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beansideWhoohoo! It's two months late, but finally! ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
coolwhipdiva, thank you so much for your patience! I hope this lives up to your bid!
Title: All the Sinners Saints
Authors:beanside and nilchance
Verse: Of Bastard Saints
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean/Andrew
Disclaimer: So not mine.
Notes: This is the epilogue for the series, set about 17 years after the conclusion of Bastard Saints.
It had been a shitty day. Not surprising, really. Y’know, being that it was Hell, but still. Didn’t being Lord of Darkness cut you some slack?
Apparently not.
Andrew sighed, rolling his shoulders. Fucking goblins and their fucked up territorial bullshit was turning the Fields of Flame into the goddamn Gaza Strip. And of course, the little bastards wouldn’t listen to Levi, no. They had to air their grievances with the head dude.
Head dude? Jesus. Even after fifteen years, he still sounded like he’d just died. Andrew closed his eyes, grief stabbing him anew. Fifteen years. Had it really only been that long? Felt more like an eternity since the last time he’d seen them, yet sometimes, he swore he could still smell them. Dean’s crappy aftershave, and the foofy shampoo Sam used.
He dropped his sword with the wraith who took care of those things, let it strip him of his armor. It lowered its head, staring at floor. “My Lord. Someone is waiting for you in your office. Levi told them to wait for your attention.”
“Thank you.” Great. Another idiot to deal with before he could rest. Andrew stomped up the stairs to his door and opened it, glancing around for his visitor. Nothing came into sight until he noticed that his chair was tilted a bit, a pair of dirty boots resting on the dark wood of his desk.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Andrew snarled.
The chair spun, booted feet landing on the ground, and jade green eyes met his with a crinkled smile. “Hey, pumpkin.”
For a moment, Andrew thought his knees were going to go. And wouldn’t that just be humiliating? Finally, he forced his legs to move, slowly coming closer. “You weren’t supposed to—God, I’m so sorry. What happened?”
Dean shrugged. “Dad felt the need to save some kid from the path of a possessed bus. He didn’t quite get out of the way.” His lips curled wickedly. "But hey, I was on top when we went."
Andrew studied him for a second. He’d aged, and there were a few new scars, but there was a peace in his eyes that he hadn’t seen before. Taking the last step, he threw himself onto Dean’s lap and wrapped his arms tight around Dean’s shoulders.
Dean didn’t even hesitate, just wrapped Andrew into a hug. “I’m still pissed at you,” he muttered, fumbling hand cupping Andrew’s cheek, kissing him hard and desperate.
“I know. I couldn’t let her hurt you,” Andrew whispered. “I love you.’
“I missed you,” Dean choked. “God, Drew. Love you.’
A thought occurred to him, and Andrew lifted his head. “I guess with Jess being down here, Sam is-“
“Going to be here soon,” Dean said, stroking Andrew’s back, touching his face. “Apparently, she’s already got a girlfriend, so…”
“Oh.”
“Sorry, you’re stuck with us,” Sam murmured, threading his hands through Andrew’s blond hair, pulling his head back for a kiss. “Hey, Andrew.”
“Sam,” Andrew breathed, letting his eyes close, letting himself feel for the first time in fifteen years. “God. You’re really here.”
“Well, yeah,” Dean snorted. “Pay attention.”
“That was rhetorical, asshole.” Andrew bit Dean’s lower lip, kissing him hard.
“So now, what?” Sam asked. “We’re your bitches for eternity?”
“I think you have that backwards, dude.” Dean’s hands tightened in Andrew’s hair, and he moaned low in his throat.
“Mm. Good point.”
Andrew leaned forward and bit Dean’s throat, smiling when he arched up. He wasn’t going to contest the point of who was going to be who’s bitch right now. Now when Sam was stripping his shirt off, big hands stroking over his skin, calluses scraping just right.
Not when Dean was helping him stand up, reaching for the buttons of his pants. Dean went down to his knees so sweetly in front of Andrew, full lips just waiting.
And fuck, that mouth was worth every torturous second of the last fifteen years.
Sam pulled Andrew close, settling him between strong thighs, pressing him back into the line of his cock, hard and hot through the fabric of his jeans.
Dean stripped him quickly, and even after fifteen years, Andrew knew better than to comment on the fine tremors in Dean's hands.
He shuddered, torn between closing his eyes and savoring the first touch, or never looking away again. Fifteen years of celibacy.
