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"Fuck, Cas! I fucking told you - "
Dean was yelling flat out, and Sam wished desperately that he would knock it off. He dragged the back of his hand across his forehead. It came away covered in blood. They were back in the motel room - oh, that's why Dean is so - and, wow, the floor seemed to be approaching at an odd angle. What an ugly carpet, Sam thought, but the mustard yellow swirls twisted into gray as he hit it with a dull thud.
Sam came to a moment later. He opened his eyes to see Cas's hand moving away from his face, two fingers folding delicately back toward his palm. Cas hadn't even looked down when he healed him - just a feather-light touch in the middle of the lecture he was delivering to Dean. He let out a shuddery breath as the world righted itself again. Thirty seconds ago he had been getting his ass handed to him by two demons, the knife kicked way out of reach and blood in his eyes, clouding his view of the warehouse. They had been in way over their heads. Sam could feel the adrenaline still pumping through his body, and he had to dampen down the instinct to head for the nearest exit. Cas had gotten them out in time. They were back at the motel. There weren't a dozen demons between him and his brother and the door anymore. Cas was speaking sternly, and the words cut through Sam's lingering hypervigilance.
" - sit idly by and allow your foolish bravado to cost the lives of you and your brother."
"Please," Dean spat. "And what about my fucking car, huh, Cas?"
"I will never understand your ridiculous aversion to traveling with me. That barbaric machine is hardly as important as your wellbeing."
Sam decided he'd better stay right where he was, ugly carpet and all. The last thing he remembered, other than the boot he had taken to the face, was Dean telling Cas at top volume that they were fine, he had this, and to back the fuck off. Dean shuffled toward the door in the too-quick, jerky way that meant he was seriously pissed off. He turned left and then right again, indecisive, opening and closing his mouth with furious little snaps. He lifted his finger and jabbed it toward Cas.
"You - "
A pause. The snap of Dean's teeth hitting together.
"Don't you dare - "
"Dean," Cas said.
"She is not a machine," Dean spat.
He was out the door in seconds, and he slammed it behind him as he went. Cas stared after him, face as impassive as ever, but tension running through his shoulders. Sam pulled himself to his feet. He rubbed a weary hand over his eyes, head aching from something other than injury, now. Cas had given Dean the perfect excuse by insulting the car. He knew Dean was stubborn enough to hike all the way back to the warehouse so he could keep telling himself he was mad about the Impala and not about Cas bringing them back here before the fight was done, for making the executive decision to pull them out without regard for Dean's pride.
"It will take him hours to walk to the car," Cas said.
Sam rubbed his hand against Cas's back, feeling the worn fabric of his coat and the tension of the muscle underneath. Cas stood, brooding and pensive and gazing at the door, long after Sam gave up trying to talk to him and crawled into bed. After hearing the low rumble of the Impala pulling into the motel lot, Cas disappeared at the first sounds of Dean's key in the lock, leaving him to crawl into bed next to his brother. Sam awoke just long enough to find Dean's hand under the covers and tangle their fingers together before falling back asleep with slow, easy breaths.
*
Dean could not believe that it had been two weeks and Cas still hadn't apologized. Sure, he was currently refusing to speak to the angel and going out of his way to ignore him whenever he was in the room, but he hadn't expected Cas to ignore him right back. The three of them were on a hunt near Lancaster, Pennsylvania and Dean had a feeling that by the time they left this diner Sam wouldn't be speaking to him anymore either. His brother was sitting next to him in the booth, bracing his elbow on the table and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.
"Sam, would you please tell Dean that if he has something to say to me he can address me directly," Cas said.
"Dude?" Sam said. "Pot, kettle, here."
Cas frowned and was probably opening his mouth to tell Sam that he didn't understand his reference when Dean cut in.
"Sam, tell Cas that's not going to happen until he goes out there in that parking lot and tells Baby he's sorry for abandoning her," Dean said. "And that his stupid angel ass doesn't get to teleport us around without our say-so."
Hell if he was going to be the first to break. He had a legitimate reason to be pissed. Dean felt a little sick, though, when he looked across the diner table and saw Cas's untouched plate. Whenever they went out to breakfast, Cas would order a side of hash browns to avoid questions from the waitresses, and then he would slide it across the table to Dean once Dean finished his food. Today, Cas had left the slowly cooling potatoes exactly where the waitress had put them.
"Sam, please inform Dean that I will not apologize to his car as obviously it is incapable of understanding speech," Cas said. "And that I will also not apologize for valuing your lives - "
That was the last straw. Screw Cas and his self-righteous lectures about saving them when they'd been just fine for their whole lives without any meddling angels poofing them clear in the middle of a fight. He knew both of them thought he was pissed off about the car. And he was, he definitely was. But he had looked Cas right in the eye when he saw that two-fingered jab coming at his forehead and said "Cas, don't you dare." He knew Cas had heard him. And then Cas had poofed them back to the motel anyway.
"Sam, tell Cas he's an arrogant bag of dicks -"
"Sam, if you would inform Dean that this childish feud cannot -"
"Sam, tell -"
"Enough!" Sam snapped, a little too loudly for the bustling country diner.
An elderly man eating breakfast at the counter turned to frown at the three of them. Dean grabbed the egg and sausage sandwich off of his plate and stomped out to finish eating in the driver's seat. Sam could pay for breakfast. He settled into position behind the wheel, chewing angrily, and watched the two of them through the diner window. Sam was leaning forward and Dean could tell he was speaking in that earnest tone of voice he used when he tried to get them to talk about their feelings. Then Cas was gone. Dean swallowed down the last of his sandwich, frowning at the napkin and prodding at the radio dial and shifting in his seat.
The passenger door opened and Sam climbed in.
"Cas is going to take over recon this afternoon," Sam said. "Why don't you drive us back to the motel and we'll start ploughing through the research."
Normally, Dean would drop Sam off at the motel and then meet up with Cas. But he'd be damned if he was going to crack first. That angel was going to apologize to him, and he was going to hold out until he did. Even if it meant he was stuck watching Sam do research.
