, lighter. You got a lamp shade for the living room, threw out all of the dusty rugs. Bought new decorative cushions for the sofa, which are hella cozy to nap on, even though Dean would never admit that to your face. And you got new sheets for the whole lot of them, saying something about wanting to set the old ones on fire. They're cozy as well, and they kinda smell like you. Somehow, most of the laundry does since you moved in. 

When you all have dinner together, which seems to be happening more often than in the previous three years combined, the atmosphere is light. You laugh at Dean's jokes, even though you always keep close to Sammy. You ask him how his day went. You even get John to chat sometimes. About himself. About his youth. About Mary. That's the good part.

The bad part is that Dean can't seem to get you off his mind. That very first time he met you he had thought it was just the fascination of something new. His little brother's older college girlfriend. But it wasn't. The more he got to know you, the more infatuated he had become. And instead of imagining you at the sorority charity car wash he had started daydreaming of you doing mundane things. Making coffee in the morning. Reading a book. Stroking his hair. It's innocent though, he tells himself. He wouldn't want to snatch you away from his brother. Sam seems so happy since he met you.

When you're not around, because you have classes, or are out and about with your friends, the mood in the entire house changes. Everyone seems on edge, aching for you to come back, even John. For you to cool down the flames that easily burn too hot when left unattended.

Dean stopped looking at the weather girl on page 13 a while ago to take care of his needs. He doesn't need her anymore. The picture of you in his head is all he wants, and it's so much better than anything a nudie mag could provide. 

Today, Dean sneaks off to the bathroom early in the morning, to go pee. He's gotta go whenever he gets the chance when he wakes up, because either his morning wood or the boner he's going to get when you and Sam start fucking might make it impossible at any given time. He quietly moves through the hall to go relieve himself, but then he notices that someone must've forgotten to turn off the light in the dining room. He moves over to the light switch, reaches out, and then he sees you. 

Lying on your back, sprawled across the dinner table. Illuminated only by the low-hanging lamp. Naked. Well, not technically naked, because that damn silky bathrobe is still on your arms, under your back. But it's open, and the sight of your tits, chest heaving, nearly makes him lose his mind. He barely notices Sam's head bobbing back and forth between your legs, because the way you're writhing on that table is just everything he's been dreaming of.

Dean reminds himself not to hold his breath. It's a good thing he's so used to the adrenaline pumping through his veins from hunting. It makes him go into hyper-focus mode. His eyes roam over your skin. Soft, glowing. There's a birthmark on the side of your right butt cheek, one that he'd never have seen if it weren't for… well, this. Now he knows. And he'll never forget. 

His gaze wanders up, over your stomach to your bellybutton and higher even. Your entire torso is moving up and down with how heavy you're breathing, and he just wants to run his tongue over you. All the way up to the valley of your breasts, he wants to know what it tastes like, what you taste like. Take a bite. Leave his mark on you. Right there, on the soft flesh beneath your collarbone. 

His eyes trace the natural lines of your body, up your neck that is so beautifully stretched with how your head is tilted back. So inviting. He wants to kiss you there, make you giggle. He's seen Sam do that to you twice already. He wants that for himself. Wants to explore you with his mouth, learn every curve and dip.

Your lips look so beautiful, plush, parted, he just wants to run his thumb over them, let you taste him, too. And just above those beautiful, rosy cheeks are your eyes. Big. Colorful. Vivid. And, he can't believe he's only noticing it now, they're looking right at him.

His first instinct is to hide. But he instantly realizes there's no use, you're looking straight at him. So he just freezes and stands there, quietly staring at your nakedness. You tilt your head a little more to him, your gaze soft. For a second he's scared you'll jump up, cover yourself and start yelling at him. But you don't. You smile. And you bite your lower lip. All while firmly holding his gaze.

Then your eyes flutter shut and a soft little moan leaves you, Sam must've done something you very much appreciate down there, and Dean thinks about just using the moment to vanish. Maybe you're still a little drowsy, maybe you'll think you just imagined him standing there, watching you while his brother is having breakfast early. But he just can't. His legs won't budge, he's hypnotized by the way your tits are moving up and down. 

You must be grinding yourself against Sam's face, because there's a tiny swaying motion to your body that's only explicable if you're doing something. He looks back at your face when your eyes open again. That's it, the moment for his escape has passed. And he's still standing there, mouth watering, pitching a tent.

He swallows. His eyes are glued to your lips, and then you speak. Not making any sound, but Dean has no trouble at all reading what you're saying off your lips.

Like what you see?

He blinks. His breathing is shallow, mouth dry. He must be dreaming. Wouldn't be the first time he dreamt something like this. He pinches himself in the arm, but he doesn't wake up. You're still lying there, watching him, and you look like you're waiting for him to answer. So he does. Nods.

Your smile widens. You like it. You fucking like being watched by him, in this vulnerable state, so close to being your most primal self. It makes Dean shiver. And then you speak again.

Touch yourself.

Dean's breath hitches. He's sure that's what you're mouthing. One hundred percent. He still hesitates.

For me. Please.

The way your lips move, silently, is so sensual, so pure and just the right amount of dirty at the same time. He's never seen anything like it. It compels him. And he knows he has to obey. He wants to. You're in control.

His hand finds its way into his boxers. His fingers close around his length, and he starts stroking himself immediately. He sees you inhale deeply, licking your lips as he follows your command. He can feel the muscles in his face twitching, his mouth drops open as he quickly feels release approaching. He'd be embarrassed by how quickly he's getting there if the whole situation wasn't so absurd.

You throw your arms up over your head, arching your back violently, writhing with pleasure. Another moan drops from your lips, betraying the intense pleasure you must be feeling. But you fight to keep your eyes open, focused on him, rubbing one out to the sight you're providing him with.

Dean comes when you do. He just shoots his load into his boxers, panting, but aware enough not to make a sound. It's taking everything out of him not to moan, but he knows he just can't. Even though this scene playing out right in front of his eyes is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. 

You, blissfully sighing, breathing heavily,  and that gorgeous little smile on your lips. It's better than it ever was in his imagination, and you're prettier like this than you've ever been. Cheeks flushed, eyes now finally fluttering shut.

Finally, Dean manages to snap out of his stupor. Looks down at the mess he made, wipes his hand off on his already stained boxers. Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Sam's head moving up just in time to turn around and finally move out of sight. He shakes his head, trying to clear his mind. To understand what just happened. And then he quickly and silently moves away from the dining room. He really should go pee now.

Dean skips breakfast. He takes the Impala's keys from the little bowl you make everyone keep their keys in and drives it a couple of streets down to an old lot next to a gas station. He gets out, walks a couple of steps, going in a circle. Stares at a cloud. Then he rolls up his sleeves, opens up the Impala's hood and gets to work. He's not entirely sure what he's looking for, but there's gotta be something he can fix. Right?

He spends at least an hour on the car, maybe two. It's a good distraction from the very vivid images of you, coming, that are playing on repeat in his head. But his mind keeps drifting back to the sounds you made, to your smile, to the way you ensorceled him to pleasure himself while you were staring at each other. You really cast your spell on him. 

He's going to have to talk to you. But how would that even work? Just talk to you, now that he's seen you like this. Now that the two of you have shared that. Behind Sammy's back.

He finally slams the hood shut, wipes sweat off his forehead and grease off his fingers. He sits in the car for a couple of minutes, hand on the ignition, but lacking the courage to actually start it. Then he shakes himself out off it and drives back home.

When he comes back, the house is quiet. There's nobody home. One of your coats is still hanging on the rack, but he knows you like to take the padded one when it's windy like today. Dean sighs in relief. Not that it changes anything, but he gets a little more time to gather his thoughts.

He throws his jacket onto the sofa, kicks off his boots. You're going to give him shit for that later. Or are you? Will things still be the same when you get back from wherever you are? Or has he broken this precious little thing you have going on? The thought alone makes him nauseous.

He shuffles down the hall, right to his room. Throws the door shut behind him and flings himself on the bed. He stares at the ceiling, not really thinking, but trying to. To come up with a way out of this mess that's not going to hurt Sam. He lets his gaze roam. To the framed picture of the three of you that you got him, from the day you took the boys ice skating. Dean had landed on his rear more times than he could count, but he had gotten to hold your hand as you tried to teach him how to stay on his feet and all of you got hot cocoa spiked with rum afterwards. It was a good day. He likes the picture, it gives his room a much more… composed vibe. Then his gaze wanders over the door and he finally sees the note stuck to the inside of his door.

He immediately recognizes your handwriting. He jumps up, crosses the room in two strides and rips it off.

It's written on one of those purple sticky notes that you keep on the fridge, the ones you use to write down the grocery list or to leave cute little messages for your boyfriend sometimes. But this one, this one's addressed to him. 

Dean. Meet me back here at 11 pm. xx

His heart starts racing. He just keeps staring at the note, as if somehow, if he stared long enough, it would change its meaning. You want to meet him. In the middle of the night. In his room.

And you're sending him kisses. You've never done that before. Well, you've never written him a note before. Except for the grocery list. It feels intimate. He likes it. It also feels wrong.

Dean swallows. What does this mean? Do you just want to talk? And keep it hidden from Sam? Or are you… suggesting something? Are you trying to get him to do more of whatever this was? 

He racks his brain. Do you know? That he's been listening to the sweet, sultry sounds you make when Sam gets to work on you? That he's been fantasizing about you non-stop? It sure looked like it this morning, like you knew exactly what was going on. 

He shakes his head. Continues staring at the note. xx. You want him. And he's not sure that's something he could deny you.

Dean's on edge for the rest of the day. He spends most of the time outside. Lounges around at the diner with the brunette waitress that always lets him peek at her bra when she pours him coffee. Gets himself a second slice of blueberry pie. But nothing seems to be able to distract him, no matter how hard he tries.

He knows he's gonna have to go back home and face the music sometime. He is going to have to talk to you about this, and sooner rather than later. But he just doesn't know what he would say, if he could get the words out. Is he even sure what you're going to say? Is this really you telling him that you want him? That you want to fuck him? Or is he starting to confuse porn with reality again?

Sure. He's been fantasizing about you. About being the one who gets you to make all of those sultry sounds he's been hearing without cease. It's been your face he's been superimposing on the women he has had sex with ever since he laid eyes on you. But that was just it. Those were fantasies. This? This is really you. You, his little brother's girlfriend. Someone who's strictly off-limits. 

He walks along the road to the house in the dark, kicking a soda can all the way up to the doorstep. At the door, he fidgets with his keys, trying to postpone the inevitable for as long as he can. Then he takes a deep breath, unlocks the door and goes in.

He's going to tell you. That you're the hottest little thing that has crossed his path in a while, and that he wants you, like, really wants you. That he wants you to have him. But that it's just not something that can ever happen. It's something he could never do to Sam. Because he knows how much Sam cares for you, how much you've already changed the lives of all the Winchesters, and that's something Dean can't ruin. Even if it means he's gotta put his happiness behind Sammy's.

He looks at the clock as he kicks his boots off. 11:17. He stares at the ceiling, mumbles an ejaculatory prayer and goes to his room.

When his hand lands on the door handle, he hears it. It's a quiet little sigh, but his ears have been trained to it. He can't believe it. Are you really in there, maybe even in his bed, touching yourself?

He should have just turned around and gone out again. Left you there. But his body is quicker than his brain, and his hand presses down on the handle, and then he's standing in his room.

There you are. On his bed, shirt pushed up a little so your belly is exposed. But the hand pressed firmly into your crotch isn't your own. It's Sam's. 

You giggle as you see him, push Sam's hand away and you both straighten up. Dean's sure that the look of confusion on his face must be more than evident.

He looks at you, then at Sam, then back at you. Opens his mouth, furrows his brows, closes it again and tilts his head.

It's Sam who speaks first. He chuckles and asks Dean to sit. Without looking away from you, he pushes all of the clothes piled on the stool next to the door to the floor and sits. Then he buries his hands in the pockets of the jacket he forgot to take off.

