Sam/Dean/Tony. NC-17. ~1000 words.
The thing about Sam was he liked kissing.
Dean sunk deep into the cushions, his legs sprawled out long in front of him. He had to give the guy credit; the living room looked ultra-modern and uninviting, but with the fire crackling away, a couple tequila shots and some beers, it was downright cosy. Best way to unwind after a day in the garage.
“I have a brilliant idea,” Tony said, downing the last of his beer. The supply he had on hand is nothing short of miraculous. “You two should make out.”
Sam looked equal parts doubtful and intrigued. “We should?”
“Definitely. Right now.” Tony gestured vaguely in their direction with the empty bottle. “So I can watch.”
Slowly, Sam said, “You want to watch us make out.”
Dean slugged him in the shoulder. Seriously, one beer turned Sam into an idiot.
“What’d you do that for?!”
“The man’s got a point, Sammy.”
“I do,” Tony agreed, even though it wasn’t really a point at all.
Dean fisted a hand in the front of Sam’s tee and yanked. He liked the startled noise Sam let out when they were suddenly face-to-face. “The man wants you to kiss me. You gonna?”
“Well.” Sam raked hand through his hair. “I guess.”
“Okay,” Tony said. He deposited his beer on the table and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face intense. “Ready? Go.”
Sam let out a quiet snort on the way down to lay one on him. Dean quickly wet his lips, enjoyed the anticipatory flutter in his gut, and obsessed only a tiny fraction about how fucking hot the weight of Tony’s expectant gaze on them felt.
The thing about Sam was he liked kissing. Really liked it. Practically turned it into a form of fine art. Dean was never sure if it was going to start out sweet, with a little lick, a nibble, as if Sam had to coax his mouth open when he really, really didn’t, or if Sam was just gonna dive right on in while Dean struggled to keep up.
This time, Sam went real slow. He cupped the back of Dean’s neck, thumbs curved just behind his ears, and followed the line of his jaw up to his mouth. Sam barely nudged their lips together before going off again, up over his cheek to press an open-mouthed almost-kiss there.
Dean considered complaining. It wasn’t that he minded slow–hell, sometimes all he really wanted to do was fuck long and lazy the whole damn day. Tony just sitting there, watching, was like a good half-hour of foreplay. Dean was ready for the main event.
“I know what I’m doing,” Sam murmured.
“You sure do,” Tony said. Dean glanced over to see him inching closer to the edge of his chair. “Keep going. He likes it.”
Okay, so that was enough to earn at least token protest, but Sam chose that moment to actually kiss him. One minute he was opening his mouth to bitch, the next he’s got Sam’s tongue in the way, tracing right along the edge of his teeth. He made a second attempt when Sam drew back, about as half-hearted as the first, and really didn’t care when Sam licked whatever he was gonna say right out of his mouth.
Completely unnecessarily, Tony said, “Keep going.”
Sam’s lips curved against his. Dean made sure to tighten his grip on Sam’s shirt, just in case he got any stupid ideas about being a tease.
Sam made self-satisfied sound, like all he wanted to know was how bad Dean wanted it, and caught Dean’s bottom lip between his own, gave it a little nibble and a tug. Kept on going, tongue sliding over Dean’s lips, between them, nudging and pushing and pulling until Dean’s mouth felt hot and puffy and he didn’t have the sweetest clue which way was up anymore.
He jerked when a hand slid up between his legs, not because both of Sam’s were still turning his head this way and that for the best angle of attack, but because he honest to Christ didn’t hear Tony move.
Sam muffled the noise Dean couldn’t quite hold back, and Tony leaned in, mumbled right in his ear, “Gonna get you off now, ‘kay?”
“No problem,” Dean said, slurred by Sam’s mouth dragging over his. Helpfully, he flung one leg over Sam’s, spreading his knees wide to give Tony as much room as he wanted to work. A couple quick tugs and Tony was reaching in, pulling Dean’s cock out with a sure grip.
So maybe Dean was kinda hoping for Tony to suck him with that smart-ass mouth. Sam wrapping one wide, rough hand around his dick right next to Tony’s was a pretty good trade-off.
Sam’s grip on his chin went hard. He whispered, “You, too,” as he turned Dean’s face to Tony, offered up Dean’s mouth like a prize.
Dean made a noise he planned on denying later, opening his mouth for Tony to take as he liked. Sam stayed close, short, hot puffs of breath on Dean’s cheek, and then they were sharing his mouth like they were sharing his cock, everything slick, too fucking good to be real.
All that slow heat built up like a sucker punch in slow motion. He came hard, felt Tony’s hand smear come back over Sam’s, groaned into Tony’s mouth as their fingers tangled wet around him, stilled. It was almost impossible to get his breath back when any slight twitch made his stomach jerk.
“Good idea,” he finally croaked. Sam made a vague sound he decided to take as agreement.
“Know what else is a good idea?” Tony asked, flopping back without letting go. Dean’s thigh twitched so hard his foot hit the coffee table.
“Beer?” Dean offered.
“Beer’s good,” Tony said. “But no.” He gave Dean one last quick peck on the lips. “Me next.”