The drive back to the motel involved several of Sam's conversational false starts, which Dean avoided easily from long practice. His younger brother was getting more and more frustrated, and it was just a matter of waiting for him to blow up at this point. As he put the Impala in park he could feel his brother's energy shift from frustration to determination. He felt a thrill of anticipation in his gut. They entered the room in silence. Even though he was expecting it, hoping for it, his brother's sudden grip on his shoulder startled him enough that he wasn't sure how he ended up spun around and pressed against the motel room wall with Sam's forearm digging into his throat.
"You. Are. Acting. Like. A. Child," Sam spat.
He was way into Dean's space, their noses almost touching, and Dean instinctively dropped his eyes to the floor. The pressure of his brother's arm across his windpipe and the rush of blood to his cock had the room spinning in seconds, and he let himself lean into it. God, he needed this. Sam had been determined to "not get in the middle" for the last two weeks and other than a couple of half-assed handjobs in the middle of the night they hadn't fucked at all. Sam took a step back and let Dean gasp for air. Dean sank to his knees, still light-headed and panting, and reached for Sam's fly. Sam grabbed his wrist and squeezed. Fuck, Dean thought, as his brother bent his arm around behind his back and went down on one knee himself so that he could force Dean to look him in the eye.
"No," he said. His voice was calm and controlled, and Dean felt his stomach drop to his feet. "That's not what's going to happen today."
They gazed at each other on the floor of the motel room. Sam tugged him closer, knocking him off balance and keeping a firm hold on his wrist. Finally, Dean thought. He didn't fight back, not even for form's sake. He'd been too keyed up for days to bother pretending he wasn't desperate for it. The position was awkward: Dean pitched forward against Sam, his cheek rubbing against the fabric of Sam's shirt, his arm twisted painfully behind his back to keep him in place. Sam's one raised knee was dug into Dean's side, just under his ribs. Dean hoped Sam would draw it out, hit and scratch and bite until he was drunk with it; he hoped Sam would get to the damn point already and fuck him, no prep, right there on ugly-ass carpet with a force that would leave his knees red and stinging for days. He was still panting. The familiar internal struggle between dignity and need, unspoken pleas to be used, humiliated, left aching and spent on the floor. He was so hard. He pushed incrementally forward, even though his wrist burned with the strain, to try to get close enough to rub himself against Sam's erection.
"No, Dean," Sam said.
He spoke softly, almost apologetically, but Dean knew that no matter how sweet his brother's voice could get he wasn't going to get out of whatever Sam had in mind. (That was the difference between Sam and Cas, when they were like this. Sam would murmur soft, loving things while Cas would command, voice hard and unyielding. Dean tried to push that remembered voice from his mind. He was mad at Cas. Anyway, it didn't matter what they said - they both knew how to hurt him exactly right.)
"You've been acting like a brat," Sam said. Some of his earlier frustration had slipped back into his tone. "And you've been putting me in a difficult position. You know how much I love you, and how much Cas loves you, and how much I love Cas, too. But you've been childish and infuriating about this whole thing."
Dean knew what was coming, now. Whenever Sam started talking like that one middle school math teacher he'd had in Illinois (the hot one, the one who wore too-tight pencil skirts and patent leather heels), patiently explaining his transgressions - Dean gasped with the pain in his arm as Sam twisted it further behind his back, bringing his mind right back to the present. He maneuvered him slowly until he was bent over Sam's knee on the floor. It was strangely more humiliating, like this. That Sam hadn't bothered to drag him over to the bed or even a chair, but had instead gotten down on the floor with him. It was condescending, the small exasperated sigh from Sam and the patient tugs on his wrist until he had Dean's hips flush against the inside of his raised thigh. Sam let go of his wrist, then, and reached to press Dean's forehead into the scratchy carpet. His brother's knee was a white-hot point of sharp pain in his side, increasing steadily every time Dean took a breath. His focus zeroed in on that pain as little shivers of desire ran over his skin.
Come on, Sammy, know you're gonna make me beg you to spank me, fucking need you to - an inner monologue that couldn't be said out loud around the shreds of self-control he was still clinging to. It wasn't nearly enough, not yet. Sam's hand was heavy on the small of his back, now, and he pushed down a little, forcing Dean to pant around the knee digging into the softness of his stomach. Closer, now. He felt his restraint slip away as his universe narrowed to breathing, the scratch of the carpet, the burning heat of his brother's palm against his skin. Sam continued to push until Dean gasped out an apology, tiny fireworks going off at the back of his eyes from too little oxygen.
"Sorry," he managed. "'m sorry, Sammy."
"I'm not the one you need to say that to," Sam said.
He held the pressure on Dean's back, not pushing harder but not letting him breathe all the way either. Dean would give him almost anything like this, but he felt a familiar stubbornness creep into his mind and stayed silent. He was right and Cas was wrong. And he sure as hell wasn't going to let his little brother taking Cas's side make him apologize for something Cas had fucked up.
The silence stretched on for several minutes, and Dean heard Sam sigh and felt him shift. Dean realized he was looking at his watch. Condescending bastard. Dean waited it out, even though his whole world had narrowed to the spreading pain in his side and the unrelenting pressure of his brother's hand on his back, pushing him into it, so every breath ached. He was still hard, cock straining against his jeans. He just wished Sam would start spanking him already because he sure as hell wasn't going to have a conversation about him and Cas.
Sam's hand moved abruptly from his back and began to tug at his waistband. Dean hoped for relief from the pressure against his erection, but it only got worse; Sam pulled his pants down just enough to expose his ass cheeks and nothing else, the button of his fly digging painfully into the sensitive underside of his cock. At least he could breathe more easily now that Sam had moved his hand, although the sensation of his brother's fingernails digging into his flesh as he spread his ass had him panting in a different way.
"Are you going to make things right with Cas?"
"Fuck, Sammy," Dean panted.
Sam's hand came down hard, the crack of his palm meeting skin echoing in the motel room. Dean groaned low in his throat. The pain barely had time to register in his mind before Sam's hand was connecting again, and then again, and he could feel himself flushing all over, a heady mixture of heat and shame. He begged incoherently with gasps and moans, but Sam didn't slow down, just kept spanking him with his bare hand, driving Dean's hips harder against his thigh until Dean was sure he would come just from the vibrations each strike sent through his whole body. It wasn't enough, though, not quite, and no matter how he tried to twist he couldn't get any friction where he needed it. Sam took a firm hold on the back of Dean's neck with his free hand, probably because he saw what Dean was trying to do. Dean groaned in frustration, pleading.