Dean's cautious. Watches you and Sam. He's not sure what to make of this entire situation, but it seems like both of you are in a good mood. On the same page even. At least it doesn't look like Sam's going to punch him for, well, jerking off in front of his girlfriend. 

“I thought you weren't coming,” you say, a look on your face that one could almost describe as hopeful. “Thought I might have scared you off.”

Dean huffs. He's careful about the words he chooses.
“Scared ain't the right word, sweetheart.” You and Sam exchange a glance that he's not sure how to interpret. Then Sam gives you a tiny nod and you clear your throat before you speak again.

“So, Dean…” 
He watches you like a hawk as you speak. All of his senses are on alert, he doesn't want to miss a single cue that might give away what you're thinking. The first one he notices is a small twitch of your upper lip.

“I know you've been thinking of me. I see the way you look at me. And after this morning…” Dean's eyes dart to his brother. But Sam's face is calm, relaxed even. He's got his hand low on your ass. Right where he saw that little mark this morning.

“Well, Sam and I thought, maybe you'd like to try the real thing.”
Dean's mouth drops open. He blinks at you. Somehow, he feels incredibly joyous and immensely confused at the same time. 

“You mean, you want us to hook up?”
Dean feels he might be gesticulating a little too wildly, but he can't stop himself.

You bite your lip as you slowly nod. So he was right. About you wanting to fuck him. He's just not entirely sure how Sam figures into this. 

“I…” Dean's thoughts are racing, and everything around him feels like it's been dipped in honey. Sticky. Like every action requires a tremendous amount of energy. He knows this is one of these moments that decide everything. 

He looks at his brother. Tries to read him. But Sam still looks completely unbothered. Does this really mean what he thinks it does? That he'll get to have you, he'll finally be able to feel you like he's been craving for all those weeks, and with Sam's blessing?

“...and you're cool with that?” He asks his brother, just to make sure.
Sam tilts his head, scratches the back of his neck. 
“Well, it kinda was my idea.”

Dean's eyebrows go up in surprise. Another twist he did not see coming. It must be evident to Sam that Dean is completely and utterly lost for words, because his brother starts to explain.

“We've been… trying new things. And turns out, we both liked the idea of you being in the mix. Just listening, catching us at first. So we thought, why not take it to the next level?”

Dean can't believe what he's hearing. Have you been thinking about him all this time? Have you been using him for your pleasure and he didn't even realize it?

And then it hits him.
“Is that why you're so damn loud all the time?!”

You just giggle in response. And it makes Dean's heart skip a beat. Of course it is. He knows you can be quiet as a mouse if you want to. He saw it this morning. Damn. You really want this.

Dean shifts as you suddenly get up and start making your way toward him. When you reach him you extend your hand, and when he takes it you pull him up to you. He can already feel the growing hardness in his pants, and now that you're pressing yourself up against him, he's sure you can feel it too.

You stand on your tiptoes, one hand entangled with his fingers, the other on his chest. And you smell so damn good. As you look up at him your nose touches his jaw, you trace a line up to his ear. You let your cheek brush over his, and when your lips are close to his ear he hears you whisper, “is that a yes?”

His lips crash into you like a force of nature. Hot like a blaze, powerful like a storm, sweeping like the ocean. He grabs you with both hands, runs his fingers into your hair as he pulls you close. He needs to feel more of you. Touch more of you. Taste more of you. 

He knew it. You're not shy. You take charge of your pleasure. Just as your tongue is demanding entry in his mouth. Your hands are already tearing at his jacket, trying to pull it down his shoulders along with the flannel he's wearing underneath, so he lets go of your head for a second to shrug it off.

Since he's not touching you anyway, he uses his free hands to start ripping at your clothes as well. He pulls your shirt up and over your head, revealing a crimson lace bra underneath. Your tits look so perky, his hand immediately goes to squeeze one of them as he throws your shirt to the floor. He realizes he's never imagined taking your clothes off before, in his mind that used to be just something you had to get through to get to the good stuff, but getting to peel one layer off you after another? That's fun, too. He can't wait to finally get to the last one.

His lips are back on yours as his hands find the buttons on your jeans. He can feel you grinning into the kiss, probably at how much he is rushing things, but it's okay. He has been waiting for this for so long. He just needs to feel you. And it's not like you're not into it.

When he's got your jeans loose enough, he just shoves his hands into them, desperately grabbing at your ass. Your skin is so soft and warm, it makes him furious he can't touch all of it at the same time. Then he starts shimmying the fabric down. He's got a goal to reach here. 

He shuffles you backwards to the bed to make things easier, and then he sees a shadow moving out of the corner of his eye. Shit. Sam.

He got so caught up in the moment, reveling in your touch that he completely forgot about the circumstances of all of this. The fact that you're not only his brother's girlfriend, but also, that Sam is right there, in the room with you.

He throws his brother a nervous look, as if he's asking for permission when clearly he doesn't seem to be objecting to any of this. It still reassures him when Sam chuckles.

“Dean, it's fine. Just enjoy it.” And Dean decides that's all the encouragement he needs. This is not a time to worry. This is a time to savor. And savor he will.

He hastily helps you down on the bed, pulls your pants off you as soon as your feet are in the air. Then he takes a moment to look at the tableau. Of course, your panties match the bra. And funnily enough, so do the sheets you picked out for Dean. You just look like you belong there, in his bed. What a coincidence. 

He starts taking his shirt off, then his pants, and when he's finally in his boxers he crawls onto you. The way your eyes blink up at him has him forgetting everything around him. His head dips down, his lips going to your jaw, teeth nibbling their way down to your neck. When he reaches your pulse point and bites down a little harder, your entire body twitches under him, making him shiver. 

You arch your body into him, giving him more access to your neck and Dean starts to double down. The trail of his lips over your body is wet and warm, his touch making your body quiver with lust. Those sounds he's been hearing through the walls for weeks? This time, it's him doing that to you. It's you responding to his touch. You being blind with lust from the way he's handling you.

His heart almost stops when he suddenly feels your hand on his boxers. He buries his face in the valley of your breasts, trying to stifle the low groan that's escaping him at your touch. When he moves his mouth to the side, finding one of your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra, you moan that sinfully high pitched moan he's been dreaming about, and up this close it's even more divine.

He nearly loses it then and there when you take him out of his boxers, your small fist closing around his length, the pressure so perfect it makes him want to curse. When you start pumping he has to stop what he's doing to take a moment to look at you. He's already breathing so heavily that he's worried he won't last long. And the way you're licking your lips, the way you're enjoying how you're making him feel… he needs to do something about it. He needs to be inside you. Right now.

Dean pushes himself up, skin already burning with the ghost of your touch. His hand snakes under your back, finding the clasp of your bra and pulling it off you in seconds like a magician. He calls the move the Copperfield for a reason. He's just as quick removing your panties, shimmies out of his boxers and without any of the cumbersome fabric left on either of you, he can finally dive in.

He looks you deep in the eyes as his fingers trace a line from your bellybutton, ghosting over your mound and finally finding your entrance. God, you're wet. Sam might have warmed you up a little before he came in, but this is on Dean. You're entire body pulses as he pushes two fingers in. It might just be a tiny wave slowly reclaiming the shore, but he knows the high tide is right around the corner. He's going to get you there.

Dean starts exploring your body with his fingers, mapping the points that make you shiver most. This is what he's good at. He's already got the pulse point in your neck, your breasts, obviously, and he's found another spot inside you that made you throw your head back in ecstasy.

He likes the way you whimper when he pulls his fingers from you, and he knows he's rushing things, but you're ready to take him. And if he plays his cards right, doesn't hog you the entire night, maybe there's a chance he'll get to do this again.

He's towering over you, his face so close to yours that he can feel your warm breath on his lips.
“How do you want me?”
There's a sudden glow to your eyes, and within an instant you've got him turned around on his back.

He's lying there, his hands on your hips, so ready for you to be in charge. He can feel his cock already leaking as you tease him against your entrance. And then you sink down on him, slowly, your eyes fluttering shut. Your chest heaves, he can see you relishing every inch he's giving you. Dean knows that this is it. The thing that all the songs are written about, you're the kind of girl that makes men throw everything overboard, quit their jobs, sell their car, rob a bank. He'd do all of these things if it meant he could watch this face slowly twisting with pleasure forever.

When your eyes open again he's fully seated inside you and there's a delicious little burn on his chest from where your nails are digging into his skin. Your gaze is heavy on him, and he's not entirely sure what you're thinking, not until you turn around looking over your shoulder. 

The movement makes Dean sink even deeper into your pussy, which is good because otherwise his ego might feel a little hurt that instead of looking at him you're now looking at Sam.

He pulls you firmly against him and starts thrusting up, making you gasp, your mouth dropping open as you look at your boyfriend. And then he suddenly gets it. He gets what this is about. He runs his hands over your body once more, pinches your nipples, commits the face you're making to his memory.

Then he takes your chin into his left hand and turns your face back to him.
“Why don't you turn around, sweetheart?”

You think for a second, and then he sees a content smile spreading over your lips. You're quick as you get up and turn around, leaving Dean outside of you for only a couple of seconds, and then you're on him again. And while it's a shame that he can't see your pretty face in this position, your back is just as much of a sight to behold. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath for a second as you wiggle left and right to get him perfectly seated again because the way your ass is looking against his abs is just sinful. He feels you steadying yourself on his knees, your back arching, looking like goddamn cello. 

He hears you moan as you press yourself down on him, and then you start moving up and down. Dean holds his breath for the first couple of times that you're bouncing on his dick. The way he gets to watch you, to see him entering you over and over again is more than he could ever have dreamt of. His hands are firmly holding on to your ass, and it's the only thing grounding him, reminding him that he's an actual person with a physical body and not just a soul floating in paradise.

Nothing could ruin this moment, this peak of pleasure, not even your voice cracking as he hears you moaning his brother's name. Saying that you love him.

He sees Sam moving toward you at the same time as he feels you leaning forward. The new angle has him straining against your walls, but you keep your movement up, the stimulation so intense that he's scared he'll come any second now.

He can hear you gagging, moaning with pleasure as Sam shoves his dick down your throat, throwing you slightly off your rhythm. But you're quick to catch yourself again, and you violently clench around him as the sounds you're making with your mouth become filthier by the second.

It's like an out-of-body experience when he hears himself cursing, saying he's going to come, seconds before he pulls you flush against him, hips bucking up. He's not sure he's not marking up your skin with how hard he's holding onto you, but you seem to enjoy it every bit as much as he is, because the sound that's trying to leave your body through your full mouth is more than unambiguous. All of your body shivers, you whimper and tensen up, and when he hears Sam cussing as he grabs a fistful of your hair he knows that all three of you just came at the same time.

You don't immediately try to get up from his lap. You're still shaking, coming down from high, trying to catch your breath. But you sit up, core still wobbly, and Dean's right there to catch you as you let yourself fall back against his chest. You're still looking at Sam, your boyfriend, an impish grin on your rosy cheeks as he feels himself growing soft and finally slipping out of you.

Sam's kneeling in front of the bed now, his chin resting on his forearms between your legs. He's looking up at you like a puppy in love. Dean hears his brother saying something, you giggling in response.

Dean tilts his head down, pushes his nose into your hair and takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes. Shudders slightly.

Things are good.

Chapter Text

This thing between Sam, Dean and you has been going on for weeks, and sometimes Sam still wants to pinch himself.

A part of him is screaming that this is too good to be true. That sooner or later something is gonna happen that will make this all go up in flames. That his relationship not just to you but also to his brother will be destroyed beyond repair. Good things don't just happen to Sam Winchester. He's always known that.

Other things Sam knows to be absolutely true: he came the first time he watched you come. In fact, he can pretty much get off just from watching you squirm, hearing you pant and moan. He's always liked that - every girlfriend he's ever had was pretty happy about that part, the part where Sam just loves making them come over and over in any way. 

But he's never been down as bad as with you. Maybe because you're so confident in taking pleasure, chasing it. It's like an all-you-can-eat buffet for him when he's been starving. 

