Nothing Left To Fear

17

Dean lies on his stomach as Cas rubs the expensive medicinal oil into his back, thumbs down into the places where the muscles butt against each other and grinds the pads down, to work the knots free.

Dean grunts against the thumbs, against the hard cock rubbing at the back of his thigh. The thick thighs on either side of his own where Cas kneels above him to better work his hands into the meat of him.

This isn't sexual, yet.

It will end in Cas fucking him, it always does, but for now it's about working out the kink in Dean's back, and the hitch in his calf that always bothers him come spring.

Dean's too young to feel so old.

Castiel's hands are sure and firm and the oil is just the right side of hot, menthol, cinnamon and eucalyptus burning just enough to ease the tension, the knots at the back of his neck, the pulls across his back, the hitches in his legs. Castiel knows what he is doing and under his hands Dean will come undone. Castiel doesn't judge, he merely moves his hands where he know they will do the most good.

"I want to fuck you." Dean drawls into the pillow, not quite sure where that comes from.

"As if you'd enjoy that." Castiel smirks, Dean can hear it in his voice. He wonders how the camp would react if the angel showed how he really was, demanding, wistful, yearning; cut adrift from Heaven and drunk on sensation.

He is as fierce at fucking as he is at fighting.

Knuckles drag across a dimpled rib, broken and bound only when it had started to heal. Palm across the gritty pebble-dash skin along a hip where he was dragged behind a car. Finger tips over the curving tattoo of rowan that binds together the sigils on his back, making an item of beauty of the ugly scars from an attempted flaying. He has a Hunter's beauty; pocks, scars and tears.

In contrast Castiel's skin is unmarked and only wrinkled from his vessel's human life, before Castiel took his body and made it his own. There are calluses on his neck from the torque, and on the third finger of his left hand, where his vessel wore a ring. He doesn't anymore.

He squats over Dean, ass on the back of his knees, erect cock rubbing at the muscles of his ass, as he rubs the tension from his skin.

Then content that the worst of it is done he begins the last phase, the one that turns Dean to jello in his hands, using the balm as lubrication he begins to scratch, long hard pulls down his back and Dean sighs into it.

Castiel chuckles as he runs his nails along the back, following the contours of muscle, along his sides, pushing that little bit harder over the rib cage than the fleshy underbelly. He rolls Dean over underneath him, and Dean's eyes are wide and shattered, pupils as large as pennies with relaxation. Castiel smiles as he continues to scratch.

"Oh, if I'm interrupting." Jo says opening the door.

"If you want to intrude," it's a drawl from Castiel over his shoulder, "there's always space for one more."

Dean pushes the angel off him. "It's fine, Jo, you weren't interrupting, I was getting a back rub." He stands up, careless of his nudity around her, after all this is Jo, who had a crush on him once but has always been a sister. "Say what you will but his back rubs are heavenly, want one?" he looks at the angel who shrugs.

"Bobby wants you," Jo says stepping across the room and pulling off her tee to reveal her gone grey in the wash bra, "I'm game, angel, are you?" And Dean is torn because he wants to watch, pulling on his jeans as Jo slips off hers. She's tiny and almost unscarred, as dangerous as any of them but with a doll bright beauty and curves as soft as the curls in her hair. It wouldn't be the first time he's crossed the line with Jo, it wouldn't even be the last.

"When you're finished with Bobby, are you coming back?" Jo asks over her shoulder, kneeling on the bed in front of Castiel, hands reaching around to unhook her bra.

Dean considers it for a moment, then he nods. "I think I will."

"Groovy," Jo says with a wicked smile.

Dean agrees with Cho's assessment without even hearing what he's saying about biblical somethings and Vatican something else. Bobby wants his counsel but his head is full of the image of Jo, small and perfect, sprawled out on his bed with Castiel's hands all over her.

"If he can survive the winters then he's more than welcome. Tell him what Farfarello said, see if he can make sense of it."

Bobby nods but looks at Dean shrewdly, "the demon's mad, you know that, he rambles."

Dean shrugs as he turns back to the door, towards where Jo and Cas are waiting on him, Cas rubbing the tension from her body with large blunt fingered hands, "it's never stopped him being right."

When he gets back to the cabin Jo is puissant under Castiel's hands, arching her back just so and rubbing her hips, barely contained in her striped cotton panties, into the mattress. The angel is talking to her, deep and low, and not in words Dean can recognise, Enochian perhaps, or Greek, an old language of noise and touch and sex.

Cas doesn't turn back, says nothing as Dean toes off boots, pulls the old knit pullover free, and then unbuttons his jeans. Jo knew this was coming. Cas pulls one hand from the curve of her hip where he clutched a little too tight, and pushes it down along the swell of her ass into her panties. Jo makes a hitched little curse, "fuck" under her breath, riding back unto the hand even as she chides, "warn a girl when you're going to do that."

Even like this she is in control and they are the toys she has chosen to pleasure her. There are rules to fucking Jo, and the two of them know them well.

Dean, naked now, soft still, because Jo isn't here for that, pulls away her panties to give Cas more room to play. He still has the oil on his hands, bitterly hot and sweetly cold at the same time and rubs Jo hard, three fingers dovetailed together.

Dean takes place to the left of her, running his hand down her back, the other holding him upright. There are rules here, places they're allowed to touch and how, with a soft bite to the curve of her ass Cas lifts her and slips his head underneath to lick and bite and suck and pull as Dean pushes at first one finger, then two, then three, inside her, rocking in the opposite rhythm to Cas, supporting her through the first orgasm, the second and the unrelenting third.

When she's done, Dean wipes his fingers off on the sheet, she rolls over, breasts splayed, a sated queen amongst them. Her thighs fall open as Cas uses his hand to wipe his face, wiping most of her away before he leans in to Dean. Satisfied, Jo will watch, devastated by skin hunger she'll run her hands up and down her arms, over her thighs, avoiding her over excited vulva, but she won't touch them, as Dean gets on to his knees, as Castiel pushes in a little too hard. When it is over, when Dean is as completed as she, then Cas will offer, and she will refuse. That too is one of the rules. Dean won't mind, he'll watch with the same hunger she did, but Castiel belongs to Dean, they just let her play.