"God, Sammy, goddammit, need you to - fuck - " Dean couldn't focus, the whole world was the scratch of the carpet against his forehead, the edge of a button chafing against his cock, the humiliation of his brother's hand on his ass.
Sam had stopped spanking him and was squeezing his hip hard enough to bruise.
"Shh, Dean," he said. "Let's try again. Are you going to apologize to Cas?"
Dean's mind refocused, then, and his body stiffened. Apologize? What the hell did he have to apologize for?
"Fuck you, Sammy," he spat, and felt his brother start in surprise.
Dean jerked away; Sam let him. He wasn't with it enough to stand up or storm out but he curled his body away from his brother and let his breathing slow down. So Sam was siding with Cas now. Well, fuck them. He wasn't going to break just because they decided to gang up on him. He turned his face into the carpet, body language screaming leave-me-the-fuck-alone.
"You know what, Dean?" Sam said. He was angry now, genuinely angry, and Dean could feel the chill in his voice. "Fine."
A book fell to the carpet in front of Dean's nose. He stubbornly refused to look up, even when Sam's shoe nudged it closer to him.
"See if there's anything useful in there," Sam said. "I'm going out."
The door opened. It closed again. Dean glared at the book, rolled over onto his stomach, and rutted against the carpet, one-two-three times before he came, hard but with no satisfaction, with his face buried in the crook of his arm. It took him a long time to get up again.
*
Cas had been watching the hair salon for several hours and had learned many things, none of them pertaining to the case. In fact, he had come to the conclusion that there was no case and that the presumed haunting was a cruel and manipulative tactic by the salon owner's ex-husband, who was attempting to have her involuntarily committed so he could claim sole custody of the two tiny dogs they both had such a strong attachment to. Cas had stayed to continue watching the salon because he could't think of anywhere better to go. The stylists were just closing up for the night, sweeping up bits of hair and wiping down the counters, when Cas heard the whisper of Sam's voice.
"Cas? Cas, are you still near the salon? Are you busy? It's just -" Sam hesitated in his prayer. "I'm back at the diner. Dean's not here. If you have a minute, um - "
Cas was in the diner, sitting across from Sam. Sam blinked. Cas found it interesting that they were still so startled when he appeared in front of them, even though he'd been called.
Sam was upset. Cas could see it in the set of his shoulders, in the way his hands curled loosely on the table, the way he barely reacted when the waitress brought him a cup of tea. He smoothed over her confusion at his sudden appearance, barely a thought. He was focused on Sam.
"You're upset," Cas said.
Sam nodded, his large frame folded in on itself behind the table.
"It's just," Sam said. "It's been two weeks, Cas. I'm sick of it."
"You shouldn't concern yourself with this spat between Dean and I. He needs to learn that your safety takes precedence over his material possessions."
"I don't think it's about the car, Cas," Sam said.
That gave him pause. Dean had stormed out that night after he had insulted the car. He had walked for several hours in order to retrieve it. He had demanded that Cas apologize to the machine just this morning. Cas knew it was not only about the car; Dean had a distinct dislike for Cas's method of transportation. And his pride would not allow him to admit they had been in over their heads in that fight. But, surely, the "silent treatment" was about the car?
Sam reached across the booth for Cas's hand, which he gladly offered, enjoying the warmth and quiet hum of Sam in his grip. The man who had given them a disapproving look earlier that day was now eating a tuna sandwich in the very same seat. He muttered something offensive, but fortunately Sam didn't notice. Cas rubbed his thumb in tiny circles on the back of Sam's hand.
"I just miss you," Sam said.
The man with the tuna sandwich was about to voice his bigotry to the waitress in the guise of a complaint about the standards of the establishment "going downhill." Cas did not want another incident upsetting Sam, so he pulled him to a motel room three states over, a motel they had stayed in two months ago and which was in the midst of a slow season. There was no one currently occupying the room, or either of the adjacent rooms, and Sam looked at him with that hint of awe in the back of his eyes that Cas found so intoxicating. They kissed slowly, and Cas pushed him back onto the mattress with a fingertip. Sam looked up at him, and then he was naked. Cas knelt on the mattress and kissed him sweetly. (Cas did his best to disregard how empty the bed was compared to when the three of them had stayed in this motel, barely able to spread themselves out on the mattress, Dean hissing in annoyance every time their frantic movements caused him to lose purchase and almost fall to the floor as Sam was fucking him hard after a hunt.) Sam gasped his name and arched under him, and his bared throat invited Cas's bite - he sucked love and possession into Sam's neck.
It wasn't long before his fingers sought out Sam's nipples, rough tugs and pinches. Cas had missed this. His near-addiction to the physical, which had become obvious to him in these two weeks without sexual gratification, should perhaps be of more concern to him than it was. He had usually considered sex to be something he did to show the Winchesters his love for them, to speak it in their language, but he could see now that there was something in him that craved their touch as well. Needed it, missed it when it was lacking. Not unheard of, not hardly, for an angel to covet these pleasures of the flesh. Whole cities had been leveled for it. Although he doubted any of his brothers had tasted anything like this.
"Please," Sam was panting under him, and he felt rabid.
His self control had been held tight for weeks now, refusing to break under Dean's juvenile and infuriating "cold shoulder" technique. He bit down on the closest bit of Sam he could reach, canines breaking the skin just enough for a few drops of blood to bead at the surface. Cas ran his tongue over it, slow, soothing licks across the crescent-shaped mark on Sam's chest. He tasted just like his brother, the Winchester brand of sweat and iron. Sam moaned into his touch, pleading, and Cas wrapped a hand around the hard length that jutted up against his hip. He was still clothed, and he rubbed the rough fabric of his suit pants against Sam's sensitive flesh. The things they could do to him. An angel of the Lord, obscene. Sam's hands were warm against his back, even through the layers of clothing he was wearing, and they moved from his shoulders to his hips with strong, sure strokes. Words breathed out between kisses.