Most days since you moved in, Sam wakes with your hand already in his PJ bottoms, pumping his cock. It's how he goes to sleep at night too - with your sounds and tastes and sensations still on his tongue. He holds you close as you both drift off. He keeps waiting for you to get over him or get bored or whatever. But it doesn't happen.

Then that night happened. When you came back from using the bathroom the night you first met Dean and John, after having the most awkward family dinner in human history, something had gotten into you. You pretty much ravished Sam, were on him immediately, so wet as to be dripping.

Sam started suggesting that you wanted his father and brother to hear you and him fuck, and saw the effect it had on you. When he said that maybe you wanted them to have a go at you too, you came, harder and louder than ever before.

Sometimes Sam wonders if he should feel weird about the whole thing. If he should feel threatened by that. But he simply doesn't. He knows you're his. Another thing he knows for sure: you love him, and he loves you.

There wasn’t one specific moment where the two of you decided that you wanted to get caught. It was a crescendo of both of you leaning more and more into that fantasy. Dean and John are always out a lot, so Sam and you often have the house to yourself. So most of the time there wasn’t a real risk. 

Sam would kneel on the couch between your legs and eat you out for hours, until the fabric under you is drenched. More than once you’ve sunken to your knees somewhere where anyone could walk in at any point, taken him into your mouth while looking up at him with half closed eyes. It never happened. Until it did.

Maybe Sam always knew that Dean would end up being involved at some point. Like, really involved. He assumed he’d be into it, but he didn’t know how much he was until you were riding Dean, Sam’s cock muffling your sounds. It wasn’t until he saw how hard you came with both of them inside you that Sam realized this was what had always been the end goal. He remembers the giddy feeling in his chest now, at seeing all that pleasure in you, how happy you were afterwards.

So, yes, the weeks since have been like some sort of amazing fever dream that just won’t end. Dean was shy in the beginning, about the mechanics of it all, and it warms Sam’s heart to see how much more confident he seems to feel. You and he tease each other, and he gets to hold you, kiss you before and after, but when you’re not in the moment, the two of you act just like good friends. And Dean doesn't seem to mind. Sam isn’t super shocked that Dean is happy with not having the responsibilities of actually being in the relationship. It’s kind of who he is.

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon when the next thing happens. The thing that Sam knows you’ve been thinking about, but neither of you has really addressed. The thing he’s not sure how to feel about until it happens.

Because Sam and Dean are close, closer maybe than any other two people in the world. It just sort of makes sense for Dean to be there. It’s not like this is the first time they’ve intimately shared space. Never the same woman, not even Rachel, Sam’s prom date, because she didn’t even let him get to third base, but Sam has spent more than one night being kept up by Dean getting laid in his immediate vicinity. He’s been there for many of his brother’s sexual misadventures.

So when he enters you, sliding in perfectly smoothly because of how wet his brother has made you, that just makes sense. Or when you take him in deeper because Dean is fucking you faster, because you’re being rocked back and forth between the two, making sinful sounds, moaning their names around Sam’s dick - nothing feels wrong about that. It all feels perfectly right.

On this particular afternoon, you’re on your back. The three of you are in Dean’s room today and you’re spread open, two of Sam’s fingers pressed into you, his knuckles glistening with your wetness and Dean’s on your other side, as you’re just sticking out your tongue, running it over the underside of his balls. It’s a scenario that feels as natural as breathing at this point.

Sam’s pretty sure that what happens happens only because all of you are in Dean’s room. His father wouldn’t barge into Sam’s room the way he does Dean’s. Not because John doesn’t think he has the right to, but because Sam gives him more grief over it, and sometimes he just doesn’t want to deal with that. It’s also because it’s now your room as well, and John at least has the decency to respect that.

That’s the other thing - Sam isn’t dumb. He’s seen the way his father looks at you. The long, lingering stares with his beer bottle halfway raised to his mouth. The way his face goes all soft when he watches you make dinner or make Sam and Dean laugh or when you call him “Mr. Winchester” again. Has seen the way he flexes his fist when Sam kisses you in front of him.

And when you talked about being walked in on, or about the other Winchester men getting a turn at ruining you, you talked about Dean and John. Sam hasn’t forgotten that. He’s simply tabled the thought.

They hear John exactly three seconds before he opens the door. He calls something out to Dean about his car keys, his truck not starting and Dean’s fingers freeze where they’re rolling one of your nipples between them and Sam’s fingers freeze too while he’s thrusting them into you. Only you don’t stop. It could just be that you’re not as conditioned to freeze at the sound of John’s voice, but Sam knows you better than that at this point.

The door flies open, and your lips are still on Dean’s balls. At least for consistency, John freezes too. His mouth is opened to say something else when he stops dead just inside the room, eyes glued to the scene in front of him.

At last, you move your lips off Dean, but it’s only to push yourself up on your elbows, tits and hard nipples on perfect display. Sam watches you raise your eyebrows at John and it thrills him to no end, makes him stare at you in awe. He’s pretty sure there’s nothing in the world you’re afraid of. He thinks he loves you more in that moment than he ever has, despite the fact that his heart is beating so hard he can hear it in his ears.

“What the fuck…” John mumbles, but then his eyes go to your chest and he licks his lips. 

“Hey, Mr. Winchester,” you say then, your tone perfectly striking a balance between porn starlet and that’s what you get for not knocking. Sam wants to grab your face and kiss it. 

Sam sees the confusion on his father’s face and he can honestly say that’s probably the first time anyone’s ever seen John Winchester lost for words. Sam blinks in surprise when he feels you nudge him with your knee and you’re looking at him when he turns.

“Keep going, baby,” you say, the words accompanied by a cheeky little lip bite. “I was close.”

Sam feels the corners of his mouth twitch. Could he? Could he just keep going? He looks down at where his fingers are just outside of your pussy, then looks back at your face. Your pupils are so big as to almost hide all the color of your irises. You’re into this. You’re into the thought of John being there.

Sam pushes his fingers into you again and you drop your head back, moan. You’re warm and tight and wet and Sam pulls his fingers out, stroking them across your front wall when he does. You gasp a little, eyes falling shut. So Sam keeps going. Because what the hell else is he gonna do?

Sam’s not looking at Dean or John, is concentrating only on you, but he can hear their heavy breathing, the only other sounds in the room except for your moans and the wet sounds of him finger-fucking you. He keeps going, watches you climb the hill of pleasure, all the little signs that tell him you’re getting closer. It’s the most sensual display. 

You start moaning loudly, rolling your hips, drop a little lower, the back of your head now resting against Dean’s chest. He still seems frozen but Sam can’t even think about that as he feels you clench down on him, so desperate to be filled more, making his cock twitch and fill, reminding him he’s up for the task. But he wants you to come first, because he loves how strung out you look when he fucks you right after you’ve come.

Which is what you do - legs pulled up, chest heaving, high-pitched whimpers that let Sam know it’s an intense one leaving you. You press yourself down against his hand, even though there’s nothing more he can give you, he’s up to his knuckles and then you slump back, still grinding yourself against him, catching your breath.

He pulls his fingers from you, intent on simply wiping them on the sheet below, but you don’t let him go far. You grab his wrist, bring his hand up to your face and the next second you’re wrapping your lips around him, sucking your juices off of him. Sam groans low in his throat, but just as Dean raises his hands, suddenly freed from his stupor, cups your breasts, there’s another sound.

It’s another groan, and it comes from John. You must notice too because you blink your eyes open, lids low, and turn your head to look at him again.

Sam sees your eyes roam John's body and then stop at what is clearly a growing bulge in his jeans. A small smile twitches on your lips and then you turn back to Sam, look into his eyes.

He could say no. He could cut this all off here. You’d definitely be disappointed, but he’s pretty sure you wouldn’t hold it against him - it’s a lot to ask, after all. Sam knows that, you know it, Dean knows it. The question is if John knows it too. Only one way to find out, Sam thinks. Because he wants to give you this. Wants to see you turned inside out from everything he's given you. 

So he nods slowly. Your eyes widen, and Sam likes that, likes that you maybe sort of expected him to stop there, let that be it. That he can still surprise you like that. Then the biggest smile spreads on your face as you give a small nod back.

You push yourself up, feet landing on the ground and then you stand. You’re naked and Sam sees John’s eyes roam over you, taking in everything from your soft skin to your glistening thighs to your flushed chest. His throat contracts as he swallows.

You step close to him, and then land your hand on his chest. It travels up, slowly, all the way to his face. John’s not exactly clean-shaven but he’s been more groomed for a while now. Sam wonders if he’s trying to look younger.

“You should really grow this out,” you say in a low, sultry voice, fingertips scratching over John’s stubble. “I think it would look really sexy.” John takes a sharp breath through his nose.

“I’ve been trying to get your boys to let theirs grow too,” you say, fingers moving to John’s neck while he looks down at you like he’s about ready to tear you apart, especially when you lean in a little for what you say next. “I like the way it feels when they’re… down there.”

John clenches his jaw, and Sam has to give it to his father. He would have already grabbed you and pushed himself inside of you. Your hand wanders lower again, over the row of buttons of John’s shirt and then your fingers are catching on the buckle of his belt.

“I wonder if you look the same as them,” you just say, and then John’s hand shoots up, wrapping around your wrist.

“Is this some kind of game?” he presses out through gritted teeth. Paranoid idiot, Sam thinks. He can’t ever believe it when something good happens. He swallows when he realizes the similarity to himself.

“No games,” you say, your second hand going up and cupping John’s crotch, at which he takes another sharp breath. “I promise.”

John waits one more second, then lets go of your wrist. It’s all the encouragement you need. You open his belt and then his jeans, practiced and fast, and then you go down to your knees. You lick your lips as you take John out of his pants. You stick your tongue out then, give it a cursory lick which makes John’s breathing shudder.

You don’t waste any time. You wrap your lips around the head of John’s cock, begin slowly bobbing back and forth. Sam knows the feeling exactly - how wet your mouth is, how soft your lips. That moan that leaves you right then, low in your throat, he knows what the vibrations of it feel like traveling through him. He feels his own cock twitch, throws a careful look at Dean. He’s been deadly quiet, but he is watching with the same rapt attention. Fuck it, Sam thinks, all or nothing. His hand wanders down his body and he gives himself a few tugs. No shame or horror comes after, so he keeps going, especially when your mouth makes a pornographic wet sound. 

John’s eyes have fallen shut, and just then his hand goes to the back of your head, fingers twisting into your hair. You’re using one hand to stroke him at the same time, pulling all that pleasure from him, and you don’t stop the movement when you move your mouth off him, look up. John blinks his eyes open, looks down at you.

“You taste so nice, Mr. Winchester,” you say, voice a little raw, and it makes Sam feel the good kind of dizzy. Maybe he should have you call him that, too, he thinks, before he almost laughs at himself. Maybe something for another time. 

You run your tongue along John, keep stroking him, before looking up again.

“Wonder if you would feel as nice inside me?” you ask, voice almost innocent, like you’re talking about the weather. It makes the whole thing that much more illicit.

“Fuck,” John curses, low and breathless. He reaches down, grabs your shoulder and for a second Sam wonders if he should intervene, but then he sees John is spinning you around.

“On all fours, sweetheart,” he pants and you immediately comply. “Let me see your sweet ass.” 

You’re grinning and biting your lip and Sam almost shakes his head in wonder. At how you’ve, once again, tided over the raging egos of all three men in this house. How you play them all like a fiddle and they don’t even notice.

John gets down on his knees behind you, and suddenly he seems frantic, hurried almost. One hand is on your ass, squeezing it, while he’s stroking himself with the other. Then John leans in closer and he must press himself into you, because just then your eyes fall shut and your mouth open.

“Oh fuck,” you moan as John makes a hissing sound. Sam can’t blame him. It’s how he felt when he entered you for the first time ever. He saw the look on Dean’s face, too. He couldn’t explain it if somebody paid him good money to, but there’s a before and after, and they are all in the after now.

