So, I picked up this pinch hit!
Getting to Yes
Sam/Castiel, NC-17
Prompt: Castiel is covetous of Sam, but thinks his feelings are purely possessive and asexual. He's an angel and therefore above all that earthly desire shenanigans (or so he assumes). Despite that, he wants Sam's fidelity which Sam would be okay with... if sex were part of the agreement. Sam suggests they experiment with what kind of sexy times Cas might be okay to compromise with. It turns out that Castiel is not as immune from those kinds of things as he originally thought. I'm not looking for any kind of d/s scene, but I would like Cas being toppy and Sam being pliant.
Note: Set in 5x03 (Free To Be You and Me) and ignores S6. With thanks for quick beta by![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
giandujakiss.
Words: ~4700
Artist:chaosraven: see the lovely art here.
When Castiel showed up at the bar, Sam was more than surprised. He was terrified. Castiel did what Dean wanted, and Dean hadn’t called. Dean wouldn’t send an intermediary, so it was like every phone call back when he was a kid, heart seizing up with terror that this was the time he was going to find out that Dad or Dean hadn’t made it back.
The noise of the customers fell away, and Sam clutched his bar towel tight against his chest, unable to move. “What is it?” he managed, when all Castiel did was stare.
“I wished to see you,” Castiel said, which made about as much sense to Sam as ‘fish ten giggle.’
Sam blinked. “Dean?”
For once, Castiel understood the nuances of human communication, or close enough for government work. “Dean is elsewhere. He is safe,” he elaborated, and Sam made himself relax.
“Oh,” Sam said. “Great.” He could’ve wished that to come out more convincingly, but Castiel didn’t seem to notice, instead looking around with his usual eagle-inspecting-the-mice gaze.
“This place. It satisfies your requirements?”
Sam quickly checked to make sure no one was listening, despite the fact that Castiel didn’t exactly fit the customer profile, then leaned forward. “They didn’t ask to see my ID and they pay me enough to get a room. That’s pretty much all I require right now. Can I … get you something? Like, a drink?”
Castiel shook his head. Sam had no clue why he’d be here if Dean wasn’t in need of some kind of help. Sam had fallen all over himself trying to get Castiel’s respect, or at least positive attention, for months after they’d first met, and Castiel had seemed to treat him like Dean’s cross to bear. Eventually, Sam had accepted that Ruby was his lot as Castiel was Dean’s, which was what you got for having demon blood and then drinking demon blood, and he’d tried to forget how much he’d wanted Castiel to watch him the way Castiel watched Dean.
And now here he was, when even Dean had given up on Sam. Why? Growing up, Sam had often complained that Dean and Dad were like blank walls, refusing to give any signals about what was going on inside, but he’d misread anger and fear as lack of communication. Castiel, by contrast, was emitting no information at all. “Okay,” Sam said. “Look, I’d like to talk—” this was not 100% true, but it was true-ish—“but you’ll need to wait until I’m off, at two, and it wouldn’t hurt if you’d buy a couple of beers meanwhile.”
Castiel considered this for a moment, then pushed a couple of folded bills across the scarred-and-slick wood of the bar counter. He tilted his head, and Sam took the money, replacing it with a cold bottle of the closest beer at hand, since he doubted Castiel could even tell what quality was, much less care about its absence.
The time passed, which was about as much as could be said for Sam’s recent life. The job was fine, the people were fine, and the world was going to end soon. Sam tried not to think about that just yet; it was hard enough to clean up every last spatter in the men’s room without a constant drumbeat of ‘what does it matter?’ behind his eyelids. The day was coming when he’d have to get back in the game—in fact, Castiel was probably here to tell him just that—but for now he was trying to rebuild some strength. If he could have found a therapist who specialized in the supernatural, he’d have gone, but unfortunately it seemed that only monsters analyzed hunters. Anyway, Sam had well-earned trust issues. He missed real human interactions, but he couldn’t imagine telling anyone even a trivial truth about himself, as witness his awkward flirtation with Lindsey.
Probably trying to strike out on his own was just as stupid now as it had been when he was sixteen, but he didn’t know what else to do.
Sam poured the beer and replenished the ice. He lugged cases up from the basement and snagged some car keys and called a couple of cabs. He smiled at Lindsey and got smiled back at in return. He ignored the news stories on the TV and pretended to care about sports for the benefit of a few of the regulars. He poured dishes of nuts and wiped off sticky spots.
Castiel sat there through everything, his eyes never leaving Sam. He looked as scruffy as ever, but Sam could also see the avenging angel who’d saved Dean and him so many times: lightning in the shape of a man. He wondered why Castiel was here and tried not to feel any relief that Castiel hadn’t renounced him in order to stand behind Dean. He examined Castiel for any signs of injury, but aside from some tufts of hair standing up in odd places (which was not unusual on Castiel’s best days; the angel had taken Jimmy Novak’s clothes but not, apparently, Jimmy Novak’s hairbrush) he seemed in perfect health. His brows were lowered and his jaw was tight with the inherent annoyance of dealing with humans, or maybe just with Winchesters, the paleness of his lips highlighted by the eternal five o’clock shadow around them. He didn’t look away whenever Sam met his eyes, and each time Sam felt a small shock.
