imagine ransom being that person in the haus to have like what seems to be an unlimited supply of different skin care products - “holster get your flaky ass off me i have some twilight woods you can use” “dex my man, you need stress relief or night time right now?” “bitty listen, i know a thing or two about not being ready for a final so instead of putting it off with baking pop a squat over here and lemme give u a hand massage. white rose or almond peach?” “that shin needs some lovin nursey. oh sensitive skin you say??? *probably pulls out at least three full size bottles of different scents and seven travel sized bottles*” “chowder. chow. my lil sunshine child from far far away. of course i have massage oil recommendations. who do you think i am.”
also jack has a bunch of samples ransom gave him because he was too polite/didn’t know how to shut down his explaining why skin care is so important and thought jack was just really interested. bitty doesn’t complain. (jack “literal soft hands” zimmermann)
Summary: Dean thinks it’s weird and Sam thinks it’s been a long time coming.
“Isn’t it weird?”
Sam looks up from his laptop, brows pinched together. “Isn’t what weird?” he asks, looking at Dean from across the table.
“That Cas is like a bizillion years old? I mean, that’s weird isn’t it?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow at his brother. Sam looks at Dean strangely, a half smile forming on his face.
“I don’t know, man. Maybe. Why is it only bothering you now?”
Dean barely hears what comes out of Sam’s mouth - too deep in thought.
“But like if a human was to - metaphorically - kiss hi - an angel - wouldn’t that be like kissing someone who’s really, really old?”
Sam barely suppresses a smirk. “Um, I’m not really sure. But Cas - or, sorry - angels - aren’t technically human. They’re just celestial intent in a human vessel, so I don’t think that really applies.”
Dean nods, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
“But it’s still kinda weird isn’t it?” Dean pauses, an uncertain look on his face. “Isn’t it?”
Sam smiles. “I don’t know, Dean. Why don’t you go and find out.”
Dean waves his brother off, not really listening to what Sam said as he stands up and leaves the war room.
Two weeks later Dean can barely contain himself. He wants to know. He needs to know. Cas is barely one step into the kitchen before Dean is pushing him up against a wall and pressing his lips against the angel’s chapped ones.
They’re soft despite being chapped. They’re also warm and feel like actual human lips. Dean pulls away only to be greeted by wide eyes.
“That was weird wasn’t it?” Dean asks, and Cas tilts his head. “Was it? I don’t know. Let me try again.” he says, before he pushes back in, sealing their mouths together.
It feels oddly not weird at all. It feels nice. No, it feels better than nice. It feels right. And the best part is that Cas is kissing back and with what seems to be a little pent up frustration. Dean doesn’t know why he would be frustrated.
Dean pulls away again, a little breathless this time. Dean shakes his head. “That wasn’t weird.”
Cas just stares at him, panting slightly before saying, “I agree,” and then he grabs Dean’s jacket by the collar and pulls him back in.
Yeah. That feels really, really good.
When they part for the third time, Dean smiles and much to his liking Cas smiles too.
Suddenly, he turns his head towards where Sam is sitting at the breakfast table in the corner, watching them with an amused look over his morning coffee.
“Is having sex with angels weird?”
Sam nearly chokes.
Dean nods, turning back to Cas.
“I think we should test it out, just in case.” Cas says, looking deadly serious.
Dean smiles, still breathless. “Yeah, I think we should.”
Dean’s never been much for praying. And there are a million reasons why, not that he ever wants to think about them too much. It just isn’t his thing, and that’s that.
But then he’s on his knees, Sam leaning back against the door of some nameless motel, bags dropped next to the on the ugly carpet because they just couldn’t wait.
Dean shoves Sam’s pants down and stares, feeling that same rush he always feels when he sees or touches Sam’s naked body. If there was ever anything worth worshiping, this is it. Sam’s long legs, his tan skin, the messy hair in his face, his hard cock- it’s all sacred. Holy.
Dean leans forward slowly, reverently, mouths as Sam’s cock as gently as it deserves. But Sam pulls at his hair, thrusts his hips, and reminds Dean that he’s not gonna break. Dean sucks hard then, tugging at Sam’s balls, pressing his fingers against Sam’s hole as he bobs his head. As he tries to give Sam all the pleasure he deserves.
Dean groans at the taste of Sam, at the weight of him on his tongue. He can’t help the noises he makes, each one of them a hymn, a cry of thanks and praise to Sam for allowing him this. Sam groans too, fingers trailing over Dean’s face and shoulders, guiding Dean, urging him on, pulling him closer.
When Sam comes, when Dean can feel him pulsing and throbbing against his tongue, he swallows it down like communion. Like having that bit of Sam inside him will save him. Make him clean again.
Afterward, Sam pushes Dean to the bed and undresses him. Dean stays lost in his haze while Sam touches him, runs his hands all over him. Dean arches into Sam’s touch, lets it purify him, lets his body feel every touch like it’s the first and last one he’ll ever get.
Eventually, Sam’s hard again, fucking into Dean fast and deep. Dean clings to him, cries out his name, never closes his eyes. Dean finds redemption while Sam’s inside him, lets go of all his guilt and insecurities, just exists in a few moments of pure bliss.
Afterward, they fall asleep together, legs and arms wrapped around each other, Sam’s hand resting over the necklace Dean wears like a rosary.
Six hours later, Sam still hadn’t broken, but you were getting closer by the minute. You’d used every toy except for the dildo so far, and after the first three hours, you’d allowed him to move from the chair to the bed after removing the cock ring. Every thirty minutes you made Sam swallow a mouthful of ice water. Even soulless, Sam was still vulnerable to dehydration.
Sam was lying prone on the bed in front of you, thick leather cuffs adorned his wrists, strapping his arms above his head, and his naked torso glistened in the lamplight. You’d steadily gotten rougher, more aggressive, but Sam hadn’t used any of the safewords yet. He was definitely putting up a fight about begging, if anything he was getting angry because you hadn’t given in and decided to ride him yet.