John groans when he’s all the way seated inside of you, pushes against you as if testing and a joyful gasp leaves you. Sam tightens his grip where he’s stroking himself slowly. He’s pretty sure he can see out of the corner of his eye that Dean is doing the same. 

John’s hand snakes up your back, reveling in the feeling of your skin, until he finds your shoulder. Once he’s got a good hold on you, he pulls out a little before slamming himself back into you.

The sound you make is one of the best ones Sam has ever heard. It kind of sounds like you’ve hurt your tailbone, but it’s ecstatic. John pulls out again, then pushes himself into you again and then he’s found a rhythm.

It’s deep and hard and might worry Sam if he didn’t know that’s exactly what you like. There’s a loud slapping noise of skin meeting skin every time John thrusts into you and your whimpering isn’t dying down. You have your eyes closed and eyebrows drawn up, more uncontrolled sounds leaving you.

“So thick,” you pant out, apparently not able to form a full sentence. John pulls you back, making himself crash into you even harder, breathing hard, face in a snarl.

“Think I’m the only one in this house who doesn’t get a taste?” he grunts, also only half making sense. “Think you could keep this sweet, little pussy from me?”

You might have answered but exactly in that moment, your body begins shaking, trembling, as John fucks you into an intense orgasm. You’re gasping and whining, the climax long. It’s all Sam can take. 

He stands, walks over to you and gets on his knees in front of you. He’s pretty sure John throws him an angry look, but he doesn’t care. You must notice the movement because you open your eyes, just barely able to blink them open and Sam’s just barely assumed the position when one of the hands holding you up immediately goes to his cock, begins stroking him.

Dean’s the last to join, and if Sam had any part of his brain left that was able to think, he wouldn’t be surprised at that. Following Sam’s lead but not wanting to get into the way of John are his two major motivators. He kneels next to Sam and you lower your head, take his cock into your mouth where he’s offering it to you.

It’s uncoordinated and messy, but seeing you like this, so utterly ravished and unleashed - Sam’s never felt anything like it. He’s pretty sure this is what it’s like for people who have crazy religious experiences. He’s seeing the light or whatever. All words are lost on him.

John groans loudly as his head goes up, eyes squeezed shut, movement of his hips stuttering and it takes Sam a moment to understand he just came inside you. His head drops forward again, eyes still closed.

Sam could come in your hand or move your chin so he can come in your mouth. It’s not where he wants it, though. 

A surprised yelp leaves you when he wraps an arm around you, pulls you towards him, off John’s and Dean’s cocks.

“Sam–” his father growls, warning, but Sam doesn’t care. John’s not the one who gets to call the shots here - you and Sam are, and he’s pretty sure he’s gonna die if he isn’t inside of you within the next seconds.

He wants to get you to the bed, make you more comfortable, but it’s simply not an option right then. So he maneuvers you on your back, slots between your legs immediately. Your hands shoots between your bodies at the same time Sam’s does, but you’re quicker despite your fucked-out state. You find him, hard and leaking, lead him to your entrance. All Sam has to do is push forwards his hips.

He does, and then he’s in heaven. You cry out, and Sam leans down on his elbows, kisses you hard. At the same time he starts snapping his hips, pistoning against you. You moan loudly, wrap your arms around him, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“Oh yes, baby,” you whine, your voice loud and clear in his head with how close your mouth is to his ear. Sam can feel his orgasm coming, can feel it creeping up his spine and as much as he wants nothing more than to fill you up with his come, he’s taken you high now and he’s not about to drop you.

So he changes his angle just a little, and it makes your head fall back, your neck stretch and only a second later, he feels the contractions, the squeezing, the almost painful bliss of feeling you come. 

You cry out, unintelligible words leaving you and Sam can hear Dean groan behind him, curse as he probably shoots into his hand, as if it’s him that can feel you squeezing him, not his brother. 

That’s the last thing Sam thinks. Because a second later, he thinks he nearly goes blind from how hard he comes. He shoots into you, spurts and spurts of it as his brain feels like it’s being rebooted.

He slumps forward, his body covering yours, as he pants like he just sprinted from one end of town to the other. You’re running your hands over his back, gently, and it’s all he feels, all he ever wants to feel. 

It feels like an eternity until he finally pushes himself up again. He’s softening and when he moves far enough to slip out of you, he looks down to between your legs. His and John’s come is leaking out of you and you cup your pussy, wincing but only for a second.

“I am gonna be so sore tomorrow,” you say, and then a goofy little giggle leaves you. Sam’s surprised when he sees Dean’s hand appear in his line of sight, holding a handful of tissues. Sam takes them, takes some to run along himself while he passes you the rest.

“Worth it though, huh?” Dean asks, tone cheeky and you grin up at him.

“Definitely worth it,” you reply and Sam can’t help the huff that escapes him.

All of you turn when you hear John move. He’s just closing his belt, not looking at any of you. His face is grave and set.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he says, voice low and raw. Don’t do this, Sam thinks, feeling a twinge in his chest. Don’t ruin this. Not this too.

“This was a misunderstanding,” John says, still not looking at any of you. “It’s… this is just…”

What? Sam thinks. Wrong? Perverted? Not normal? Maybe it’s not. But he doesn’t care. He opens his mouth but, once again, you’re quicker.

“I was actually hoping we could do this again, Mr. Winchester,” you say, and everyone turns to you. “It would be a real shame if this was a one-off.” 

John looks at you, his lips slightly moving. Sam’s not sure what it is, but there’s something on his father’s face he’s never seen before. To his surprise, it’s Dean who drags all of you out of the stalemate. He snorts, then chuckles and Sam turns to him.

“Just…” Dean says, shaking his head. “Mr. Winchester? I think we’re a little past the formalities at this point.” You chuckle too. 

Sam looks back at his father. For a second, he thinks he’s gonna double down. But then John sighs, runs a hand over his face.

“I need a drink,” he says. You shrug, smiling at him.

“I need a shower,” you say, holding John’s gaze. “And then a drink.” John looks back at you, and there’s that expression again. Soft, intimate. Open.

You break the eye contact and look up at Sam. His heart warms at it as you reach out your hand and he takes it, helps you stand. For a second, you’re unsteady on your legs so Sam slings his arms around you, holds you and you hug him back. He closes his eyes, hears John move, heavy boots leaving the room and then Dean is moving somewhere around you and him, mumbling something about grabbing a shower before you use up all the hot water. 

Sam barely hears it. His face is pressed into your hair, because it’s the only way he can hide the grin building on his face. 

Chapter Text

The air around you is warm. Almost a little too warm, given the rush of heat you're feeling in your cheeks anyway. But you like the way it feels on your skin. 

You're naked, lying in John's bed, slightly propped up against the thick pillows leaning against the headboard. You've got one of your legs angled up, knees pressed together. It's far from the first time that you're naked in John's bed, and still you're feeling more vulnerable than you usually would. Maybe that's because Sam's not here.

You take a deep breath as you continue watching John shed his clothes in the dim light. Something about all of this makes you feel like you're an offering, presented to appease a wrathful God. It might even feel a little off if all of this hadn't been your idea.

Everything was fine since you moved in with the Winchesters. It was lamentable how things went south with your parents, how you had to move out overnight, but in the long run it had led to this. You moving in with the best boyfriend you've ever had, Sam.

You had been afraid you were rushing things, that the two of you spending so much time together could put a strain on your relationship, but the exact opposite had happened.

It was nice having him around all the time, he made you feel warm and fuzzy and you had gotten so in sync that it scared you at times. Of course, living with three grown men had all kinds of disadvantages as well. Socks lying around everywhere, dirty sinks and mountains of empty beer bottles. But the older two Winchesters were agreeable enough, and slow but steady you managed to nudge them in the right direction. You just wondered how Sam had managed to survive living with them for all these years. 

The day you appeared on the doorstep, mascara smudged after your parents kicked you out they had all been there. Dean and John had given you and Sam some privacy to talk things out, but the moment they found out that you moving in was on the table they had immediately agreed. You had brought your duffle over the very next day.

Now, all of the boys seem more relaxed than that first time you met them. Sam, who is getting laid more than most people would consider healthy, looks like he's feeling more confident in his skin, and that sassy side of him that you love so much is showing more and more.

Dean started to become less crude, apparently someone did teach him manners at some point, he just needed to unearth them. Not that it stops him from drooling over your body whenever you need to stretch or bend over. And even John seems to be in a general good mood, according to Sam. You wouldn't necessarily describe him as cheery, but apparently, compared to how he used to behave before you moved in, there had been a measurable improvement.

Except for when you make the mistake of bringing up that one topic, that just seems strictly off-limits. College. You and Sam have spent long evenings talking about the pros and cons of each school, about where the two of you could find courses that would fit both of your interests. Even if it did take him a long time to come out with it, one day Sam just blurted out that he wouldn't want to go if it meant he had to leave you behind. You had gotten all teary-eyed, and you had started making plans together. Plans for Stanford.

When you had mentioned the fact at dinner the next evening a graveyard silence had fallen upon the entire room. You felt like John normally refrained from raising his voice whenever you were around, but this time, he didn't hold back. He yelled at his son like you'd never seen before, about family, about responsibilities, about selfishness. You were so shocked to see him like that, but Sam stood his ground. He was sure in his decision, he wanted to go to college, and he wanted to go with you.

The fighting over dinner continued for what felt ages to you, until Sam had finally had enough, grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the door. John was still yelling and out of the corner of your eye you saw Dean, jaw tightly clenched, standing up and leaving for his room as well when you went out the door.

None of them had spoken to each other for the entire next day and they only quit their childish behavior when you called them out for it. You didn't bring the topic up again, but the air around the house had gotten thicker for a while.

And then the thing with Dean happened. You hadn't really planned on it, but the fantasies you and Sam were living in the bedroom were so much fun that you decided to take them outside of your little safe space, spicing things up even more. 

When Dean finally joined in, you felt like you were in heaven. Not only because there now were two gorgeous men trying to please you six ways from Sunday, but because the way Sam handled all of it made you even more sure of the fact that he was the one for you. The way he got off on making you happy, making you come, making someone else make you come was just so far from anything you've ever experienced before, and the genuine joy and love you felt whenever he pulled your face in for a kiss made your heart grow two sizes. 

The core strength you've started to develop since then is impressive and necessary to keep up with what the boys are putting you through, but you don't complain. A small price to pay for such an abundant reward. 

Things were very close to going south again that evening John walked in on the three of you fucking, but you handled the situation like a goddamn professional. Lulled him in, maybe even tamed him. And since now all of you were involved in this little game you were playing, there wasn't much that could throw your new life off balance. Or so you thought.

In retrospect, the idea that three imposing men like the Winchesters could just share you was more than wishful thinking. 

And, one day, almost out of nowhere, the powder keg explodes. You're not home when it happens. You're just returning from a tiring day of classes, hoping you'd get some alone time with the man of your dreams, when you hear yelling inside as you turn the key in the lock. Sam's voice is strained, alternating with a low growl from John. 

When you go in, three heads turn towards you. Dean, looking a little helpless, is standing between Sam and John who are shooting daggers at each other with their eyes. They look like they're both biting down on a live wire. The oldest Winchester's eyes dart between you and Sam, and – the thought alone makes you very aware of the pit in your stomach – you've got a feeling what they are fighting about. And it's not college.

You drop your bag next to a chair and close the door, your keys firmly clenched in your fist.
“What's going on?” 

Sam shakes his head, chuckling. John crosses his arms over his chest, looking even more menacing than he usually does. And Dean nervously shifts from one foot to the other. None of them answer you.

You take a couple of steps towards Sam, reach out for his arm which he immediately wraps around you. John scoffs, staring right at his youngest son, who firmly holds his father's gaze.

When Sam speaks he's not looking at you, but he's squeezing you so tight he's almost hurting you.
“Why don't you tell her? Let's just ask her what she thinks. If she doesn't think you're getting a little too cozy.”