As far as Sam could tell, Castiel didn’t even taste the beers, though every so often Sam would swap out his current bottle for a fresh one. Sam had a quiet word with the owner, making sure that Castiel could stay through close-up, and after a careful scrutiny of both Castiel and Sam he nodded agreement, though Sam noticed that he stayed near the shotgun under the counter while Sam was closing up. Sam respected him more for it.
At long last, Sam was done. “Walk me to my car?” Lindsey asked as he was taking off the bar apron. She watched him roll his sleeves back down his arms, and it felt good to be appreciated, even if only for the externals.
“Sure,” Sam said, “but my friend’s with me tonight, if that’s okay.” He nodded at Castiel, who was watching them with his usual unnerving focus.
Lindsey gave Castiel the same once-over as the owner had. “Okay,” she said, “but only if you tell me how you know him tomorrow night.” She leaned forward and grinned.
Sam smiled back, easily, thinking that he probably wasn’t going to be around tomorrow night because Castiel was going to tag him back in. “Sure,” he said. Lindsey was a sweet girl, and he wouldn’t have minded getting to know her in another life.
“C’mon,” he waved Castiel up, and the three of them walked out into the night chill. Lindsey looked back and forth between the two of them as if she could see that there was some important history there, but she didn’t say anything and of course neither did Castiel. They stood in the parking lot until she’d started her car.
“What now?” Sam said.
“Take me to where you’re staying,” Castiel said. Sam noticed that he didn’t say ‘where you’re living.’ Maybe it wasn’t a distinction that made a difference to an angel.
So then they drove. Castiel as a passenger was eerily still, staring straight forward and not shuffling around, talking, jabbing at Sam or doing anything else Sam expected from a front-seat companion.
Sam was glad when the trip ended. He wasn’t ashamed of his room. It was no worse than most of the shitholes they stayed at, and he was paying for it with money he’d earned. There wasn’t really any place for two guys to sit, though, and Castiel just stood in the middle of the room, not saying anything, so Sam stared right back at him.
“Look, I don’t mean to pry,” Sam said at last, “but what are you doing here?”
Castiel, for the first time, looked a bit twitchy. “That woman,” he said.
“Is she a demon?” Sam asked immediately, reviewing all his interactions with Lindsey from the beginning. “I set up a bunch of Devil’s Traps around the bar, and I thought I’d seen her go through, but if she’s tracking me for Lucifer—”
“Sam,” Castiel interrupted. “Had she been possessed, I would not have allowed her access to you. I meant to ask if you had developed—feelings for her.”
Sam might’ve gaped a bit at that one. “Um. Well.” This was going to be tricky. Compared to Dean he might’ve as well been wearing a promise ring, but he was still a guy, and he didn’t think the truth about his interest in the signals Lindsey was giving off was all that flattering. “I might, I mean, Lindsey’s very pretty, and she’s nice, and she seems to think I’m—well, she doesn’t know what I’ve done. I’ve been thinking, maybe. It wouldn’t mean anything more than the physical, but once in a while I really need that, you know?”
“No,” Castiel said.
“Right,” Sam said, flushing. “Well, people need physical comfort. Most of us.” Honestly, if he’d had Dean around to shove and swat and just exist near, a constant reassuring haze of close-enough-to-touch, he would’ve been able to confine his more erotic desires to the shower. But here, he was so isolated that he was desperate for some contact, even though he’d still have to lie to Lindsey to have more than a three-sentence conversation with her. If she moaned ‘Keith’ while they were having sex, would that shock him out of the moment?
“I don’t wish for you to have intercourse with her,” Castiel announced.
Sam blinked. Then he blinked again. Then he considered asking the angel to repeat himself. Then he realized why Castiel must have spoken up. “Yeah, you’re right, Lucifer would use it against me.” Though Sam would’ve put his life on the line to protect her regardless—she shouldn’t suffer just because she had the misfortune to have Sam show up in her bar—sleeping with her would doubtless attract more attention from Lucifer, and he couldn’t in good conscience do that to another woman.
“No,” Castiel said again. “If you are going to touch another being, I want it to be my vessel’s.”
Holy fuck. Okay, too literal. “Are you saying you want to, uh, sleep with me?” Sam managed. He’d never been smooth even on picking up passes by ordinary human girls—Jess used to joke about the way she’d literally thrown herself at him at Bradley’s party—but this was a whole new level of awkward.
Castiel shook his head. “As an angel, I am uninterested in those aspects of embodiment.” Sam thought he remembered stories about nephilim that said otherwise, but he didn’t interrupt. “However, I do find myself experiencing a kind of desire. I feel that you are in my keeping, and that you ought to cleave to me. I do not want your attentions directed elsewhere.”
Sam had been so amazed to meet an angel, a warrior of God. Then he’d been terrified of what the angels’ hostility meant for him. Then he’d told himself that he didn’t want their respect anyway, not when he was going to have enough power to take out Lilith all on his own. All that had meant that he’d tried to strangle his wonder and awe, ignoring Castiel while betting it all with Ruby. He’d never thought for a minute—He cleared his throat.
“Really? I guess I figured, you and Dean, I mean if there was a you and anyone.” There was a black hole right there, and Sam could feel its gravitational pull threatening to yank him past the event horizon, so he deliberately looked down at his hands. The veins on the back stood out, and he remembered how it felt to have demon blood flowing through them. He didn’t want that, or he didn’t want the evil that went along with it, so he was going to stay clean.