"God, Cas, need you, miss you so much," Sam said into his mouth.
A billion years and nothing like this. Never anything like this.
Cas lifted his left hand to pin Sam's wrists over his head with a tug that had him arching up over the mattress. He was beautiful, the bruise Cas had sucked into his neck was darkening and a trickle of blood ran down his chest from where Cas had bitten him. It wasn't enough, though. It had been so long since he'd been able to drown in his lovers, to fill them with his presence, to crowd out everything in the whole world but his love, his need, for them. He could smell Dean on Sam's skin.
"Stay," he said.
He released Sam's wrists. Sam did not relax, but kept his back arched and his arms stretched as Cas had left them. Such a good boy for me, Cas thought. Always. Sam never would pull a stunt like the one Dean had, petty arguments and sulking like a child. He could smell Dean on his brother's skin and see an echo of him in this too-large bed. Cas pulled his belt from his hips with a snap.
*
Sam stared up at Cas, watching the belt. The angel's expression was unreadable. Something in the air had changed between them, a crackle of tension where there had been sweetness a moment ago. Sam stared at Cas and the belt in his hand. It's not like they'd never done this. It wasn't what he'd been hoping for when Cas had pulled him across state lines in the space of a heartbeat - he'd been hoping to talk about the frustrating scene with Dean, to wrap himself around Cas and let the angel run gentle fingers through his hair. But all the fighting had taken a toll on Cas, too. They were all strung out, and Sam wasn't opposed to letting Cas work some of his own frustration out across his skin. He made as if to turn over, lowering his arms and pressing an elbow into the mattress.
"I said stay." Cas's voice was gravel-low.
Sam swallowed, emotions flickering between arousal and fear. He loved that voice, that air of command. It wasn't usually directed at him, though. Cas slapped the belt tentatively across his palm, getting the balance of it. Arousal won out; Sam felt hot and flushed all over. Cas brought the belt down across his chest without warning. Oh, Sam thought. Oh. He was yelling, loud and unrestrained, and hoped Cas had picked an isolated wing of the motel. It hurt more, this way, than the snap of the belt across his ass or thighs. He tried to let go. Cas needed this. He had easily established a rhythm, snapping the belt across Sam's chest and stomach, and it was good, it was. Sam's cock was hard and leaking against his stomach, the intensity of the sensation winning out over the unfamiliarity of it. His breathing was reduced to short little gasps of air.
"Beautiful," Cas murmured.
Sam preened under that soft word. He could do this for his angel. He could take it. He wanted to. It was the satisfaction of a good stretch, that push up to his limit so he could see the look in Cas's eyes that said, Good boy, such a good boy for me, just like he needed. Cas brought the belt down on his thighs. It was just this side of too much but fuck-yes-don't-stop-love-you-need-to-feel-you was still winning out, flashing through his thoughts, disjointed. The blows kept coming, stinging the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs. Red welts littered his skin, and Sam was only half there in the room, sinking into himself. He fought the instinct to snap his legs together, wanting to give Cas everything he had and then some.
His muscles refused to obey; his knees bent toward each other in an attempt to protect himself from the harsh bite of leather. Shame rippled through him as Cas frowned and shifted so that he was kneeling on the lower part of Sam's legs, making it impossible for him to close them. The fear that he had disappointed Cas was like a bucket of ice water, and he felt his erection flag. His thoughts stuttered through an internal pep talk, just breathe, you can do this - right on the edge. Cas moved his strokes up Sam's thighs and struck him between the legs. Once, twice he brought the belt down hard against Sam's cock, and it was too much, it was way too fucking much, and rage and self-loathing and panic punched through him with more force than a bullet.
*
He recognized the exact moment he went too far and hated himself viscerally for it. A shift that would have been imperceptible to anyone else before Sam was recoiling from him on a level where he had never lost purchase before. The precarious balance between pleasure and pain collapsed so, so quickly into just pain and fear and betrayal in his eyes. He hadn't been thinking. No, he'd been thinking about Dean.
"Fuck," Sam managed to get out. "Cas, I can't - I mean it, stop, please - "
Cas had already stopped. It was ridiculous, but he had, in his panic, disappeared and reappeared on the other side of the room. He had just wanted to get out of Sam's space, give him as much room as he needed as soon as possible. He realized immediately that this was the worst thing he could have done. Sam's expression was now one of complete abandonment, and Cas cursed himself for his impulsive reaction. He walked back over to the bed, letting the offending belt fall on the floor, and hovered awkwardly, uselessly, at the edge of the mattress. He wanted to touch Sam; he was terrified to touch Sam.
"I'm sorry," Sam was saying. That wasn't right. Cas overcame his panic to deal with it.
"No," he said. "No, Sam. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. May I - "
Cas reached his hand out, unsure how to request Sam's permission to touch him again. Sam was wincing, his body tense and curled in on itself from the pain, but he reached back for Cas without hesitation. Thus invited, Cas sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his lover to him. Sam leaned against his chest, his panting too-loud in the quiet motel room. His face was drawn with tension, but he didn't cry. He just slid one arm around Cas's waist and held him while his breathing slowed to a more normal rhythm.
"I just -" Sam started to speak. He shook his head, gathered his thoughts. "That's not us, Cas. That's you and Dean. We never - like that. Just, you two need to fix this. Okay? I can't be Dean for you."
"I cannot apologize enough," Cas began.
He knew Sam was right. He had lost track of himself and begun treating Sam like Dean - Dean who needed it to hurt in order to feel it at all, who told Cas his favorite part of sleeping with an angel was that he could fuck you hard enough to send you to the ER and then heal you before you blacked out. Dean who needed Cas to take him apart in order to love him. Or, maybe, to forgive him. It was different with Sam, who wanted to give him everything Dean needed him to take by force.
"You two need to talk," Sam said. "But first, just, take off that old coat and come here."
He was still shaking, but Cas could feel his determination. They were going to push past this, through it, and Cas was done thinking about Dean and all the things they needed to work out. He took off his clothes, one article at a time, the slow, human way to give Sam a little more time to get his nerve back. Then they were kissing again, and his whole world was Sam and the way he uncurled so readily under his hands - hands that traced over the welts he had left on Sam's chest until Sam shuddered and grew flushed with arousal again. Sam's hands tangled in his hair as he began to trace the red lines littering his thighs with his tongue. He kissed Sam's cock, an apology now, the slightest brush of wet kisses along the length of him. He hesitated.