Sam snarls. It's an expression you haven't seen on him before, it's wild, furious. You feel all of his muscles tensed, like he's only waiting to be provoked any further to throw a punch. 

John actually growls when he speaks.
“Let it go.”

Sam chuckles. 
“No.”

John's eyes are barely visible anymore, his brows furrowed, and he actually looks like he might pounce any second. His teeth are gritted as he repeats, “I said, let it go!”

The evil snarl has vanished from Sam's face by now, and he is utterly serious when he replies. “Yeah. And I said no.”

They're almost butting heads at this point, Dean doing his best to keep them physically separated. It's a strange scene, Dean of all people behaving like the grown-up in this house.

His voice, although still deep and rasp, has a much higher pitch than he uses towards you. “Alright, you made your point, tough guy. Look, we're all tired, we can talk about this later. Sammy, I mean it. Come on.”

Sam's fuming, he barely seems to notice how you peel yourself out of his grasp, trying to get a better look at the scene.

“Guys, what the fuck is going on here?”
Sam finally looks at you, his nostrils flaring. His face looks tense.

“John got some movie tickets. For you and him. For Casablanca. You know, so you can go on a nice little date. Just the two of you.”

Your eyebrows go up in surprise. You open your mouth to say something, but you know you have to be very careful about what, and how. Because at least one of these egos bruises easily. You inhale deeply, slightly shake your head, trying to find the right words. You've suspected for a while now that John wants more out of this than he's getting. That this isn't just about sex for him. And you know that he will probably sink this ship with its entire crew before admitting that he's being unreasonable. 

You look at John, trying to gauge his reaction to his son's accusation, but his face looks like it's set in stone. Sam speaks again before you've got your thoughts figured out.

“See? You're making her uncomfortable! You always do this, why do you always have to make everything about yourself?”

“About myself?” John hisses through gritted teeth. “When have I ever done a thing for myself? Everything I do is for you and your brother, and it's just beyond me how you could turn into such an ungrateful, little…”

“You're unbelievable. Do you really think you're doing whatever this is for us? If you just took one minute to think…”

“Stop it, stop it, stop it! That's enough,” Dean's voice is strained as he cuts them off before they can do some real damage. You can tell this is hurting him. He'd never admit it, but Dean's a sensitive one. He's shoving Sam back by his chest, face turned to John. “That means you too!”

The scene is ridiculous. This fight might be about you, but you're not part of the discussion. Three grown men, barking at each other like stray dogs, fighting over a juicy bone. You look at each of them for a couple of seconds, pick up your heavy bag that's still full of your college books and go straight for the door.

As you leave, you can hear Dean growling and you know him well enough by now to know he's rolling his eyes.
“Terrific.”

Of course, Sam follows you. He catches up with you before you round the corner, lifts your bag off your shoulder. His cheeks are still flushed, but you can tell he's back to his normal self. 

“I'm sorry you had to see that. I… he just gets under my skin sometimes. Caught me off guard.” 
Sam's looking down at you like one of those oversized teddy bears you'd get for winning first place at a raffle.

You nod, stay quiet for another couple of seconds. Your arm finds its way around his waist and you press your face into his side. Breathe in his scent as you slowly walk down the nocturnal road, only the sound of your steps disturbing the silence.

“I'm sorry if I'm getting in between you and your dad.” You swallow and stare straight ahead. You wonder if this is actually your fault, for bringing John into it when what you had with Sam and Dean was perfectly fine.

Sam shakes his head, pulls you close. “No. It's not you. He's always been like that, he only thinks about himself and he gets mad when I don't behave like his little puppet. He just thinks he gets to order me around, and whatever he says, goes. Just like with the college thing.”

“So… he wanted to take me to the movies?” You carefully prod, not wanting to upset your boyfriend again. But the anger that had been boiling over earlier is gone. He left it there, with John. Sam just sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before he responds.

“Yeah. Apparently he wanted to take you on a date. He's been wanting to get some alone time with you. I think he might be trying to make you his girlfriend.”

You nod, brows furrowed. You try to imagine what John would look like on a date. If he'd comb his hair. Dress nice. You're not really sure if he even owns nice clothes. And you frown at the absurdity, the audacity of John. When it's so clear that you belong with Sam.

You know you don't have to tell Sam that you falling for John isn't something he needs to worry about. It's not something he's insecure about. Everything you've been doing has very clearly only been about sex. For the two of you, at least.
“Maybe we should put an end to this whole thing. Seems it might be causing more harm than good.”

Sam looks into the distance, thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. 
“I don't know if it would make a difference. Might make things worse, actually. When John doesn't get what he wants…”

You walk another couple of steps in silence, the wind rustling in the trees when an idea forms in your head. You stop in your tracks, look up at Sam.
“Do you think we could use this? To make him a little more… amenable? With the whole college thing?”

Sam tilts his head, thinking as he entwines his fingers with yours. The faint glow of the street lamp under which you stopped makes his features even softer, makes his eyes glow in that shade you have yet to find the words to describe. 
“What do you mean? You want to bully him into letting me go?”

“No, never. Just, maybe, twist his arm a little? Make him an offer he can't refuse? Maybe he just needs the right motivation.”

You blink up at Sam, a mischievous little grin playing around your lips. Your heart almost skips a beat when you see it spreading to his as well when he pulls you in for a kiss.

He presses his nose into your cheek, wrapping both of his arms around you, making you feel so small in the best possible way. 

“You know I love you so much, right?”

John takes a sip of his whiskey. You like the way it lingers on his breath. He usually drinks before you get down to business, and you relish the taste of the Single Malt on his lips. Especially when it mixes with your juices after he ate you out.

You sit up a little, reach out. He walks over to you and passes you the drink. The look on his face is different today. There's the usual hunger, the longing for carnal pleasure in his eyes he gets whenever he sees you naked. But there's something else as well, simmering beneath the surface. A different kind of want, a purer one. It's still very far from innocent, though.

“I've been thinking about you all day,” you say as you take a sip from his glass, your lips touching the rim so close to where his were.

“You have?” He takes the glass from your hand, sets it down on the nightstand. Then he crawls onto the bed, your naked bodies already so close you can feel the heat radiating off each other.

“Yeah. About what we could do. To make tonight extra special. Mr. Winchester.” You inch up the bed a little, lowering your back onto the mattress. He's watching you intently as you put on your little show, running your arms up to the headboard, writhing in the sheets. You feel like he deserves a little treat, with you making him jump through hoops.

“Don't call me that,” he murmurs. “It's just… just John.”
You look him over, nod. You're not entirely sure how this is going to go since this is the first time you're doing it without Sam and Dean in the room. This is an entirely new dynamic. You need to find your groove first.

“Okay. How do you want it?”
One of his knees gently presses between your thighs, pushing your legs apart. He runs his hand over your hip, up your belly, but stops before he reaches your breast.

“I just want you,” he quietly says as he looks you deep in the eyes, so deep you almost avert your gaze. But you're not going to fold now, you're on a mission. 

Not that John's unattractive. The sex with him is usually great. His unfiltered, raw energy is just very intense. And he tends to behave like he's the supreme authority, a smug grin on his face whenever he teases a new sound out of you. Which is why you're here, trying to make him more complaisant. Maybe take down his ego a notch. You're playing on your terms.

Your fingers scratch over his beard, which might be your favorite thing about his outward appearance. He never acknowledged it, but he did grow it out after you asked him to. You pull him in by his chin. He's like butter in your hands.
You hold his gaze, nod, and whisper, “I can be all yours for a little while.”

His kisses are tender when they land on your lips. Even more so as they wander down, his mouth trailing the path to your collarbone. His hand resumes roaming over your body, still staying clear of all areas that you're starting to want him to touch.

You run your hand over his shoulder, down his chest, keep going south until he suddenly pulls away.

“Eager, are we?”
There it is, that smug grin that makes you want to crack down on him.

You bite your lip.
“I thought that was what we're here for.”

He chuckles, retreats a little.
“We’re gonna take it slow tonight,” he says as he places a kiss right between your breasts. “This isn't a fuckathon like you do with the boys.”

You take a deep breath, decide not to let him get under your skin. Not to let him make you angry. You know he doesn't mean to behave like he does. This whole thing is starting to feel like a competition though, and you're a hustler.

You close your eyes for a second, make yourself long on the bed. Then you angle up your legs, let him see all of you. You suppress a satisfied grin as you see him swallow. You lick your index finger, let your hand wander down to your clit and start petting yourself. John sits there, staring at your pussy as you rub small circles, accompanying your movements with a fitting soundscape of small sighs.

You feel his hand running up your thigh before you see it, higher and higher until it reaches yours. Then you feel his fingers, rough and calloused, wrapping around your wrist, pulling it away from your core. You want to protest, but you desist the second you feel his teeth nibbling at the soft skin close to your lower lips. The little bites turn into kisses, making arousal pool in your gut, but he painfully avoids coming too close to your core. Coming close enough. 

Your hand that's not firmly in his grasp goes to his head, you run your fingers into his hair and gently, but decidedly push him inward, trying to get his mouth on your wetness. You can feel him smirking against the skin of your thigh.

“Tell me what you want.”
His voice is raspy. And even though he's ordering you, you can sense something needy about his command. So you oblige. 

“I want to feel your tongue, John,” you whisper, your voice low and sultry. You feel him shivering then, finally, moving his lips closer to your entrance. When he finally finds your clit, he presses his tongue against it, flat, moving so slow you'd hardly notice it if you weren't so aroused already. You can feel yourself exhaling, finally relaxing as he slowly laps away at you. 

He doesn't concentrate on one spot, taking in all of you, making you feel him everywhere. The scratching of his beard against your skin, his fingers slightly spreading your lips apart to give him better access, it all sends your thoughts swirling.

The way he's teasing you is almost torturous, he's making good on his promise to take it slow. Too slow for your liking. You buck your hips up, desperately seeking out the friction that you're hoping will give you some relief, but John's holding you down with his weight. It's just the right amount of pressure to make you slowly but steadily lose your mind.

After what feels like the most stretched out crescendo in history of giving head you can finally feel your orgasm looming, just out of reach. Your breath hitches as you push down John's head, close your eyes, ready to let yourself fall. You think of Sam, of the dimples on his cheeks when he tries to suppress a smile, of the way he flips his hair out of his eyes when it's grown too long again. And then, as you can feel the symphony's culmination only a bar away, it suddenly becomes silent.

You feel like you tripped, landing on your nose, so close to the finish line. You blink your eyes open to see John grinning at you, wiping his mouth on his forearm.

“Did you like that?”
He dips down again, runs his nose over your thigh, giving you goosebumps immediately because all of your skin is still so sensitive. 

You watch him, looking up at you from between your legs. You half expect to see that shit-eating grin of his again, but it's not there. So you nod.
“I just wish you hadn't stopped,” you say, voice breathy. 

He smiles, drops a kiss on your knee. 
“Don't worry, princess. I'll get you there.”

You can't help your eyebrow twitching at the nickname. His hand running up your thigh is doing a good job distracting you from it, though.
“Princess?”

You draw a sharp breath as he pushes one finger into your wetness.
“What, you don't like me calling you my princess?”

You think for a moment, listen to what you're feeling inside. Apart from John slowly hooking his finger to reach that spot he knows to make you stutter, of course.

“N– no. I do.”
He nods, sliding a second digit into you. You press your head back into the pillow.

“Well, then that's our thing now. Princess.”
You feel like you should protest, like he might be getting into territory that's not his again. You wonder if he used to call Mary that. But the sensation of him pulling his fingers out of you and sliding back in has reduced your brain functions to a bare minimum.

You feel the hand that he's not using to pleasure you pushing your thighs further apart. His teasing is just starting to make your heart beat faster again, small whimpers dropping from your lips. You hear the wet sound of him pulling out again and feel him spreading your juices over your entrance, and then he goes back in, three fingers this time. 

You moan at the sensation, the slight burn he's causing you. You feel his muscles tensing, fingers spreading to open you up. You know he's not going to make you come like this either. He's just getting you ready to take his cock without his thickness overwhelming you. It's why you usually like him going last when all four of you are having fun.