“I am not going to discuss Dean with you,” Castiel said.
“Okay,” Sam said, his stomach dropping.
“You humans are masters of willful misunderstanding,” Castiel said, with all his typical impatience. Sam snapped his head up and found Castiel’s eyes locked on him. “Whatever I say to you now, you will think that Dean has turned to me to take your place. Or that I think to do so. Neither of these are true.”
Sam’s breath hitched in what was almost a laugh. “When did you start understanding people?”
Castiel’s face was still uninterpretable. Maybe in his angelic aspect; maybe other angels would have been able to see gradations of light corresponding to emotions. “Because I have just seen Dean commit these same errors. At the moment, Dean hates me for what I am not, and for fear of the possibility that I might take your place. The contradiction does not occur to him.”
It wouldn’t, Sam thought, and didn’t mean it as a criticism, no matter how much the things he said about Dean came out sounding that way. But Castiel was right. He needed to get himself together, and part of that was not obsessing quite so much about Dean, and demon blood.
“I’m fascinated by your duality,” Castiel said, as if he were continuing an ongoing conversation. Sam’s confusion must have shown on his face, because Castiel actually continued: “Human, but permeated with demonic essence since before you could even reason. Hero and rescuer, but villain and killer. And still you strive to correct your wrongs.”
“I feel like just another monster,” Sam confessed.
Castiel considered this. It was refreshing to be taken seriously, rather than the immediate ‘no!’ (or worse, the immediate ‘yes’) he would’ve gotten from Dean. “I have never entirely understood the rules for designating monsters,” Castiel said at last. “You are human, which would seem to disqualify you.”
“You can be human and still be a monster,” Sam said, thinking of people they’d encountered and the stories that ran on the news every night.
“But then, do monsters grieve their mistakes and their failures? If defined by behavior and intent, you are not monstrous. Tragically misguided, yes, but I fit that description as well. It was not your actions alone, nor Ruby’s, that sent you to the convent. You were manipulated.”
“By you,” Sam finished.
Castiel inclined his head slightly. “And by others. I admire your determination to shake off your addiction. I have come to realize that I—covet your will. It’s like a fire in you, as unquenchable as a star. I am—quite drawn to it. This is why I wish you to turn to me, and not to some innocent, when you seek companionship. I can no longer convey Heaven’s edicts to you, nor do I wish to. But I want you to stay away from her.”
Ordinarily, Sam would have been yelling, assuming this was the latest ploy in the war of Heaven and Hell. Castiel could be trying to get back into the other angels’ good graces; he could be trying to curry favor with Lucifer. Yet neither of those felt right. Sam couldn’t imagine Castiel either slinking home or collaborating in the end of the world. Also, this pass, or whatever it was, was too weird to be part of a plot.
The thing was, reflexive suspicion and defiance had opened him up to be led around by the nose (or mouth, or dick, or love of his brother) by demons and angels both. Sam was thinking that he needed to try something else. For example, he could try figuring out what he wanted.
And what he wanted was someone to care about him. Since Dean wasn’t here, he could even put it better: he wanted someone to hold him. He wanted to feel safe and loved, even if he wasn’t safe in any sense of the word. Castiel was strong and could protect himself—could even protect Sam in many circumstances. So Sam wouldn’t be putting a civilian at risk if he got close to Castiel. Plus, he owed Castiel more than he could ever repay for bringing Dean back (even if it had been under orders and with ulterior motives), and he respected Castiel for thinking for himself and standing up for what he thought was right when push came to shove. Castiel had given up his place in the universe in order to stand by Dean and Sam; Sam had never been given that chance, and he wasn’t willing to bet that he’d have had the strength to do the same.
And, not for nothing, like practically every demon and angel they’d encountered, Castiel had chosen a vessel who wouldn’t get kicked out of bed for spewing Enochian. Put all together, Sam had no problem with what Castiel was asking. Except: “What about sex?”
Castiel frowned slightly. “I am not interested in sex.”
“Well, I am,” Sam noted. “Are you just indifferent, or do you really not want to have sex?” He hesitated, then sat down on his bed. He wanted to give Castiel a reminder that humans were corporeal. “I like you, and I’m tremendously flattered, but I’m not sure I can deal with a relationship that doesn’t get physical.”
Castiel’s attention was like concentrated sunlight; Sam could imagine small things shriveling up in the heat of it. That was thrilling in itself (Sam never said he didn’t like to play on the edge). “I’m—not unwilling to explore the attributes of the human body.”
Normal people would probably say that it was a mistake to think too much about your last relationship with your next one, but they were probably just as bad as Sam at avoiding that error. And with Ruby Sam’s biggest screwup had been allowing her too long—past the end of Dean’s year, and then again after—to come through on her side of the bargain. Even though the stakes were lower now, Sam wasn’t going to accept promises without performance. Not to mention that with his luck he’d be dead tomorrow and resurrected without a sex drive, or as a kitten, the day after. There was a certain urgency to being a Winchester; just because Sam didn’t fuck anything that smiled at him or eat anything that smelled of grease and salt didn’t mean he didn’t know that. So he began to unbutton his shirt. “Okay,” he told Castiel. “Let’s go.”
