Chapter Text
It wasn’t awesome. Or Stiles had very different definitions of awesome than they did.
Witches were everywhere, and the fact that they might be just clueless humans sucked into this mess against their will made them reluctant to use deadly force. That left them with no other choice than to literally beat their way through the coven.
Getting into the church was no big deal. Just like Stiles told them, the hexbags - oh sorry, the charms - made them invisible for the spells surrounding the place, despite the dozens of runes they saw on their way in. Sam made a note to ask for the recipe later.
He tried to keep an eye on things as they worked, even though it was complete chaos in there. Most of the witches looked like soccer moms and regular, golf-playing dads, but there was a strange, greenish light in their eyes every time they cast a spell that Sam haven’t noticed before, and that sent a shiver down his spine.
Dean - as always - moved fluently and effortlessly. In such close quarters most of the witches had no time to cast, too reliant on their powers to expect to be punched in the face.
Stiles, on the other hand, had different methods.
From his pocket he pulled out a bunch of small, round pellets, no bigger than one of those hard, old school bubble gums. He threw them in the air one-by-one and used his bat to smack them into the crowd of witches.
Every time the pellets hit, there was a shout, a cloud of dark green smoke, and a witch ending up knocked to the floor. And they always hit.
Sam didn’t have much time to watch, but he could have sworn that he saw one of the pellets make a curve in the air when the person it was aimed at tried to get to cover.
What the hell.
Fighting themselves through thirty people wasn’t easy, despite the obvious advantage of experience they had, and he lost sight of Stiles, choosing to keep close to his brother instead.
By the time everyone in the church was on the floor they were both sweaty and a bit bloody. There was a cut on Dean’s forehead, sluggishly oozing blood and Sam had a tear on his shirt, where a spell grazed him. Even though it came right at him, front and center.
He suspected that it was somehow Stiles’ doing.
The warlock was nowhere to be seen, and Sam was almost about to ask if his brother seen him, when a woman appeared on the gallery in the front of the building.
“You again!” She shrieked. Dean made a disgusted little noise beside him, because the woman appeared to be wearing a mask. And not just any mask, but the front part of a skull.
Seemed like they found the last of the ghost’s remains.
“Hey there, lady,” Dean said, pulling out his gun. “That’s a nice piece of accessory you’re sporting. Family heirloom?”
She laughed - or more like, cackled , seriously, it was kind of cliche. Witches were rarely original.
Instead of answering, she started chanting, opening her arms wide and murmuring words they couldn’t quite catch, but Sam was sure they didn’t really wanted to either.
Dean shrugged and shot her. It should have been an instant kill, but instead the bullet stopped just short of reaching her, a previously invisible, eery green shield lighting up around the witch.
“Damn it,” Dean said, and the next second they had to duck, because the bullet was coming right back at them, smashing into the wall where Dean had been standing.
“What the hell?” his brother asked, as the chanting grew louder. Sam fell on a knocked out coven member, and it took him a moment to get her long, blond hair out of his face.
“I don’t know,” he hissed back. “Where’s Stiles?”
They peeked out from behind the old, flaking benches, and just like he heard them, they spotted their warlock, sneaking up on the witch, with his bat raised high. He seemed unharmed, except for a bloody nose.
As they watched Stiles wiped his face and slowly smeared his blood on the bat. The whole thing lit up like a christmas tree, with spidery, yellowish runes. Sam couldn’t remember them being there before.
Unfortunately the flash of light was enough to grab the witch’s attention, but by the time she spun around, it was too late. Stiles swung at her with full force, her head catching fire the second the bat smashed her mask to pieces.
“Shit,” Dean said as the burning witch lost her balance and tumbled over the railing of the gallery with a bloodcurdling scream.
She landed with a rather uncathartic thump.
“I told you it will be awesome!” Stiles shouted, his voice echoing of the church walls, making Sam snort. Sure he did.
***
They stumbled into the hotel room when it was already light outside. Somehow it didn’t even occur to any of them to drop Stiles off at his Jeep.
“Oh god, I need to wash up,” Stiles said, he sounded giddy from adrenaline and exhaustion. Sam could sympathize, going so far as to elbow Dean in the side when he tried to object.
Stiles disappeared into the bathroom, and they started undressing, seeing if everything was okay. His side was a bit singed, but other than some redness and a slight sensitivity he appeared to be okay.
Dean was already cleaning the cut on his forehead in front of the little mirror they kept in the first aid kid. Thankfully it wasn’t deep, and he could see his brother hesitating if he should even waste a bandage on it. In the end Sam took one out himself and plastered it on.
“Thanks,” Dean said, making him raise an eyebrow. His brother was uncharacteristically silent. It might have been tiredness, but Sam didn’t think so. Especially not with the way his eyes kept glancing towards the bathroom door.
They rarely worked with others - too many bad experiences. But this time felt different; Stiles didn’t let them down, didn’t ask for things they couldn’t give in return. If they haven’t just killed someone, Sam would have said that it had been sort of fun.