But he keeps pumping, the noises your bodies are making obscene. The constant arousal, paired with the knowledge that he's going to drag this out for you to only come on his dick is making your thoughts foggy. You try to still your breathing, not get too worked up. You close your eyes and your mind drifts back to Sam. To how he would feel right now.

Sam would be smoother. His fingers are more slender, and he'd be chasing your high right now, not trying to drag it out. He'd probably already have made you come, once at least, maybe twice. You wonder if he's sitting in his room right now, straining his ears, listening to any sounds you're making. If he's touching himself. Like Dean used to do when he listened to you and Sam. The idea makes you moan louder, earning you a chuckle from John. He doesn't need to know that sound wasn't his doing.

John's different today, now that he's got you alone for himself. Beneath all of his arrogance, his airs, he feels softer. Maybe that is because he's not trying to be an alpha in front of his sons. This is just about you. Or a version of you that he likes to dream of.

You're pulled back to reality as John finally pulls his fingers from you. Your mouth feels dry and your whole body is starting to glisten with an almost imperceptible sheen of sweat. 

“I think you're ready for me now, princess.” 
You furrow your brows and nod eagerly, hoping that he'll at last stop denying you your climax, that he'll finally just steamroll you after teasing you for what feels like an eternity.
He sits up closer to you, on his knees, his cock bobbing eagerly, waiting to finally be inside you.

“Come ‘ere,” he growls, pulling you up by your hand. You want to roll over, get on all fours to let him take you from behind, but apparently, John has other ideas. He pulls you close to him, pressing a wet kiss that, as usual, tastes like Whiskey and pussy on your lips and starts shuffling your legs so you end up in his lap, facing him.

You're a little wobbly, so you hold on to the back of his neck as he stares right into your soul. His eyes are asking for permission as he's finally teasing his thick head against your entrance, and when you nod again, biting your lip, he pushes the first inch into you.

You immediately lose your balance, slump forward at the delicious stretch you're feeling, and you hear John hissing as you clench down on him. You can feel relief already washing over you, your mind getting lighter and lighter as you let yourself fully sink down on him.

You press your body up against his, and even though this position isn't ideal for the rough fucking you wish you could get now, you start moving up and down.

You hold yourself close to him as you bounce on his dick, breathe him in, feel his fingers squeezing your ass. He's meeting your movements halfway, letting the hand that he doesn't need to steady you finally roam free over your body. He runs it over your hip, up your side, pinches your nipple when he reaches your breast. 

His lips pepper kisses all over your skin, wherever they can reach you, you feel his tongue licking up the salt of your sweat. And you hear his breathing growing heavier and heavier with every minute he keeps driving into you.

He's not going to deny you again, you can feel it. The way he's pressing his fingers into your skin, thrusting into you eagerly, he needs it as bad as you do right now.

Your forehead is pressed against the crook of his neck, your mouth open as you concentrate on the feeling that's been eluding you all evening. You grind yourself down on him, voice shaky as you beg him to finally grant you release. 

“John, please,” you whimper as you grab a fistful of his hair, your other hand scratching down his back, desperately trying to feel more of him.

His voice is low as he whispers directly into your ear, “tell me that you're mine.”
It almost takes you out of the moment again, but your body is aching, your head spinning.
“John, I–”

His lips brush over the shell of your ear, breathing ragged. He bites at the sensitive skin beneath it, kisses you fervently.
“Lie to me.”

He continues pounding into you as a stream of sweet nothings starts dripping from your lips, telling him all the things he wants to hear. He knows they're not true. They're just a fantasy. And you indulge him, just for tonight.

You come as you feel him spilling himself inside you, squeezing all of your body tight. And it's a good thing he's holding you, because you weren't prepared for the violence of your orgasm as it hits you, turning all of you into jello. 

Somehow, you don't want to give him the satisfaction of being as loud as you are, not after he's teased you for so long, drawn out your pleasure in a way that's almost painful. But the sensation is so overwhelming, so different from how he's ever made you come before that you can't help it. 

All the built up tension is suddenly stripped away, ripped off like a band-aid. You barely manage not to moan Sam's name as everything around you seems to melt away.

Your eyes are watering as you let yourself fall, blink, and even though John is breathing just as hard as you are, he's there to catch you.

You stay like that for a while, holding on to each other, before he slowly turns your body to lower you on the bed, slips out of you. Cleans himself up, then you as you just lie there, on your back, chest still heaving. Then he lies down next to you on his side, so close that his lips brush against your shoulder when he speaks.

“Can you spend the night?”
You look at him softly, caress his cheek.
“No,” you quietly say, “you know that.”

John sighs. He doesn't look you in the eyes.
“Will you stay at least until I've fallen asleep?”

You think for a moment, then you nod.
He wraps his arms and a leg around you, holding you tight. Pulls you as close as physically possible. You're not sure how you're going to get out of his embrace once he's asleep, but it's okay. For now, you just nuzzle your face into his hair, close your eyes and take a deep breath.

Chapter Text

John rubs his hands together, trying to bring some of the warmth back into them, his breath fogging up even inside the car, while he watches the entrance to the train station in his rearview mirror.

It’s not like he wouldn’t have gotten Sam a damn car. But no, his youngest insisted it would be fine. Which is why you and him are driving cross-country on a damn train now, from the California warmth to the coldness here. John would have driven, picked the two of you up, or Dean could have, but no, Sam and you didn’t want that. Said it would be nice. He shakes his head without meaning to. It’s very Sam. 

John sighs, his breath coming out as a soft white cloud. He needs to reign it in. That’s part of the deal after all. What you told him on the phone when you took the chance to talk to him, him alone. That you would get Sam to come visit for the holidays, but in return, John would have to be nice. No arguments on Christmas, you said. 

Not that he doesn’t understand that you want a peaceful week off school. Not that he doesn’t adore you for making sure the three Winchester men get their shit together at least for a little, like a real, actual, functional family. That’s definitely part of it.

But also John couldn’t stand the thought of you not coming back. It’s been a couple of months since he’s seen you and it’s like his skin is too tight, like there’s an itch he can’t scratch. 

He looks at the digital clock on his dash. You should be there any minute, so he starts the engine, turns up the heating. He wants you to be warm. 

He leans his head back against the headrest, keeps watching the entrance. According to your instructions, he bought a turkey earlier today. Him, John Winchester. A turkey. He bought wine for you and him. Maybe Sam. He’s sent Dean out for beer. 

The car is starting to get toasty and warm, just in time. He straightens, sits up, when he finally sees you and Sam. Can’t help the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Both of you are bundled up, breath equally fogging up the air. Sam’s hair is a little longer than it used to be, and John thinks he looks like a damn hippie, but thanks to you he’s not gonna mention that. And you? You look adorable. Scarf covering the lower half of your face, hat covering most of the rest of you, eyes bright and searching. Looking for him, John realizes. Well, his car. Same difference.

You spot it first, point, say something to Sam and the two of you start walking. Sam has a bag in his hand, in addition to the backpacks both of you are carrying, and with his free hand he grabs yours. 

It’s a strikingly normal scene, for a moment. Just a father picking up his son and his son’s girlfriend for Christmas. You’re gonna have dinner, eat too much, watch TV. It’s so normal.

Except, of course, for the fact that John is gonna fuck you at some point. Gonna bury himself in you until you’re the only thing he can think of. Until everything else goes quiet. Until he’s finally filled up again despite being emptied.

All four of you are gonna have to get back into the groove of things. It’ll be fine, it’s how it works, but John would love to just drag you to his room the minute you cross the threshold, keep you all to himself. But he knows he has to play along to get what he wants.

The two of you reach the car, Sam opening the trunk, and you disappear from sight for a moment before he closes it again. Then both of you get in, in the back, John notes.

“Hey Dad,” Sam says and John nods at him in the rearview mirror. He has no idea how to greet either him or you. There’s no script for this. But then you get in and you lean forward and he turns and suddenly your face is right there. Flushed from the cold, smiling.

“Hey John,” you say, voice a little breathy. He can’t help but smile.

“Hey princess,” he says and he sees the small glint in your eyes. He turns back, puts his hands on the wheel. 

Drives the three of you home.

John’s never seen Dean so awkward, and it equally weirds him out and moves him. His older son has his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans the whole time as you and Sam are coming in, lugging in your stuff. Well, John and Sam mostly. They grab the bags before you can reach them and you don’t exactly complain. It’s not until you turn to Dean, give him a brilliant smile, and throw your arms around his neck that he comes out of it. Hugs you back, presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

Jesus, John thinks. You’ve got all three of them wrapped around your finger. He hopes he doesn’t look half the fool his sons do.

You start on dinner immediately. You take the lead, order the men around. Tell them what to do, what to cut, what to stir. John opens a bottle of red wine, pours two glasses while Sam and Dean open beers. John steps close to you, hands you the glass. You take a sip without breaking eye contact, roll the wine along your tongue and John wishes he could suck it right off of there.

You flirt with each of them so differently. Sam gets slow, lingering touches. Intimate in an almost unsexual way. Hand resting on his arm for no reason at all, just to be close. Dean gets pinched or a finger poked into his ribs, gentle shoves against his arm. You flirt with him the way a teen would flirt, playful, stolen touches, eye rolls.

John only gets looks. You don’t touch him at all, and it would upset him if it wasn’t for the kind of looks you give him. They set him on fire. Face tilted down, blinking up at him the way you would if you were kneeling in front of him, he thick in your mouth. Slow lip bites. The most sensual little smiles. He feels tension rise and ebb low in his stomach.

Once all of you sit down to eat you still haven’t moved on to more touching, or anything else. John sees Dean fidget, and wonders if he’s worried nothing’s gonna happen. That this has already run its course. That you’re back to just Sam’s girlfriend. But John knows better.

You’re forcing all of you to go slow so that nothing boils over. Keeping all of you calm until things are settled and most importantly, maybe, making sure it’s clear that you run the show. John would like to give your sweet little ass a spanking just for that presumptuousness, but he knows better. Knows that you’re right. That you’re dealing with three very delicate personalities. If anyone gets their wires crossed it could bring the whole thing crashing down.

It’s after dinner that things take a turn. The dishes are piled high in the sink for tomorrow, everyone’s got a new drink and you’re giggling at something Sam said, your hand, although mostly hidden by the dinner table, going to his leg while you look into his eyes. Sam looks back, long, unblinking. A small nod. An understanding passes between you that makes a jet flame of jealousy explode in John. It’s gone a second later, replaced by want. He doesn’t get how Sam can share you. If you were his, only his, he never would. 

A thought comes to him then, an idea. He can’t have all of you, he understands that. But he’s gonna be sure to leave an impression tonight. 

As if reading his thoughts, you stand, picking up your wine glass, look around at the three men.

“How about a little post-dinner nap?” you ask, voice sweet and very clearly suggesting that you have no interest in sleep. There’s that tug again, deep in John. Violent. Like a force of nature. 

Dean gets up first, eager guy that he is. He stands, eyes on you, slowly rounding the dinner table, Sam and John waiting and watching. Dean seems nervous, maybe anxious even, as he walks over to you. But you keep looking at him, turn to him as he comes closer and then without looking down, your free hand finds one of Dean’s and you take a step backward, and then another, taking him with you. 

Sam has his arms crossed, but he doesn’t look defensive. He looks relaxed, maybe even a little proud, John thinks. He kind of understands why. Dean’s a pussy hound and John knows the effect he has on women. He thinks Sam probably does fine too, but he always seemed less interested in that. The fact that he is the one who brought you into the family, that his brother and father might get to fuck you but you’re his in the end gives him a slight cockiness. John doesn’t hate it. He only hates the fact that you’re not his.

They both stand as well, follow you and Dean. John drops behind Sam. The hallway is dark, your silhouette only illuminated by the light coming from John’s bedroom, which he now realizes you’re leading the three of them to. The scene seems surreal - like you’re some kind of pied piper, but instead of leading the three men to doom, you’ll lead them to the most exquisite pleasure.