Did this make him the afterschool special jerk pressuring the girl to go faster than she wanted to? Castiel was no girl. Before Sam could even take off his jacket, Castiel said, “Stop.”
Sam looked up at him through his bangs, which had gotten messy over the course of his shift. “What do you want from me?”
“I don’t know,” Castiel said, then immediately, “closeness. The voluntary surrender of your will to mine.”
Castiel, Sam thought, wanted something very much like faith. Sam wanted to think he understood, though millenia of obeying divine orders probably made an unfathomable difference. “Then give me,” Sam said, “something to surrender to.”
In a blink, Castiel was in front of him, millimeters from touching. “Stand up,” he said.
When Sam complied, Castiel put a hand out, touching Sam’s chest. He wasn’t feeling Sam up, not exactly. Sam’s heartbeat sped up. This was easily the stupidest thing he’d done in the past—well, the past month anyway. Castiel could declare his independence from Dean all he wanted, but if Dean found out—
Castiel kissed him, which short-circuited Sam’s worries pretty effectively. His lips were dry and the pressure of his mouth was tentative, but Sam took the opportunity to demonstrate proper technique. He closed his eyes and cupped the back of Castiel’s neck with his hand. The hair there was a little messy, like there hadn’t been time for a haircut during the breaking of the seals.
Castiel was a quick learner, taking control of the kiss as his hands moved to Sam’s sides, holding him with a precise forcefulness. Sam had the sense that if the floor disappeared, Sam wouldn’t move at all, held up by Castiel’s hands.
“This might work better horizontal,” Sam gasped out when Castiel released his mouth. Castiel was still wearing that coat, for fuck’s sake.
But Castiel pulled Sam forward, away from the bed, and then swiveled to walk him backwards across the room, until the back of Sam’s knocked against against a patch of bare wall. “Okay, that works too,” Sam conceded, still panting.
“You like that you are not stronger than I am,” Castiel breathed, and Sam jerked at the truth of it, and at the strangeness of how Castiel had said it: a person would’ve said, you like that I’m stronger than you are. That made it better, and Dean would’ve had a cruel joke about how Sam’s days of dating humans were past. Or maybe Dean would’ve bitten it back, or spat it out and then felt guilty, but Sam wasn’t going to think about any of that right now.
“Yes,” Sam acknowledged, and Castiel nosed at the line of his jaw. One hand was under Sam’s shirt now, running over Sam’s stomach and up to his chest. Castiel’s fingertips were cold as he mapped Sam’s skin, sending shivers through his body.
“What shall I do with you?” Castiel asked, a serious question breathed hotly into his skin.
Sam’s eyes wanted to flutter closed, head tilted up and surrendered to him, but Castiel had asked and he deserved an answer. “Just, unh. Tell me what you want to try. What feels good.”
“Sit down,” Castiel ordered instead, and Sam’s knees nearly gave out. He slid down the wall and Castiel followed, his hand still on Sam’s chest. Castiel knelt, taller than Sam just this once. The position didn’t make Sam feel small, exactly, but he was still boxed in, submitting.
Castiel’s teeth scraped at the skin of Sam’s jaw, not anywhere close to painful. His tongue licked a stripe along Sam’s stubble, and Sam shuddered. “This feels good,” Castiel said. His hair brushed Sam’s cheek, the sensation what Sam would’ve called feathery if he hadn’t thought of Castiel’s wings, invisible and swept back by the winds of the heavenly spheres. Instead Sam thought of an animal’s pelt, dry and ticklish.
When Castiel pulled his head back, he brought his free hand up to Sam’s mouth, fingers pressing ungently down. Sam opened for him, sucking his fingers down with a moan. Castiel’s skin was cool and rough against Sam’s tongue. Sam swallowed his spit as he felt his lips stretched wide, almost painful.
Castiel’s hand down his jeans was shocking. Sam slammed his head back into the wall, the pain lost in the spike of lust from having a warm hand on his dick, the angle strange and trapped in his briefs. Castiel’s grip was not quite tight enough—Sam pressed his own hand down over the denim, guiding Castiel through the layers of fabric, and Castiel took Sam’s lead easily, tightening his grasp until Sam was moaning his pleasure continuously. Castiel’s breath was hot and wet against the skin just below Sam’s ear, panting out like Castiel couldn’t coordinate his body well enough to do anything other than jerk Sam off.
Sam lost it in a matter of minutes, coming in shuddering spasms that left him half collapsed into Castiel, Castiel’s fingers at last slipping out of his mouth.
While Sam was still dazed, Castiel pulled him to his feet. Sam could have leaned back against the wall, but he didn’t want to. Castiel took his weight easily, and after a blissed-out minute where Sam’s brain wasn’t working even at ten percent he regained enough coherence to realize that Castiel was humping his leg.
Sam felt a whisper of smug satisfaction—there, Castiel didn’t know what he wanted after all; Sam had brought him all the way into his body. But mostly he just enjoyed the feeling of closeness and tried to provide a counterpressure that would feel good. Especially if he wanted to do this again, he needed to show Castiel just how good the pleasures of the flesh really were. As his limbs started responding to commands again, Sam managed to bring one hand down to palm Castiel’s ass.