"You're not going to break it," Sam said.
His tone was teasing, but the implication was clear. Cas swallowed his cock down in one smooth motion, grateful. All Cas wanted now was to leave Sam sated, wrung out in the bed with his long limbs flung over Cas's body as he drifted off to sleep. The tension that had gotten the better of him earlier, the pent up frustration and anger at Dean, had burnt itself out. He wanted to taste him, Sam, not the echo of his brother that had distracted him before. Sam groaned, so vocal, always, gasping at each flutter of his tongue. Slowly, Cas relaxed and took control back, pushing Sam's legs wide so he could trail his tongue behind his balls and thrust it shallowly at his entrance.
Sam groaned. His hips bucked. He begged, pleaded with Cas, told him he needed Cas to fuck him, needed it more than air, wanted it, wanted him, always. Cas took his time, ignoring the pleas, struck Sam's thigh with a firm slap when he tried to reach down and wrap a hand around his cock. God, he'd missed how Sam tasted, missed the way he begged. Cas wasn't thinking about Dean anymore. He was too busy drowning in the beautiful, giving man who lifted his hips desperately into the air as if that would make Cas let him come sooner.
He stopped tongue-fucking Sam to sit up and shove his fingers into his mouth, rough, spreading his jaw open. Sam's teeth were smooth against his knuckles, his tongue a strong resistance under the pressure of Cas's fingers. He gagged as Cas pushed four fingers down against the back of his tongue, opening wide for him, such a good boy. Cas pulled his spit-slick fingers free, kissing Sam as his hand found its way between his legs again. Sam kissed back wet and sloppy, panting into Cas's mouth and letting out a little yelp as Cas pushed two fingers inside him while he sucked on his tongue.
"Please," Sam said, over and over again, between kisses.
Cas pulled back so that he could watch his fingers, three now, disappearing into Sam's body. He set an achingly slow pace, exactly the way he knew Sam liked. When he slid a fourth finger, the smallest, into the heat of Sam's body, he ducked his head and wrapped his lips around Sam's cock again. The begging intensified. He dragged his lips from Sam's flesh with a wet pop, pausing long enough to speak before swallowing him down again.
"Good. That's good," Cas said. He put all the force of praise behind it. "Come for me, Sam."
And he felt Sam come apart beneath him, beautiful and shattering. When he came down from his orgasm, Cas pulled him against his side to sleep. He ignored Sam's tired attempts to reach for him, although, he noticed absent-mindedly, his vessel's cock was heavy with need against his thigh. Instead, he held Sam in place until he stilled and, eventually, drifted off to sleep. He took comfort in the measured rise and fall of his lover's breathing.
He would sort this out. They fit too easily in this bed; no one's leg dangled from the edge and no one elbowed for one of the two provided pillows. Perhaps it should be more comfortable, having two men in a bed made for two, but it just felt empty. Cas enjoyed the warm press of Sam's body against his side for several hours, and listened to the quiet noises Sam made in his sleep with a fond smile, before sending him back to his bed in Pennsylvania, not bothering to wake him.
*
Sam had gotten Cas's word that he would make things right with Dean, and he trusted him to keep it. But it was three days and two hundred miles later and Cas still hadn't made an appearance. Sam was barely speaking to his brother, nerves still raw from their tense encounter on the floor of the Lancaster motel. They drove in silence for a little while, but it wasn't long until Dean started trying to provoke him. A song he knew Sam hated turned up to maximum volume. Packing his laptop in the bottom of the duffel instead of on top. Switching the toilet paper roll in the motel so it unrolled from the bottom. Hiding his toothpaste. Eating french fries in bed and "accidentally" squirreling some away under the sheets on Sam's side. Sam ignored it all.
As they rolled into Chester, Connecticut, Sam woke up with the indentation of a seat belt on the side of his face. He rubbed it absently, yawning, before he saw his brother's scheming look. Dean was up to something, again. He whistled as he pulled off the highway just outside of town. Sam steeled himself for the worst.
The motel's sign appeared to have been repurposed from a strip club: a neon woman bending and extending her leg over the blinking word "vacancy." There were not enough letters left lit in the rest of the sign for Sam to make out the name of the place, but it seemed to contain the words "love" and "hourly rates." Great.
He should have expected it, but when Dean turned the key in the lock and opened the door to reveal brothel-red overhead lights and a huge, black, circular bed in the middle of the room he considered turning tail and sleeping in the Impala. Then Dean hit another switch and the bed started rotating with a horrible screeching sound.
"Sounds like someone needs to lube it up," Dean joked.
Sam shut the door behind him and looked for the place to toss his duffel that was least likely to be covered in bodily fluids. There were a lot of mirrors in the room, but little in the way of furniture. He sighed. Not even a chair to sit on - just that ridiculous, still-squeaking bed. Dean had already stripped down to nothing but his jeans and flung himself on the round mattress. He curled his bare toes into the black faux-fur comforter, stretched his arms over his head, and arched into the pillows like a fucking porn star. Sam set his bag on the floor and glared at the switches. He shut off the one that made the bed rotate and let the blessed silence wash over him.
It didn't last long. No matter how determined Sam was to not look at his brother, the obscene and slutty little noises he was making weakened his resolve more quickly than he would've liked to admit. He stared. Dean twisted on the bed, rubbing one calloused hand roughly over his denim-clad cock, whimpering his name. Fuck.
"Knock it off, Dean," Sam said.
Even he had to admit his tone was not convincing. The words had come out a needy growl, and when Dean bucked his hips up and locked eyes with his brother as his free hand reached behind him and down the back of his jeans, Sam was suddenly dizzy with the rush of blood to his cock. Dean unbuttoned his top button and moaned wantonly as he continued to rub himself through the fabric. Sam watched the bunch of muscles in his brother's arm and knew Dean was teasing his hole. Dean's mouth dropped open and his eyes drifted shut, he writhed and whimpered and was so fucking enticing Sam had to clench his fists tight enough for his fingernails to draw blood from his palms to stop himself from grabbing Dean and taking him right then.