John halts when he reaches the doorway, leans against it. Watches as you take another sip of your wine before putting the glass down on his dresser. Dean has walked around you, one of his hands running over your front and he’s raising the other, tugging at your shirt.

“Jesus, Dean, take it a little slower.”

It’s out of John before he even realizes what he’s saying. Dean’s head shoots up and he looks at his father while Sam, who was approaching you, turns around to face him. They both look like they’ve been caught at something, the way they always do when John speaks. But you don’t. 

You’re smiling. One of your hands goes up and back, running over Dean’s cheek. John feels the storm of arousal inside him pick up. He takes a slow breath.

“Kiss her neck first, she likes that,” he says and your smile widens before you contain yourself. Dean doesn’t move for a second and then lowers his head, brushes your hair to the side and then kisses the exposed, soft skin there. Your eyes fall shut and your lips part. 

John did that. Well, technically Dean did, but really, John did it, without even touching you. He pushes himself off the doorframe and walks over to the armchair you picked out for his bedroom. He’s used it mainly to throw clothes on, but now he realizes it has another function as well. Maybe that’s the one you had in mind the whole time.

He sits, leans back. Dean’s still kissing your neck, slowly, caught up in it, lost in it. Sam has stepped closer to you, fingers of one hand gently resting on your hip and nothing more. Your eyelids flutter open and you focus on John.

He sees you press your ass back against Dean and it’s almost like he can feel the phantom pressure of your movement against himself. Dean responds, kissing your neck harder, holding you close all while Sam watches, a distant smile on his face.

“Get her on the bed,” John says. “Take off her jeans.”

Dean’s hand drops off you and in the same moment, Sam leans down, wraps his arms around you and lifts you. You squeal, throw your arms around Sam’s shoulders as he starts carrying you towards the bed. John’s pretty sure that sound, joy like that, hasn’t ever been heard in the Winchester household. Not since Mary, anyway, and even then...

Sam drops you on the bed and then gets over you and you’re still giggling, at least until he kisses you and instead you sigh. His hand goes to the button of your jeans, opening it quickly, practiced. John doesn’t know what Sam’s dorm room looks like, but he has a strange moment where he imagines the two of you there, on some dingy bed, clothes strewn everywhere. It’s not where you belong. It’s not where you should be.

Sam breaks the kiss, moves and starts tugging your jeans down. You lift your ass, help him by wiggling, bottom lip caught between your teeth to contain your grin. It makes John’s heart flutter and his dick twitch. He shifts a little, but he’s not giving in right now.

Sam finishes pulling your jeans off, drops them off the bed, then leans down, kisses your leg, slowly making his way up again. Too slowly. John needs to see you.

“Her panties, Dean,” John says and Dean, who has been standing there, maybe waiting for an instruction on what to do next, complies. Sam presses another kiss to the inside of your thigh, then drops down next to you. You turn your head to him and you two continue kissing while Dean walks up, fingers snaking up your hips to the waistline of your underwear. He pulls them off you, you helping much less this time with how Sam is distracting you, but then you’re tugging at Dean’s arm, breaking the kiss and turning to him. You grab his face, kiss him deeply, hurriedly. Dean’s eyes fall shut while his hand finds your thigh, squeezing. 

Sam’s hand goes to your chin, dragging you away from his brother to kiss him again. They’re both so hungry for you, and John can’t blame them. Dean, rather than wait his turn again, moves down the bed and then positions himself at the foot of it. Right between your legs.

Dean dives in like a man starving. John opens his mouth to say something, tell him to take it easy, that he isn’t bobbing for apples here, but then he sees your pussy, stops, too mesmerized by the sight. He feels that tug inside himself again, stronger than before. He told himself he’d wait until the boys are finished with you before he takes his turn. Right then, he’s not sure he can wait that long.

Dean licks at you, then sucks your clit into his mouth, making a hiccupy breath leave you as you pull your legs up a little. Slower, John wants to say. He wants to savor every second. His sons don’t know how fast things go, how quickly everything passes. They don’t understand that when you find something good, you need to take your time with it.

Still, you seem to like what Dean is doing as one of your hands goes to the back of his head, fingernails scratching over the skin high on his neck, and John swears it alleviates the tension in his own head, the one that’s just always kind of there. An involuntary groan leaves him, loud enough that you must notice.

You stop kissing Sam, turn your head to look at John, there on the other side of the room. Your eyelids are already low, your chest rising and falling heavily. You lick your lips before you speak.

“John, come here,” you say but John shakes his head slowly. 

“Not yet,” he says. “Later, princess.” He expects you to question him, to challenge him, even, but you don’t. You just give a slow nod, like you understand. Maybe you do. Of course you do. You’ve understood everything else about him so far.

Your free hand goes to Sam’s chest, slowly travels down to his crotch. John can’t see what you’re doing from where he sits, but with the sound of a zipper and the way Sam’s eyes fall shut shortly after, he can make an educated guess. Sam’s hand goes down his body, maybe to assist you while Dean keeps licking and sucking at you. 

Dean moves his arm, hand going up to between your legs as he begins teasing you this way too. Maybe he does have some technique, but John’s too distracted by the expression on your face to pay much attention to it. Your eyes are closed, a soft smile on your lips. You’ve got one man in your hand, one between your legs and another watching you - it seems you’re more than happy with the arrangement. 

As Dean keeps going, you begin rolling your hips, small sighing moans that might as well be the songs of angels leaving you. Your breathing is picking up as you let Dean carry you higher and higher. When your hand starts turning into a fist on the back of his head and Dean grunts at the pull, John knows you must be close. 

“How about one of you boys starts fucking her?” John says, a small tinge of teasing in his voice. Your eyes snap open, focusing on him and he gives you a wolfish grin. “She clearly needs it.”

Your mouth drops open, but then Sam is already pulling his shirt over his head. Maybe he needs you first, John thinks, as he focuses back on you while Sam takes off his t-shirt, then pulls down his jeans, the way he’s lying on his side making the movement awkward, even with your assistance. Maybe that’s the assurance he needs.

Sam manages to kick off his jeans and then he apparently can’t wait anymore. Dean moves out of the way just in time to not have his brother kick him in the face as Sam rolls you over so that you’re lying on your front before he gets over you. He kisses your shoulder over and over while his hand goes between your bodies, searching, and then you are pressing your ass up, and a second later Sam pushes himself into you.

Both of you moan at the feeling, at the union, and through it all John needs to make a fist. It should be him doing that to you, giving you that first intense stretch, the one you need to adjust to a little. Which, speaking of, Sam barely gives you any time to do. He pushes himself up a little, begins shallowly thrusting into you and you immediately moan again, louder this time. It makes sense that Sam knows what he’s doing. Still, John thinks. He would do better.

Dean has stood up, taken a step back, and is watching as well. He’s worrying at his bottom lip, eyes going over the scene before him. There’s not really any way to get to you in this position, but he seems reluctant to say anything. John doesn’t have the same reservations.

“Sam,” he says, and he has to say it again because Sam is too enthralled with driving into you, forehead pressed against the back of your head to be as close as possible to you. He looks up, then turns his head only a little, not actually looking at his father but signaling he’s heard. 

“Don’t keep her all to yourself,” John says. He bites back a comment about having taught his sons about sharing. Mostly because he actually hasn’t taught them about that, but also because he’s not sure how far he can push Sam. There’s the distant worry that he might snatch you away from them, might end this whole thing if he thinks his brother and father are getting too cocky. On the one hand, John’s not sure if he would have the balls to actually do it, or if you would go along with it. On the other, he’s very much not willing to risk it. There’s a line, and he can approach it but not cross it.

Sam stops moving, halts for a second, then pushes into you, quick, rough, one more time, making you gasp, before he pulls out, pushes himself off of you. He’s breathing hard, but looks over at his brother.

“Sure you wanna follow that act?” Sam says, side of his mouth twitching in a suppressed smile. It’s enough to shake Dean out of his stupor. He steps towards the bed again just as you’re turning yourself around, opens his jeans as he does.

“Bitch,” he mutters in Sam’s direction. 

“Jerk,” Sam fires back immediately. 

“Don’t fight,” you say, grinning up at Dean who’s approaching you. He leans down, grabs you around both ankles and pulls you toward the edge of the bed. You laugh and a broad smile breaks out over Dean’s face. You sit up a little, just enough to start tugging at Dean’s shirt, enough to hurry him up as Dean tears his clothes off himself in his bid to get to you.

Just like Sam, he doesn’t have the patience to take all of his clothes off before climbing over you. He stumbles only a little when he steps out of his jeans and knees onto the bed and you help him push his underwear down and then he’s over you, kissing you, as you wrap your arms and legs around him. Dean presses himself against you and you playfully nip at his lip, once, twice, before Dean pulls his head back, narrows his eyes at you.

“What?” you ask, teasingly. “Just want a taste.” Dean raises his eyebrows. 

“I’ll give you a taste,” he says and you grin, then reach your hand between your bodies.

“All talk,” you say and Dean clenches his jaw, either at your teasing or at the fact that you find him. He adjusts himself and then kisses you again when he pushes in. 

Your head drops back as Deans starts rolling his hips, starts fucking you, slower and gentler than Sam. You turn your head to the side and when your eyes open again, they’re on John.

“Such good boys,” you say, voice breathy. “You really raised them right.”

John’s never associated sex with laughter, with outright joy. He still doesn’t, but in that moment, he can’t help the snorting scoff that comes from him. The fact that you are fucking all three of them stands in stark contrast to your statement. You grin at John’s amusement, but only until Dean picks up his speed and your eyes flutter shut again.

Dean is watching you intently, watching the effect he is having on you as he keeps thrusting into you. He pushes himself a little higher to give himself better leverage, to drive faster into you, which is what he starts doing.

Your noises are becoming louder, more urgent. Your legs wrap tighter around Dean and you’re curling your toes, moving your hips along to support his movement. You turn your head to the other side, searching out Sam who has been watching, stoking himself languidly. 

“Baby,” you say, breathless, “come here.” Sam does, comes closer and John assumes you’re gonna start blowing him, but Sam reaches you, hand going down your body to between your legs, barely avoiding Dean as he starts petting your clit. You whine loudly, eyebrows drawing together as Sam rubs you, hard and fast.

It seems to almost become too much for you for a second. The stimulation must be intense and John can see the muscles in your stomach and thighs twitching but then you crash into an orgasm, head going back, neck stretched as the most perfect, pained sounds leave you and you come, shuddering all over before Sam pulls his hand back again.

Dean groans loudly and John knows what he feels, knows the perfect ripple of your pussy, has felt it and without meaning to, one of his hands goes to his crotch, palm rubbing over the jeans fabric, pressing. He’s hard as steel, and he really shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s like he’s been hypnotized. The urge for you grows stronger suddenly, impossibly strong.

He snaps back into the moment when Dean groans again, eyes squeezing shut, shoulders shaking and he must come, because he stills, almost whines and then nearly collapses on top of you. He rests his forehead against your neck as you run your hands over his back, catching your breath.

But Sam’s not having it. He waits another second, then shifts, before speaking.

“Move, dude,” he says and Dean blinks, raises his head. He groggily pushes himself up, not giving any lip back at his brother for once, pulls himself out of you, but not without squeezing your thighs. He stumbles off the bed, then stands, immediately reaching down to grab his boxers. His t-shirt is hanging off the side of the bed and before Dean can reach it, Sam reaches for it, then presses it between your legs, wiping his brother's spendings off of you. Dean looks up from pulling up his underwear a second later, face contorting.

“Come on, man!” he says but Sam isn’t listening, tosses the shirt to the side and then reaches for your arms, pulls you up. You follow and Sam turns both of you so that you’re over him, straddling him. You press your hands into the mattress on the right and left of his head, grin down at him while one of Sam’s hands goes to his dick, the other to your ass, getting you to sit up higher.