“Your mouth,” Castiel ground out. “I have wondered—”
Sam pulled back enough to turn them so that Castiel was the one with his back against the wall. He dropped to his knees. Castiel’s suit pants were wrinkled, his cock pushing the rough fabric out. “Cocksucker—” Sam didn’t falter as he flicked open the pants and pulled down the zipper. “It is an epithet among you, and yet—”
Sam suited actions to words, putting his hands on Castiel’s upper thighs, his thumbs resting in the hollows of Castiel’s pelvis, underneath the jut of bone. Castiel’s dick was thick, the purpling head smooth against Sam’s tongue. Jimmy Novak had been circumcised. Sam mouthed down the length of him; clean, and something almost like ozone, but maybe that was Sam’s overactive imagination. Ruby had always tasted faintly like sulfur.
Castiel’s hand tangled in Sam’s hair, urging him on, and Sam dragged his tongue back up until he was in position to swallow Castiel’s dick. He was moving, shallow unpracticed thrusts, and Sam took it, opening his jaw until Castiel could fuck his face. Even without the lassitude of a good orgasm settling in his own bones, Sam would have enjoyed this: giving Castiel something human and sweaty-real.
Castiel’s fingers scraped against his scalp. Sam opened his eyes and glanced up; Castiel was staring down with a raw curiosity that was exponentially more intense than his usual scrutiny. His mouth was open, bitten-pink, and his eyes were blown so wide that the blue of his irises was not much more than an aura. “You are so—” he said, and then he was coming, thrusting hard enough that Sam almost gagged even as his fingers scrabbled for purchase on Castiel’s hips.
Sam swallowed until Castiel made a soft confused sound and pushed him away. He stayed crouched, looking up at Castiel’s face. Sam had no idea what was going on in Castiel’s head, or for that matter in his own. But he remembered: “Thank you,” he said.
Castiel blinked. “That was—powerful. I enjoyed it,” he finished, with the air of someone who wasn’t used to enjoying things, or even really to being an ‘I,’ which Sam supposed made sense. Before Sam could ask about whether Castiel was ready to change his opinion on the importance of sex, he continued, “Now I wish to watch you sleep.”
Sam’s inner Dean, who’d been mercifully silent for a while, immediately suggested, ‘that’s not creepy at all.’ But whatever: Castiel wanted him. An ancient and powerful intelligence who knew exactly what Sam had done wanted him, and Sam wanted him right back. Plus, the post-orgasm comedown made sleep sound like an excellent idea. “Yeah,” Sam agreed, forcing himself to his feet long enough to shed his clothes. “Just give me a sec.”
In his tiny bathroom, he brushed his teeth and did some minimal cleanup so that he wouldn’t be disgusted in the morning, forcing himself not to check that Castiel was still there every three seconds. If Castiel had to leave, he’d be gone in an instant anyway, and Sam was guessing that adding sex to his repertoire was not going to improve his habits with respect to hellos and goodbyes.
Sam got into his bed, leaving the covers flipped open just long enough to confirm that Castiel showed no interest in joining him. Snuggles were in the advanced human sexuality course; Sam allowed himself the wish that they’d have time to cover that. “Are you going to be here when I wake up?” Sam asked.
“If I can be,” Castiel said.
That was a better answer than Sam had hoped for. He still had no fucking clue what he was doing, or what Castiel was doing, or how they’d all keep from dying bloody. But just maybe, with Castiel by his side, he’d be able to claw his way to some kind of peace.
Getting to Yes
Sam/Castiel, NC-17
Prompt: Castiel is covetous of Sam, but thinks his feelings are purely possessive and asexual. He's an angel and therefore above all that earthly desire shenanigans (or so he assumes). Despite that, he wants Sam's fidelity which Sam would be okay with... if sex were part of the agreement. Sam suggests they experiment with what kind of sexy times Cas might be okay to compromise with. It turns out that Castiel is not as immune from those kinds of things as he originally thought. I'm not looking for any kind of d/s scene, but I would like Cas being toppy and Sam being pliant.
Note: Set in 5x03 (Free To Be You and Me) and ignores S6. With thanks for quick beta by
giandujakiss.Words: ~4700
Artist:
chaosraven: see the lovely art here.When Castiel showed up at the bar, Sam was more than surprised. He was terrified. Castiel did what Dean wanted, and Dean hadn’t called. Dean wouldn’t send an intermediary, so it was like every phone call back when he was a kid, heart seizing up with terror that this was the time he was going to find out that Dad or Dean hadn’t made it back.
The noise of the customers fell away, and Sam clutched his bar towel tight against his chest, unable to move. “What is it?” he managed, when all Castiel did was stare.
“I wished to see you,” Castiel said, which made about as much sense to Sam as ‘fish ten giggle.’
Sam blinked. “Dean?”
For once, Castiel understood the nuances of human communication, or close enough for government work. “Dean is elsewhere. He is safe,” he elaborated, and Sam made himself relax.
“Oh,” Sam said. “Great.” He could’ve wished that to come out more convincingly, but Castiel didn’t seem to notice, instead looking around with his usual eagle-inspecting-the-mice gaze.
“This place. It satisfies your requirements?”