"Seriously," he spoke through gritted teeth. "Cut it out."
You perfect little slut, Sam kept himself from adding.
"Make me," Dean said.
"Goddammit, Dean," Sam said. "I am not going to fuck you without Cas. I'm not. No matter how hard you try to rile me up. You fix it with him or enjoy being celibate."
Dean watched him with hooded eyes. His hand was still moving over the bulge in his pants, but with less urgency. He looked scared, a little. Vulnerable. Sam mentally shook himself. He was such a fucking sucker. In the absence of any better idea, he smashed his hand against the switch again so the bed started turning. The screeching of the underused gears set his teeth on edge but at least undermined the thick sexual tension. Dean slowly rotated away from him, looking more silly than alluring now, and Sam fought back a snort of laughter.
"Come on, Sammy." Dean dropped the pretense of seduction and rolled toward his brother, having to continually shift as the bed turned under him if he wanted to keep eye contact. "I can't fucking take it anymore."
"Oh, please," Sam snapped. "Like this is easy for me."
"I'll apologize to Cas, okay? Or whatever. Just come over here already," Dean said. He was still moving in little hops so he wouldn't be stuck talking to the wall.
"Hey, Cas," Sam called. "Here that? Dean wants to say he's sorry. Better get down here."
Because Sam was tired of waiting. Dean's eyes went big, and he looked so absurd flailing around on the bed and opening and closing his mouth like a fish and trying to think of an excuse to take back his half-assed promise to make things right. Too late. Sam heard the telltale flutter of Cas's wings and then he was locking eyes with the angel from across the room.
The bed turned oh-so-slowly until Dean was brought face to face with Cas, and it was so melodramatic Sam almost grinned. Cas stood, grave and serious, and didn't speak until the bed brought Dean all the way around to face him.
"Hello, Dean," Cas said, and Sam lost it. He laughed so hard he choked, leaning against the peeling gray wallpaper. The two of them looked at him like he'd gone crazy, Dean turning his head in increments as the bed turned under him, and that just made it worse. He laughed and laughed, one hand pressed against his side, winded. He could have shut the bed off but decided against it. Eventually, three rotations later, he caught his breath and walked over to the bed. Dean looked at him like he had no idea what to do.
"Dean." Sam let his fingers ghost across the skin of Dean's bare foot as it spun past. "Come on, man. Just tell him why you were so pissed off."
Dean tugged at the comforter under him and avoided their eyes. He muttered something about the car, so Sam smacked the closest part of Dean he could reach - his upper arm - and enjoyed the hiss he got from his brother. A little more grumbling, but Dean spat it out eventually.
"Said no," he said.
It took another rotation of the bed before Dean managed to say more than that.
"I know you heard me. I said no, and you went and poofed us out of there anyway. Without so much as a do-you-mind. We were handling it fine. Okay, maybe not fine, but you still can't just... do that."
Sam was relieved. This has gone on long enough, and two seconds of honest conversation wouldn't kill either of his lovers. Cas was frowning with an alarming degree of head-tilt. Sam waited for him to process. A few seconds ticked by, then Cas's eyebrows shot up and he looked uncertainly at Sam. Sam shrugged.
"Dean," Cas said. His voice had gone soft. He reached out to tangle their fingers together and, bless him, shuffle-stepped to keep holding Dean's hand as the bed turned away from him. It took a few minutes, but Dean eventually looked up at the angel.
"Sorry," he said, and blushed.
Cas was gazing so intently at Dean that he walked right into Sam on his slow march around the bed. Sam didn't mind, and he wrapped his arms around the angel's waist and tumbled them both onto the mattress. His back slammed into Dean's stomach and Cas's knee landed on his wrist but finally, finally he could feel the two of them crowded against him again and he didn't even mind the shrill squeaking that still filled the room. They scrabbled for purchase and bumped into each other a few times before they ended up sitting in a little circle, with Sam's head resting on Cas's shoulder and Dean's fingers wrapped around his ankle.
"I apologize, Dean," Cas said. "I understand why what I did may make it difficult for you to trust me."
"Need to know you're going to stop when I say so, Cas," Dean said. He gazed intently at Sam's ankle, drew patterns against knob of bone so he didn't have to look at Cas. The angel sighed a little. He looked at Sam, but Sam was not going to help him out of this one. They needed to work it out.
"Dean," Cas said. He waited, said it again: "Dean."
Finally, Dean looked up at him.
"I cannot promise I will always be able to get your express consent in battle, Dean. You have to understand that if it is a matter of life or death I will act first, with or without your permission. But I will never, ever not respect your wishes when we are in bed together. Is that what you are worried about?"
"Sorry," Dean said again. "I know it's stupid, I just -"
"It's not stupid, Dean."
Cas continued to stare, sincerity written across his features, until Dean broke eye contact, raised one hand to the back of his neck, and cleared his throat.
"Okay, fine, can we please just fast-forward to the makeup sex already?"
Cas's mouth twitched, half a smile. Sam felt the subtle shift in energy run through their little circle on the bed, and Cas was all authority when he spoke next.
"Come here."
Dean crawled over to the angel without hesitation, as far into his space as he could get, to wrap his hans up in trench coat fabric and grip Cas's tie with his teeth like he wanted to gag on it. Sam could never get tired of watching the instant submission Cas could get from Dean, like a flipped switch. Cas whispered to him and petted his back, and Sam couldn't hear everything he said but understood the sincerity, the promises, the love. Dean's jeans had slipped down his hips, and Sam enjoyed the view, the curve of his brother's ass and the contrast of his tanned skin against the black bedspread. He rolled onto his stomach, propped up on his elbow, and reached a hand to trace along that curve. He smiled up at Cas, who smiled back, hesitating and sweet. Just like that, and they were okay again. The three of them, like it should be.