He could feel the left-over excitement still coursing through his veins from it. Hunters - in general - were adrenaline junkies, it was part of the trade. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about how Stiles looked up on the gallery, covered in blood but not showing a hint of hesitation. He’d been confident and… dangerous.
Shit, Sam was getting hard, and the memory of those clever lips wrapped around his cock was not helping things.
From the look of things, Dean had similar problems too. Forced proximity - among other things - made Sam familiar with how his brother looked when he was thinking about sex, and that was the exact expression on his face.
Their eyes met just as the bathroom door opened, Stiles stumbling out. His pupils were blown wide, still riding the high from mortal danger.
“Well, it’s not brok- oh, hey… You guys are looking fine,” he said, spotting them just sitting around shirtless.
Sam licked his lips, but before he could do anything, Dean was already up, crossing the distance to Stiles in two long steps and pressing the warlock up against the wall.
Stiles made a little sound of surprise, but it quickly turned into a moan when Dean kissed him.
Damn, that was hot.
He didn’t know what to do for a second, but then just shrugged and walked over, stopping behind his brother, close enough for their bodies to touch and started working on Dean’s jeans.
When they broke apart and Stiles saw what he was doing he whined, head thumping back against the wall.
“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” he said, hands roaming everywhere; long fingers combing through Dean’s hair or squeezing down around Sam’s arm.
Sam grinned, because it looked like they were actually going to do this, and went for Stiles’ pants as soon as his brother’s were on the floor.
Dean started pulling on the boy’s shirt, though it was a bit difficult with the way he couldn’t stop going in for more kisses.
***
Sam couldn’t remember how they ended up on the bed, too horny and dazed to pay attention to the details, all he knew was that he was on his back, and Stiles felt like perfection around him, bouncing on his cock and moaning every time Dean bit down on the long column of his neck.
“Shit, yeah,” he said, grabbing the boy’s hips and helping him along, hips twitching up as they tried to get his cock deeper into that sweet hole.
“I can take more,” Stiles breathed, eyes closed and pink mouth open.
Dean grunted something, that Sam couldn’t hear from the blood thrumming in his ears. Fuck, everything felt so good.
“I want more,” Stiles added, voice sounding rough as he ground his ass down hard enough to take Sam’s breath away.
Dean laughed, breathless, and a second later Sam hissed as he felt a well lubed finger pressing against his cock fucking the boy’s hole.
Shit. Were they going to…
He had to squeeze his eyes closed as Dean wiggled a finger in. Stiles moaned and then whined - high and needy - when he added a second.
Sam didn’t think they would fit. He already felt like he was dying from the pleasure, and he couldn’t imagine what Stiles must have felt, but to his astonishment Dean managed to cram three of his fingers into him, beside Sam’s considerable girth.
“I’m good, I’m good, so good, come on,” Stiles babbled. Dean looked at Sam over the boy’s shoulder. They never did this before. Sure, there have been… things they did. Fucking the same person right after each-other… jerking off together, but this. This was different.
Sam nodded, stilling Stiles and bracing himself.
He couldn’t breath when Dean pressed his cock right up to his, inching his way inside painfully slow.
Stiles fell forward panting and grunting and scratching at anything he could reach, but he held on. When Dean finally managed to get all the way in it was almost too much. Sam didn’t think he ever felt such incredible tightness around his cock, not to mention the fact that his brother’s hot, hard dick was right in there with his own.
“Fuck… Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck,” Stiles whined, making him gasp out a chuckle.
“You’re doing so well,” Dean said, and Sam couldn’t tell who it was directed at. Maybe both of them “You two just stay still, and let me…”
He hissed as he pulled out and then carefully pushed in again, the drag of his cock against his own sweet and excruciating. Stiles must have felt the same way, because he went completely boneless. Sam put his arms around his back, and had to bite his lip when Dean gave him a little grin.
Shit, he never felt so good in his life.
Dean picked up speed quickly, adding a bit more lube. The pleasure building between the three of them was like a tightly curled, red-hot spring, just waiting to break free and unleash all that dormant energy.
Stiles started pressing sharp little bites into his skin, pulling up bruises here-and-there as Dean really started to fuck him, but Sam didn’t mind it. He didn’t mind it all. He reached down, palming the globes of the boy’s ass and squeezing down. It made Dean grin wider.
He looked like he was at the end of his rope too; hair ruffled and brow sweaty. All they needed was a little something…
Sam stretched his arm until his fingers reached Stiles hole, where all three of them were connected, running the tip of his index finger around the tight, sensitive ring stretched to the limit. It made Stiles jerk, his hole twitching and squeezing down around them it a perfect way… and that was it.
Dean cursed, his hips slamming forward just as Sam’s back arched, his release hot and urgent as his cock jerked in the boy’s hole. He could feel his brother’s doing the same.
Stiles moaned, rutting against Sam’s belly until he could feel him going rigid, his come getting their skin wet and sticky.
Fuck.
***
The next morning - or more like afternoon - they woke up alone with Dean. Stiles was long gone, with only a note on the small coffee table.
Next time I’m pitching ;D
“A fucking wink emoji?” Dean said, sounding perplexed and fond at the same time. It made Sam laugh.
Yeah, maybe next time.