Sam quickly checked to make sure no one was listening, despite the fact that Castiel didn’t exactly fit the customer profile, then leaned forward. “They didn’t ask to see my ID and they pay me enough to get a room. That’s pretty much all I require right now. Can I … get you something? Like, a drink?”
Castiel shook his head. Sam had no clue why he’d be here if Dean wasn’t in need of some kind of help. Sam had fallen all over himself trying to get Castiel’s respect, or at least positive attention, for months after they’d first met, and Castiel had seemed to treat him like Dean’s cross to bear. Eventually, Sam had accepted that Ruby was his lot as Castiel was Dean’s, which was what you got for having demon blood and then drinking demon blood, and he’d tried to forget how much he’d wanted Castiel to watch him the way Castiel watched Dean.
And now here he was, when even Dean had given up on Sam. Why? Growing up, Sam had often complained that Dean and Dad were like blank walls, refusing to give any signals about what was going on inside, but he’d misread anger and fear as lack of communication. Castiel, by contrast, was emitting no information at all. “Okay,” Sam said. “Look, I’d like to talk—” this was not 100% true, but it was true-ish—“but you’ll need to wait until I’m off, at two, and it wouldn’t hurt if you’d buy a couple of beers meanwhile.”
Castiel considered this for a moment, then pushed a couple of folded bills across the scarred-and-slick wood of the bar counter. He tilted his head, and Sam took the money, replacing it with a cold bottle of the closest beer at hand, since he doubted Castiel could even tell what quality was, much less care about its absence.
The time passed, which was about as much as could be said for Sam’s recent life. The job was fine, the people were fine, and the world was going to end soon. Sam tried not to think about that just yet; it was hard enough to clean up every last spatter in the men’s room without a constant drumbeat of ‘what does it matter?’ behind his eyelids. The day was coming when he’d have to get back in the game—in fact, Castiel was probably here to tell him just that—but for now he was trying to rebuild some strength. If he could have found a therapist who specialized in the supernatural, he’d have gone, but unfortunately it seemed that only monsters analyzed hunters. Anyway, Sam had well-earned trust issues. He missed real human interactions, but he couldn’t imagine telling anyone even a trivial truth about himself, as witness his awkward flirtation with Lindsey.
Probably trying to strike out on his own was just as stupid now as it had been when he was sixteen, but he didn’t know what else to do.
Sam poured the beer and replenished the ice. He lugged cases up from the basement and snagged some car keys and called a couple of cabs. He smiled at Lindsey and got smiled back at in return. He ignored the news stories on the TV and pretended to care about sports for the benefit of a few of the regulars. He poured dishes of nuts and wiped off sticky spots.
Castiel sat there through everything, his eyes never leaving Sam. He looked as scruffy as ever, but Sam could also see the avenging angel who’d saved Dean and him so many times: lightning in the shape of a man. He wondered why Castiel was here and tried not to feel any relief that Castiel hadn’t renounced him in order to stand behind Dean. He examined Castiel for any signs of injury, but aside from some tufts of hair standing up in odd places (which was not unusual on Castiel’s best days; the angel had taken Jimmy Novak’s clothes but not, apparently, Jimmy Novak’s hairbrush) he seemed in perfect health. His brows were lowered and his jaw was tight with the inherent annoyance of dealing with humans, or maybe just with Winchesters, the paleness of his lips highlighted by the eternal five o’clock shadow around them. He didn’t look away whenever Sam met his eyes, and each time Sam felt a small shock.
As far as Sam could tell, Castiel didn’t even taste the beers, though every so often Sam would swap out his current bottle for a fresh one. Sam had a quiet word with the owner, making sure that Castiel could stay through close-up, and after a careful scrutiny of both Castiel and Sam he nodded agreement, though Sam noticed that he stayed near the shotgun under the counter while Sam was closing up. Sam respected him more for it.
At long last, Sam was done. “Walk me to my car?” Lindsey asked as he was taking off the bar apron. She watched him roll his sleeves back down his arms, and it felt good to be appreciated, even if only for the externals.
“Sure,” Sam said, “but my friend’s with me tonight, if that’s okay.” He nodded at Castiel, who was watching them with his usual unnerving focus.
Lindsey gave Castiel the same once-over as the owner had. “Okay,” she said, “but only if you tell me how you know him tomorrow night.” She leaned forward and grinned.
Sam smiled back, easily, thinking that he probably wasn’t going to be around tomorrow night because Castiel was going to tag him back in. “Sure,” he said. Lindsey was a sweet girl, and he wouldn’t have minded getting to know her in another life.
“C’mon,” he waved Castiel up, and the three of them walked out into the night chill. Lindsey looked back and forth between the two of them as if she could see that there was some important history there, but she didn’t say anything and of course neither did Castiel. They stood in the parking lot until she’d started her car.
“What now?” Sam said.
“Take me to where you’re staying,” Castiel said. Sam noticed that he didn’t say ‘where you’re living.’ Maybe it wasn’t a distinction that made a difference to an angel.
So then they drove. Castiel as a passenger was eerily still, staring straight forward and not shuffling around, talking, jabbing at Sam or doing anything else Sam expected from a front-seat companion.
Sam was glad when the trip ended. He wasn’t ashamed of his room. It was no worse than most of the shitholes they stayed at, and he was paying for it with money he’d earned. There wasn’t really any place for two guys to sit, though, and Castiel just stood in the middle of the room, not saying anything, so Sam stared right back at him.