Dean's tongue darted out, teasing lightly along the underside, and Andrew bit his lip against the hiss of pleasure. Then, Sam's teeth found his shoulder, and it slipped out anyway, his fingers sliding into Dean's hair, tightening. "God, I-"
Sam licked his ear, murmuring sweet words of utter filth, telling Andrew all the things they were going to do to him, all the ways they planned to make up for lost time. He was so focused on Sam's deep voice that it took him a moment to realize that Dean was sliding down his cock, taking all of him in one easy movement.
"He's gotten good at that," Sam observed. "Such a dirty little slut for your cock, isn't he?"
Dean narrowed his eyes, but Andrew could see the way his hand slid down to squeeze himself. "That's it, Dean. I don't want you coming until you're in my ass-" His voice broke as Dean's other finger slid back, just stroking over his entrance, teasing him.
"That's it, make him come," Sam purred. "Want to see you slide in him while he's all fucked out and loose."
"And what--oh, fuck," Andrew whimpered as Sam bit down again, this time on his shoulder. Marking him.
"Ours," Sam growled. "Fucking ours."
"Yeah, always," Andrew managed.
It was almost too much. Dean's mouth, God, that mouth, and Sam's hands roaming over his chest, pinching nipples, his mouth working at Andrew's throat. He couldn't catch his breath, couldn't-
Dean's finger slid into him dry, the catch and burn adding another sensation. "Dean, I'm. I'm gonna-"
That finger found his prostate, pressing relentlessly, and Andrew's finger's tightened in his hair. The pleasure shattered through him, remaking him washing away fifteen years of grief and loneliness.
When the aftershocks died, he found himself pressed between them, Dean stroking the tears he didn't remember crying off his face. "I love you too, Drew," he whispered softly. "Now quit being such a girl and let me fuck you."
If he hadn't seen the tears standing in those green eyes, Andrew might have been offended. "Can we take it into the bedroom, or are you going to make me kneel on the desk?"
"I don't know," Sam chuckled. "Is the bedroom furnished by evil Ikea, too?"
Andrew laughed, turning in their arms to kiss Sam. "I missed you, too, smartass."
"Love you, too. Andy."
"Oh, Jesus, don't start that again," Andrew groaned. "I am not an Andy. Drew, okay. Andrew, even better, but for fuck's sake, Sammy."
"Okay, okay, Drew," Sam murmured, kissing him again. "So, where would that bedroom be?"
coolwhipdiva, thank you so much for your patience! I hope this lives up to your bid!Title: All the Sinners Saints
Authors:
beanside and nilchanceVerse: Of Bastard Saints
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean/Andrew
Disclaimer: So not mine.
Notes: This is the epilogue for the series, set about 17 years after the conclusion of Bastard Saints.
It had been a shitty day. Not surprising, really. Y’know, being that it was Hell, but still. Didn’t being Lord of Darkness cut you some slack?
Apparently not.
Andrew sighed, rolling his shoulders. Fucking goblins and their fucked up territorial bullshit was turning the Fields of Flame into the goddamn Gaza Strip. And of course, the little bastards wouldn’t listen to Levi, no. They had to air their grievances with the head dude.
Head dude? Jesus. Even after fifteen years, he still sounded like he’d just died. Andrew closed his eyes, grief stabbing him anew. Fifteen years. Had it really only been that long? Felt more like an eternity since the last time he’d seen them, yet sometimes, he swore he could still smell them. Dean’s crappy aftershave, and the foofy shampoo Sam used.
He dropped his sword with the wraith who took care of those things, let it strip him of his armor. It lowered its head, staring at floor. “My Lord. Someone is waiting for you in your office. Levi told them to wait for your attention.”
“Thank you.” Great. Another idiot to deal with before he could rest. Andrew stomped up the stairs to his door and opened it, glancing around for his visitor. Nothing came into sight until he noticed that his chair was tilted a bit, a pair of dirty boots resting on the dark wood of his desk.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Andrew snarled.
The chair spun, booted feet landing on the ground, and jade green eyes met his with a crinkled smile. “Hey, pumpkin.”
For a moment, Andrew thought his knees were going to go. And wouldn’t that just be humiliating? Finally, he forced his legs to move, slowly coming closer. “You weren’t supposed to—God, I’m so sorry. What happened?”
Dean shrugged. “Dad felt the need to save some kid from the path of a possessed bus. He didn’t quite get out of the way.” His lips curled wickedly. "But hey, I was on top when we went."
Andrew studied him for a second. He’d aged, and there were a few new scars, but there was a peace in his eyes that he hadn’t seen before. Taking the last step, he threw himself onto Dean’s lap and wrapped his arms tight around Dean’s shoulders.