“That was kinda gross,” you say and Sam returns the grin.

“Wanted me to just leave it there?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “You wanna just be filled to the brim with all of us?” 

In response, you moan, then move higher so that Sam can line himself up with you. He looks down your body, then up at your face again, just in time to watch your eyes fall shut when you sink down on him.

John watches your face too. Watches the softness and pleasure there. He could look at your face forever. He’s breathing hard. You’ll be positively spent by the time he gets to you. He doesn’t mind. 

Sam and you start moving at the same time, you rolling and he thrusting up. It’s clear that despite you being on top, Sam has no interest in letting you take the lead. He grabs two handfuls of your ass cheeks, starts manipulating your movement. You lay both hands on his chest to steady yourself, moan loudly.

John’s close to bursting. He can feel it. He’s pretty sure he’s gonna come the second he enters you. He stays unmoving, though. He can’t come in now - it would throw off the entire… hierarchy, his brain offers. Maybe. Maybe that’s what it is.

His focus is drawn back to you, bouncing there on Sam’s cock, perfect tits on full display. You’re taking it like a champ, seem ecstatic by it, by the way you’re being filled over and over, like it won’t ever be enough. You seem to have an insatiable appetite, which is good, considering you have three men here to feed you.

It doesn’t take long until you’re moaning loudly, biting your lips, pinching your nipples. Sam’s mouth is open as he keeps looking from where he’s disappearing inside of you to your face, unable to settle on any one sight. Dean meanwhile seems to have collected himself somewhat, because he walks over. You and Sam are at the edge of the bed, so it’s easy for Dean to reach out, turn your face towards him and kiss you deeply. You moan into his mouth and then Dean pulls back, his face only an inch from yours.

“Sammy gonna be able to make you come?” he asks, tone cocky. “Or you need any help with that?” You must be close, because you don’t give a quick, snappy comeback this time. Instead you whimper, shake your head a little.

“So close,” you mumble and John might be imagining it, but he thinks he sees a shadow of disappointment pass over Dean’s face, just for a second. Not that he cares, not that it matters with how hard you are grinding yourself down against Sam. You look concentrated, focused and then your eyebrows pull up and you moan loudly.

“Yes, baby, right there, right there,” you gasp and a second later you are shuddering, whimpering loudly as you come again. Dean has let go of your face, but he’s running a hand over your hair, your back. 

Sam’s not done, though, and he keeps thrusting up and finally you start riding him again, meeting him halfway. It’s not long before he pulls up his lip, almost snarling and squeezes his eyes shut, pressing the back of his head into the pillow below.

“Fuck,” he groans, body going slack under you as you slump forward, land on his chest, pressing yourself against him. Your face is turned into John’s direction. There’s a dreamy smile on your face as you come down.

It’s quiet in the room, except everyone’s heavy breathing feeling impossibly loud. Dean’s hand is still on your back, fingers making small circles just below where Sam is holding you.

It’s a miracle that John can stand. He does, and for a moment he’s not sure his legs won’t give out with how little blood there must be running through them. He’s hard, painfully so. He’s not sure he’s ever been harder in his life. He steps closer to his bed and your eyes open, focus on him again. The way you always know just where to find him - it’d be easy to read into that. He allows himself to, just for a moment.

“On your back,” he says, voice low and gravely. “Legs open.”

He knows he can’t ask Sam and Dean to leave, even though he would want to. Right now, it doesn’t matter. He needs you and he needs relief, and it doesn’t matter how he gets it so long as he gets it both. 

You press yourself up, let Sam slip out of you and do what John says. Finally, he thinks. Someone who understands that sometimes he does know what he’s doing. Sam slinks off the bed but John barely notices. He’s too busy watching you position yourself on your back, adjusting until you’re comfortable. He nods at Dean’s already come-stained shirt lying close to you.

“Clean yourself,” he says and, again, without objection you reach for it, do what he asked you to do, then lie back down. 

John looks down at you. You’re completely naked while he’s completely dressed. It makes you look all the more vulnerable, all the more open and ready. He runs one hand over his face, his fingertips making a scratching sound against his beard.

Your chest is still rising and falling. Your eyelids are low, mouth open. The insides of your thigh are glistening with your own wetness and probably leftovers of Sam and Dean. You’re a mess, spent. You should be satisfied, done.

But the way you look up at John. The way one of your hands finds the bedsheet under you, twists it between your fingers. The way your legs are dropped open wide, no shame, no worry, just want. It’d be so easy to feel shame, horror. But you don’t. And so do none of them.

“So this is what you like, huh?” he asks, smiling a little as his hands go to his belt. He wants to just tear his clothes off, have all of your skin touch all of his, but you have given this to him, to him and his sons, so he wants to make sure you get your money’s worth.

“You like just being fucked stupid?” he asks. “One man ain’t enough for you?”

It’s teetering close to the edge of what might be acceptable to say, but John can’t care in that moment. You run the tip of your tongue over your top lip.

“Are you just gonna talk?” you ask. “Or are you actually gonna do something?”

John freezes and although he’s not looking at them, he’s pretty sure Sam and Dean do too. He looks down at you and you seem so absolutely unafraid of him. It’s the moment he realizes that doesn’t happen a lot. The people he spends time with tend to be scared of him. But you’re not.

His hands drop off his belt and he puts one knee on the bed, leans over you. His eyes roam over your face, then your body while he slowly shakes his head. He raises one hand, then his fingertips land on your skin, where it’s extra soft on your stomach and slowly wanders lower. He finds your wet warmth, gently touching.

“I think you need to watch your tone,” he says, voice low. You give him a challenging grin. 

“Or what?” you say. John sucks on his teeth while he thinks, his hand no longer moving. 

He looks up. Sam and Dean are standing back, almost at attention, watching. He doesn’t need to say anything - he looks at them, then nods at you. Sam huffs through his nose, understanding first. He’s put on his briefs again, then steps closer to the bed, crawls on it just far enough to reach you. Your eyes shoot up at him and John loves the look of surprise he sees there. Looks like he actually got one over on you for once. He silently congratulates himself just as Dean follows suit, also leaning over you.

John’s fingers dive into you, two of them, and he nearly closes his eyes at the feeling. A small gasp leaves you, turns into a moan when Dean’s hand goes to your breast, your nipple, rolling it between two fingers. You blink but seem to have a hard time keeping your eyes open. Sam’s hand goes to your face, cupping your cheek. Thumb running over your bottom lip.

John crooks his fingers, presses them against you, against the soft spongy spot inside of you. Your hips buck up but you’re not going far with the three men there over you. Dean keeps teasing your nipple and your mouth drops open, allowing Sam to push his thumb in. You greedily begin sucking on it.

It doesn’t take long. The sound John’s fingers are making is loud, only interrupted by the animalistic noises you are making, pressed out between Sam’s digit. You’re whimpering like a hurt animal and when you fall apart, it looks like you’re possessed by an angry spirit. John keeps going, pressing hard against you and your high doesn’t seem to end as you inhale and exhale quickly, harshly. Sam pulls his finger out of your mouth and Dean pulls back too, and a moment later your hand shoots down, grabbing John’s wrist and pulling his hand away from you.

You roll to the side, still moaning on every breath. John lays one large hand on your hip, watches as you slowly calm down. You haven’t let go of his wrist, your hand still clenched around it.

“Oh God,” you mutter. “Oh God, that was…” You don’t say what it was, but John thinks he has a pretty good idea. He sighs, fingertips gently tracing your skin.

When you blink your eyes open, that cockiness isn’t there anymore. It’s not driven out of you, but it’s replaced with something else - determination. You let go of John’s wrist, but only so your hands can find his belt, finish opening it. He lets you. He feels strangely unhurried all of a sudden, despite the fact that his erection is still straining in his jeans.

You take him out, give him a slow, cursory stroke. John closes his eyes, release so close he can taste it. When he opens his eyes again, you reach out for him, arms open and welcoming. He takes a shaky breath.

He doesn’t have it in him to take his clothes off. He pushes his jeans down and he feels like a volcano bubbling over. He’s sure his belt buckle and the zipper of his jeans might be scratching at you, might be uncomfortable but he doesn’t care. He just doesn’t.

You drop your legs open and he goes into you as easily as a hot knife into butter. You’re that ready for him. You bring your head up, press your forehead against his. It takes him a handful of thrusts, and if he was the same man he was before he met you, he might be embarrassed at that but, again, he can’t seem to care. 

His moan is long and deep and he feels like he goes blind and dumb for a second. He empties himself into you with a fierceness that could scare him. But it doesn’t. Because all is right.

He lowers his head and you land a soft kiss on his cheek. He could fall asleep, right now, right here, while he softens inside of you. It sounds tempting. But then you move, just a little, and with the last bit of strength he has, he rolls off you so he doesn’t smush you.

The back of his head meets the bed and he stares up at the ceiling. His mind - and his balls, for that matter - have never been so empty. But his heart is filled up when he feels you move, and then you are pressing yourself against him, one arm going over his chest, cheek pressed against his shoulder. John wraps his arm around you, fingers lazily tracing your skin.

“So,” you say, voice muffled by how close you are to him, “who’s gonna carry me to the shower? Cause I’m pretty sure my legs don’t work.”

Sam’s the first one to snort and John feels you raise your head, probably look at Sam, maybe grinning at him.

“Lazy,” Dean comments and you click your tongue. 

“You try taking three loads, Winchester,” you say, and Sam gives a high-pitched laugh while Dean expresses his disdain at your suggestion.

The three of you keep bickering, but John barely hears it. He’s turned his head, is looking at you, your easy smile, your beautiful face. 

Is this working? he asks himself. Did they actually, among all this horror, find something that just works? It might be fucked up and weird, and John knows that if he thinks too closely about it, he might ruin it. So he doesn’t. You look at him, smile, before shooting something else at Dean or Sam, he’s not even sure, because something is sneaking up on John that he hasn’t known in a long time.

It’s peace.

It’s a few hours later and John is making his round through the house. It’s something he started doing when Dean was born and then never stopped. From the habit of a young father to that of a seasoned hunter. 

He moves the curtain in the living room to the side with one finger, looks down the street. Blinks, narrows his eyes. It’s snowing. Soft and quiet and white everywhere. He didn’t even notice.

He looks for a second longer, then turns, walks out of the living room. Turns off the light behind him, then walks over to Sam’s room.

The door is ajar and he pushes against it gently to look inside. The bedside lamp is on. You’re lying on your side with Sam behind you, eyes closed, his arm slung over you. Your hair still looks a little wet from the shower. Both of you are breathing deeply and slowly, peacefully. John’s eyes wander down, and he sees Dean lying next to the bed on the ground. He has a pillow and a thin blanket and his arm is thrown over his face while he’s gently snoring. A loyal guard dog.

John takes two steps into the room, quiet. Before he turns off the light, he lowers his hand, brushes a strand of hair out of your face. You don’t wake.

He pulls the door with him when he leaves the room but doesn’t close it. He wishes you had fallen asleep in his bed, but he doesn’t feel sore about it. Maybe some other night you will. Or maybe holding you while you sleep is Sam’s terrain only.

John climbs into bed, stretches. Tiredness pulls at him, but it’s a good kind of tiredness. An intense one. 

He’ll wake up to his sons and you and peace in the house. He saw the presents you put under the tree that you specifically asked him to buy. It’s a small, shabby one and he didn’t have any decoration for it, but you’ve bought some folded paper decoration that you’ve attached to it. It looks wonky but sort of sweet.

In all the excitement leading up to the day, John didn’t get you a present. It’s just not something that’s been on his mind, but he swears to himself that he will get you something. He doubts that whatever is waiting for him in the small package adorned with his name is something expensive, but it’s about the principle. He’ll get Sam and Dean something nice too. 

Snow falls gently outside and the house is quiet. Dean sniffs in his sleep, scratches at his nose. Sam pulls you closer in his sleep and John, if anyone would believe it, has a content look on his face as he closes his eyes. It’s their first family holiday in a long, long time, but it’s gonna be a good one.