“Look, I don’t mean to pry,” Sam said at last, “but what are you doing here?”
Castiel, for the first time, looked a bit twitchy. “That woman,” he said.
“Is she a demon?” Sam asked immediately, reviewing all his interactions with Lindsey from the beginning. “I set up a bunch of Devil’s Traps around the bar, and I thought I’d seen her go through, but if she’s tracking me for Lucifer—”
“Sam,” Castiel interrupted. “Had she been possessed, I would not have allowed her access to you. I meant to ask if you had developed—feelings for her.”
Sam might’ve gaped a bit at that one. “Um. Well.” This was going to be tricky. Compared to Dean he might’ve as well been wearing a promise ring, but he was still a guy, and he didn’t think the truth about his interest in the signals Lindsey was giving off was all that flattering. “I might, I mean, Lindsey’s very pretty, and she’s nice, and she seems to think I’m—well, she doesn’t know what I’ve done. I’ve been thinking, maybe. It wouldn’t mean anything more than the physical, but once in a while I really need that, you know?”
“No,” Castiel said.
“Right,” Sam said, flushing. “Well, people need physical comfort. Most of us.” Honestly, if he’d had Dean around to shove and swat and just exist near, a constant reassuring haze of close-enough-to-touch, he would’ve been able to confine his more erotic desires to the shower. But here, he was so isolated that he was desperate for some contact, even though he’d still have to lie to Lindsey to have more than a three-sentence conversation with her. If she moaned ‘Keith’ while they were having sex, would that shock him out of the moment?
“I don’t wish for you to have intercourse with her,” Castiel announced.
Sam blinked. Then he blinked again. Then he considered asking the angel to repeat himself. Then he realized why Castiel must have spoken up. “Yeah, you’re right, Lucifer would use it against me.” Though Sam would’ve put his life on the line to protect her regardless—she shouldn’t suffer just because she had the misfortune to have Sam show up in her bar—sleeping with her would doubtless attract more attention from Lucifer, and he couldn’t in good conscience do that to another woman.
“No,” Castiel said again. “If you are going to touch another being, I want it to be my vessel’s.”
Holy fuck. Okay, too literal. “Are you saying you want to, uh, sleep with me?” Sam managed. He’d never been smooth even on picking up passes by ordinary human girls—Jess used to joke about the way she’d literally thrown herself at him at Bradley’s party—but this was a whole new level of awkward.
Castiel shook his head. “As an angel, I am uninterested in those aspects of embodiment.” Sam thought he remembered stories about nephilim that said otherwise, but he didn’t interrupt. “However, I do find myself experiencing a kind of desire. I feel that you are in my keeping, and that you ought to cleave to me. I do not want your attentions directed elsewhere.”
Sam had been so amazed to meet an angel, a warrior of God. Then he’d been terrified of what the angels’ hostility meant for him. Then he’d told himself that he didn’t want their respect anyway, not when he was going to have enough power to take out Lilith all on his own. All that had meant that he’d tried to strangle his wonder and awe, ignoring Castiel while betting it all with Ruby. He’d never thought for a minute—He cleared his throat.
“Really? I guess I figured, you and Dean, I mean if there was a you and anyone.” There was a black hole right there, and Sam could feel its gravitational pull threatening to yank him past the event horizon, so he deliberately looked down at his hands. The veins on the back stood out, and he remembered how it felt to have demon blood flowing through them. He didn’t want that, or he didn’t want the evil that went along with it, so he was going to stay clean.
“I am not going to discuss Dean with you,” Castiel said.
“Okay,” Sam said, his stomach dropping.
“You humans are masters of willful misunderstanding,” Castiel said, with all his typical impatience. Sam snapped his head up and found Castiel’s eyes locked on him. “Whatever I say to you now, you will think that Dean has turned to me to take your place. Or that I think to do so. Neither of these are true.”
Sam’s breath hitched in what was almost a laugh. “When did you start understanding people?”
Castiel’s face was still uninterpretable. Maybe in his angelic aspect; maybe other angels would have been able to see gradations of light corresponding to emotions. “Because I have just seen Dean commit these same errors. At the moment, Dean hates me for what I am not, and for fear of the possibility that I might take your place. The contradiction does not occur to him.”
It wouldn’t, Sam thought, and didn’t mean it as a criticism, no matter how much the things he said about Dean came out sounding that way. But Castiel was right. He needed to get himself together, and part of that was not obsessing quite so much about Dean, and demon blood.
“I’m fascinated by your duality,” Castiel said, as if he were continuing an ongoing conversation. Sam’s confusion must have shown on his face, because Castiel actually continued: “Human, but permeated with demonic essence since before you could even reason. Hero and rescuer, but villain and killer. And still you strive to correct your wrongs.”
“I feel like just another monster,” Sam confessed.
Castiel considered this. It was refreshing to be taken seriously, rather than the immediate ‘no!’ (or worse, the immediate ‘yes’) he would’ve gotten from Dean. “I have never entirely understood the rules for designating monsters,” Castiel said at last. “You are human, which would seem to disqualify you.”
“You can be human and still be a monster,” Sam said, thinking of people they’d encountered and the stories that ran on the news every night.