Dean didn’t even hesitate, just wrapped Andrew into a hug. “I’m still pissed at you,” he muttered, fumbling hand cupping Andrew’s cheek, kissing him hard and desperate.
“I know. I couldn’t let her hurt you,” Andrew whispered. “I love you.’
“I missed you,” Dean choked. “God, Drew. Love you.’
A thought occurred to him, and Andrew lifted his head. “I guess with Jess being down here, Sam is-“
“Going to be here soon,” Dean said, stroking Andrew’s back, touching his face. “Apparently, she’s already got a girlfriend, so…”
“Oh.”
“Sorry, you’re stuck with us,” Sam murmured, threading his hands through Andrew’s blond hair, pulling his head back for a kiss. “Hey, Andrew.”
“Sam,” Andrew breathed, letting his eyes close, letting himself feel for the first time in fifteen years. “God. You’re really here.”
“Well, yeah,” Dean snorted. “Pay attention.”
“That was rhetorical, asshole.” Andrew bit Dean’s lower lip, kissing him hard.
“So now, what?” Sam asked. “We’re your bitches for eternity?”
“I think you have that backwards, dude.” Dean’s hands tightened in Andrew’s hair, and he moaned low in his throat.
“Mm. Good point.”
Andrew leaned forward and bit Dean’s throat, smiling when he arched up. He wasn’t going to contest the point of who was going to be who’s bitch right now. Now when Sam was stripping his shirt off, big hands stroking over his skin, calluses scraping just right.
Not when Dean was helping him stand up, reaching for the buttons of his pants. Dean went down to his knees so sweetly in front of Andrew, full lips just waiting.
And fuck, that mouth was worth every torturous second of the last fifteen years.
Sam pulled Andrew close, settling him between strong thighs, pressing him back into the line of his cock, hard and hot through the fabric of his jeans.
Dean stripped him quickly, and even after fifteen years, Andrew knew better than to comment on the fine tremors in Dean's hands.
He shuddered, torn between closing his eyes and savoring the first touch, or never looking away again. Fifteen years of celibacy.
Dean's tongue darted out, teasing lightly along the underside, and Andrew bit his lip against the hiss of pleasure. Then, Sam's teeth found his shoulder, and it slipped out anyway, his fingers sliding into Dean's hair, tightening. "God, I-"
Sam licked his ear, murmuring sweet words of utter filth, telling Andrew all the things they were going to do to him, all the ways they planned to make up for lost time. He was so focused on Sam's deep voice that it took him a moment to realize that Dean was sliding down his cock, taking all of him in one easy movement.
"He's gotten good at that," Sam observed. "Such a dirty little slut for your cock, isn't he?"
Dean narrowed his eyes, but Andrew could see the way his hand slid down to squeeze himself. "That's it, Dean. I don't want you coming until you're in my ass-" His voice broke as Dean's other finger slid back, just stroking over his entrance, teasing him.
"That's it, make him come," Sam purred. "Want to see you slide in him while he's all fucked out and loose."
"And what--oh, fuck," Andrew whimpered as Sam bit down again, this time on his shoulder. Marking him.
"Ours," Sam growled. "Fucking ours."
"Yeah, always," Andrew managed.
It was almost too much. Dean's mouth, God, that mouth, and Sam's hands roaming over his chest, pinching nipples, his mouth working at Andrew's throat. He couldn't catch his breath, couldn't-
Dean's finger slid into him dry, the catch and burn adding another sensation. "Dean, I'm. I'm gonna-"
That finger found his prostate, pressing relentlessly, and Andrew's finger's tightened in his hair. The pleasure shattered through him, remaking him washing away fifteen years of grief and loneliness.
When the aftershocks died, he found himself pressed between them, Dean stroking the tears he didn't remember crying off his face. "I love you too, Drew," he whispered softly. "Now quit being such a girl and let me fuck you."
If he hadn't seen the tears standing in those green eyes, Andrew might have been offended. "Can we take it into the bedroom, or are you going to make me kneel on the desk?"
"I don't know," Sam chuckled. "Is the bedroom furnished by evil Ikea, too?"
Andrew laughed, turning in their arms to kiss Sam. "I missed you, too, smartass."
"Love you, too. Andy."
"Oh, Jesus, don't start that again," Andrew groaned. "I am not an Andy. Drew, okay. Andrew, even better, but for fuck's sake, Sammy."
"Okay, okay, Drew," Sam murmured, kissing him again. "So, where would that bedroom be?"
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