It didn't take long until the two brothers were naked and Cas's trench coat had been flung to the other side of the room. Sam watched him loosen his tie in one of the many strategically placed mirrors. He found himself warming to the sleazy motel room as he stroked Dean's hair and dragged his fingernails along his brother's scalp. He liked seeing them all in a pile against the pillows. Dean whined, and Cas acquiesced, wadding up his tie and shoving it in Dean's mouth. God, he looked good like that. Dean's eyes practically rolled back in his head with pleasure, and he drooled around the gag in his mouth. He shivered when they touched him. Sam couldn't go another second without tasting his brother's skin, and he bent down to lick and bite his neck. He could feel the blood pulsing under his tongue; Dean's heart was racing.
Cas looked gorgeous, untucked shirt half-unbuttoned and hair a mess. As Cas pulled his belt from his hips, he met Sam's eyes in the mirror. Sam nodded a little and held out his hand for the belt. Cas handed it over, and Sam used it to secure his brothers arms behind his back. Dean groaned around the fabric in his mouth as his arms were forced behind him. Sam made it tight enough to hurt a little. I've got you, he thought as he gazed down at his brother. He knew he didn't have to say it out loud anymore, not when the bite of leather pressed into the soft skin under Dean's elbows said it for him. Cas was biting down on every part of Dean he could reach. Sam shoved his brother onto his side and leaned over him so he could kiss Cas. They took their time, Dean shivering with anticipation between them. Sam could feel his brother's hips twitching, but Dean knew better than to rub himself against the mattress without permission. Sam took pity on him, though, and ran a hand across his chest until he found a nipple to pinch. He was rewarded with a groan. Cas sucked on his tongue, fingers tangled in his hair.
Sam let himself get lost in the taste of Cas and the needy noises coming from Dean. Finally, finally he could relax, crowded onto a bed in a sleazy motel room with both of his lovers moving under his hands. Cas pulled back and regarded him straight-faced but with amusement lurking in the corners of his eyes.
"Sam, I imagine your patience for 'being in the middle' has been thoroughly exhausted over the course of the last few weeks."
Cas raised his hands, fingers curled into air quotes to draw attention to his correct use of a colloquialism. Sam smiled, too full of love for his angel to keep a straight face. Dean couldn't see him, though, so he didn't spoil the tension Cas was drawing out. Cas's voice was low and gravelly as he continued speaking, this time directly into Dean's ear.
"It seems only fair that someone else should take a turn being in the middle. To appreciate the toll it can take."
Sam wondered if this was going where he thought it was going, but he was content to lay back and let Cas drive. The feeling of his brother shaking against him as Cas breathed words into his ear was more than enough. Cas reached his fingers into Dean's mouth and pulled out his tie, soaked through. He looked at Dean expectantly.
"Does that seem fair, Dean?" Cas asked.
"Yes, fuck, anything," Dean panted.
Cas shoved the tie back into his mouth and held his palm against Dean's lips. He addressed Sam, but he was still speaking in Dean's ear.
"Sam, I believe you did not get a chance to finish punishing Dean for his behavior. Why don't you warm him up for me?" Cas said.
God, yes, Sam thought. Cas lifted Dean bodily from where he was curled on his side and manhandled him into position, his face shoved against Cas's hip and his ass in the air. Sam couldn't resist biting it. He earned a little surprised jerk from Dean as his teeth sunk into flesh.
"Sam."
Cas's tone was one of warning, and Sam understood. Cas didn't want him to take his time and draw this out, he wanted Dean overwhelmed and ready for them as quickly as possible. Sam began spanking his brother: quick, brutal slaps that didn't let up until his skin was cherry red and hot. He put all of his weight behind each strike, determined to leave bruises that Dean could savor for days afterward. Dean was moaning into the hem of Cas's untucked shirt, his whole body flushed with arousal. Sam could tell he was on the verge of breaking apart from the way he was shoving his face into Cas's hip, caught up in the feeling of both of them invading his space again, finally. His fingers fluttered as he tested the restraints, arms straining against Cas's belt, and he relaxed when he found it secure. He sniffled a little into Cas's shirt as Sam struck him again and again, and Sam knew it was more relief than pain that provoked such a reaction, no matter how much force he put behind each strike. Almost there, baby, Sam thought. He hovered his palm for a moment over Dean's ass and the heat was electric.
Dean whimpered as he hesitated, just this side of begging. Cas nodded at Sam to keep going. The only thing that ached more than Sam's hand at this point was his cock, and he wished he had a ruler or a hairbrush or even a belt as his palm cracked down again and again, sending little stabs of pain through his wrist. He could feel Dean shedding guilt under his hand, the pent-up anger at Cas and at himself for not being able to confront Cas directly. He could feel the slow burn of humiliation, the kind Dean craved like a drug, from being spread out and spanked bare-handed like their dad used to do it when they were small. Sam knew his brother as well as he knew himself, and this was the part Dean hated almost as much as he loved it, the part right on the precipice of real, raw emotion - a precipice Dean needed the two of them to drag him to and throw him over despite everything in him recoiling from his own need. It went on for a long time before it was enough for Dean to be able to let go under the focused attention of his two lovers and Sam's strong, rapid blows. It was worth it, though, when Dean finally broke and started sobbing against Cas, arching away from Sam's hand, fingers stretching with the desire to cover his abused flesh even though his arms were tied too tightly to move, desperate and wrung out and fucking beautiful.
"That's enough, now, Sam," Cas said.
Sam stopped, relieved, and massaged his sore hand surreptitiously while Cas kissed Dean. The tie had been discarded at some point, and Dean was pouring out a litany of speech: promises, apologies, and pleas all jumbled together and punctuated by the repetition of Cas's name, like it was the only word Dean still understood the meaning of. Cas held him up with one hand and a measured look until he began to be able to breathe again.
Without taking his eyes off of Dean, Cas handed Sam a bottle of lube he must have manifested out of thin air. Sam squinted at the label, wondering what kind of lube angels created when they came unprepared into sleazy motel rooms. Honey flavored, apparently. Sam figured it would work. He needed to invade his brother any way he could, bury himself inside him so there was as little space between them as possible, and he needed to do it right fucking now.
The first finger sank into Dean easily, although he whined when Sam added a second. Fair enough, since he hadn't been fucked in almost a month. Sam couldn't wait, though, not any more. Cas shushed Dean while he slid home a third finger. God, Dean, you feel so good, baby, Sam thought. Can't believe I could go a day, an hour even without doing this. He knew it had to ache, he was keeping Dean on the edge, watching him ride the pleasure-pain line like a fucking pro while Sam pushed into him. So good, greedy, forcing his hips back onto Sam's fingers even though Sam could see him hiss with the burn of it. Sam kept twisting his fingers inside until he felt Dean start to relax.
"Cas, Sam, fuck, please," Dean punched the words out, sweat dripping from his body with the effort of it, repeating the same litany over and over. "Please, please, Cas, Sam, fuck, please."
"Sam, lie back for me," Cas said.
Sam pulled his fingers out of his brother's ass and arranged himself on his back. When Cas asked him to, he steadied the base of his cock with his hand, squeezing for a second to avoid coming just from the anticipation of the tight heat of Dean's body. God, it had been way too long. He hazarded a few quick strokes, but Cas slapped his hand down, as calmly as shooing a fly. Then he lifted Dean in his arms, and after a pause to bite and suck on the nearest bit of him, impaled him on Sam's cock.
There were a few moments of bliss, and Sam thought it couldn't possibly get any better than the full-throated shout from Dean and the velvet grip around his cock. Then Dean started to move, circling his hips and bouncing as Cas tugged on his hair, and Sam decided this is it, this is the thing nothing can possibly get better than. Until Cas slipped a finger into Dean alongside Sam's cock.
"I seem to recall," Cas said in that impossibly deep voice, "that we agreed to show you how it feels to be in the middle."
Sam watched the realization dawn on Dean's face. He felt his brother tremble, delicious little shivers running all the way through him. They'd only ever done this a few times, and every time it had left Dean so completely wrecked that it had taken him days to fully shake off the afterglow. Cas placed his hand between Dean's shoulder blades, gentle pressure that pushed him forward so his chest was flush against Sam's and his head was tucked under Sam's chin, breath ghosting over his collar bone. Sam wrapped his arms around his brother and just enjoyed the shuddery little breaths as Cas worked a second finger in alongside Sam's cock.
"Hold him open for me," Cas said.
Sam felt the high pitched whine vibrate up through Dean's chest as he slid his hands down Dean's sweat-damp sides. He dug his fingers into the cleft of his brother's ass and spread him open. The quick little strokes of Cas's fingers on his cock were driving him crazy; it took all of his will power to keep still and not thrust while Cas opened Dean up around him. Cas whispered filthy things across Dean's skin, pausing to lick and bite. He traced along the edge of the belt binding Dean's arms, tongue wetting the red indentations that Sam knew would be bruises tomorrow. He added a third finger and Dean hollered with his face buried in Sam's neck. Sam was sure he couldn't take it anymore when he heard Cas unzip his pants and felt the blunt tip of Cas's dick nudging up next to his balls.
"Holy fuck, Cas," Sam said.
Dean was beyond words. Sam stroked his sides, up and down as Cas pushed into him, one inch at a time, taking it slow as Sam whispered words of encouragement and praise. He wasn't sure if anything he was saying made sense, because Cas felt so good against him and Dean's cock was slick against his belly where it was trapped between their bodies. It was everything Sam could do to not come right there. He bucked his hips, needing more, needing to feel them.
"Sam," Cas said. "Stay."
Cas's hand on his hip reinforced the command. It wasn't long before Sam was making desperate little sounds of his own. Cas pulled out inch by torturously slow inch, and pushed back in, and Sam needed to fucking move but Cas wouldn't let him. Not yet. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and focused on how good Dean felt in his arms, how hot Cas's cock was against his own. Cas began to thrust in earnest, one firm hand on Sam's hip and the other centered on Dean's lower back. Everything was reduced to the rhythm of Cas's thrusts. Sam didn't even hear the squeal of the bed turning any more, couldn't feel anything but his heartbeat and Dean's heartbeat pressed against it and Cas's cock sliding against his.
Cas sighed when he came, a deep, sated sound. Sam felt Cas's orgasm, the pulse of it, and Dean's voice groaning over it like an animal. Cas pulled out and Sam could feel the angel's come leaking out of his brother, running down over his balls.
"All right, Sam," Cas said, and released his hip.
Sam didn't last long, just a dozen hard thrusts into Dean's loose, fucked-out hole. The feeling of Dean's cock twitching on his stomach as his orgasm hit was the last straw, and Sam came for what felt like hours. Cas pulled Dean, who had gone completely boneless, into his lap while Sam tried to remember how breathing worked. He watched Cas kiss Dean and press three fingers inside him easily, scooping their combined come out of his body and letting Dean lick it off his hand while he made quiet, spent sounds around Cas's knuckles. Still reeling from his own orgasm, Sam listened to Cas murmur to Dean as though from a distance, words they had taught him because Dean loved to have them whispered to him in the dark. He told him how thoroughly they'd used him and how beautifully he'd taken it, told him how he'd ache for weeks from what they'd done to him and that they'd do it all over again before he ever had a chance to recover, a million soft assurances until Dean was able to let Cas untie him and lay him down on the matted, come-streaked blanket.
They settled into a pile of limbs, Dean in the middle but everybody within easy reach of everybody. Sam smiled at their reflection in the mirror on the ceiling. A mess of flushed, sweaty bodies tangled up in each other. Dean whined when Cas rubbed the marks the belt had left in his arms to get the circulation going again, but Sam kissed him through it. They lay quiet and sated for a long time, sweat cooling on their skin. Sam traced elaborate patterns on Dean's chest with one lazy hand. He was so close to falling asleep when Dean shifted and prodded him with his foot.
"If you don't turn this freaking thing off I'm gonna get seasick," Dean grumbled. His voice was still too wrung out for his words to pack any punch. Sam tugged him closer, so their chests pressed together and his nose was buried in his brother's hair. There was no way he was moving from this spot any time soon. He felt Cas's fingers against his cheek and their eyes met.
"I thought there were perks to sleeping with angels." Dean punctuated his sentence by circling his hips back against Cas, rubbing against his half-hard cock shamelessly. Sam pressed a kiss to the top of Dean's head.
Cas lifted a lazy hand and the bed slowed to a stop.
THE END