“But then, do monsters grieve their mistakes and their failures? If defined by behavior and intent, you are not monstrous. Tragically misguided, yes, but I fit that description as well. It was not your actions alone, nor Ruby’s, that sent you to the convent. You were manipulated.”
“By you,” Sam finished.
Castiel inclined his head slightly. “And by others. I admire your determination to shake off your addiction. I have come to realize that I—covet your will. It’s like a fire in you, as unquenchable as a star. I am—quite drawn to it. This is why I wish you to turn to me, and not to some innocent, when you seek companionship. I can no longer convey Heaven’s edicts to you, nor do I wish to. But I want you to stay away from her.”
Ordinarily, Sam would have been yelling, assuming this was the latest ploy in the war of Heaven and Hell. Castiel could be trying to get back into the other angels’ good graces; he could be trying to curry favor with Lucifer. Yet neither of those felt right. Sam couldn’t imagine Castiel either slinking home or collaborating in the end of the world. Also, this pass, or whatever it was, was too weird to be part of a plot.
The thing was, reflexive suspicion and defiance had opened him up to be led around by the nose (or mouth, or dick, or love of his brother) by demons and angels both. Sam was thinking that he needed to try something else. For example, he could try figuring out what he wanted.
And what he wanted was someone to care about him. Since Dean wasn’t here, he could even put it better: he wanted someone to hold him. He wanted to feel safe and loved, even if he wasn’t safe in any sense of the word. Castiel was strong and could protect himself—could even protect Sam in many circumstances. So Sam wouldn’t be putting a civilian at risk if he got close to Castiel. Plus, he owed Castiel more than he could ever repay for bringing Dean back (even if it had been under orders and with ulterior motives), and he respected Castiel for thinking for himself and standing up for what he thought was right when push came to shove. Castiel had given up his place in the universe in order to stand by Dean and Sam; Sam had never been given that chance, and he wasn’t willing to bet that he’d have had the strength to do the same.
And, not for nothing, like practically every demon and angel they’d encountered, Castiel had chosen a vessel who wouldn’t get kicked out of bed for spewing Enochian. Put all together, Sam had no problem with what Castiel was asking. Except: “What about sex?”
Castiel frowned slightly. “I am not interested in sex.”
“Well, I am,” Sam noted. “Are you just indifferent, or do you really not want to have sex?” He hesitated, then sat down on his bed. He wanted to give Castiel a reminder that humans were corporeal. “I like you, and I’m tremendously flattered, but I’m not sure I can deal with a relationship that doesn’t get physical.”
Castiel’s attention was like concentrated sunlight; Sam could imagine small things shriveling up in the heat of it. That was thrilling in itself (Sam never said he didn’t like to play on the edge). “I’m—not unwilling to explore the attributes of the human body.”
Normal people would probably say that it was a mistake to think too much about your last relationship with your next one, but they were probably just as bad as Sam at avoiding that error. And with Ruby Sam’s biggest screwup had been allowing her too long—past the end of Dean’s year, and then again after—to come through on her side of the bargain. Even though the stakes were lower now, Sam wasn’t going to accept promises without performance. Not to mention that with his luck he’d be dead tomorrow and resurrected without a sex drive, or as a kitten, the day after. There was a certain urgency to being a Winchester; just because Sam didn’t fuck anything that smiled at him or eat anything that smelled of grease and salt didn’t mean he didn’t know that. So he began to unbutton his shirt. “Okay,” he told Castiel. “Let’s go.”
Did this make him the afterschool special jerk pressuring the girl to go faster than she wanted to? Castiel was no girl. Before Sam could even take off his jacket, Castiel said, “Stop.”
Sam looked up at him through his bangs, which had gotten messy over the course of his shift. “What do you want from me?”
“I don’t know,” Castiel said, then immediately, “closeness. The voluntary surrender of your will to mine.”
Castiel, Sam thought, wanted something very much like faith. Sam wanted to think he understood, though millenia of obeying divine orders probably made an unfathomable difference. “Then give me,” Sam said, “something to surrender to.”
In a blink, Castiel was in front of him, millimeters from touching. “Stand up,” he said.
When Sam complied, Castiel put a hand out, touching Sam’s chest. He wasn’t feeling Sam up, not exactly. Sam’s heartbeat sped up. This was easily the stupidest thing he’d done in the past—well, the past month anyway. Castiel could declare his independence from Dean all he wanted, but if Dean found out—
Castiel kissed him, which short-circuited Sam’s worries pretty effectively. His lips were dry and the pressure of his mouth was tentative, but Sam took the opportunity to demonstrate proper technique. He closed his eyes and cupped the back of Castiel’s neck with his hand. The hair there was a little messy, like there hadn’t been time for a haircut during the breaking of the seals.
Castiel was a quick learner, taking control of the kiss as his hands moved to Sam’s sides, holding him with a precise forcefulness. Sam had the sense that if the floor disappeared, Sam wouldn’t move at all, held up by Castiel’s hands.
“This might work better horizontal,” Sam gasped out when Castiel released his mouth. Castiel was still wearing that coat, for fuck’s sake.
But Castiel pulled Sam forward, away from the bed, and then swiveled to walk him backwards across the room, until the back of Sam’s knocked against against a patch of bare wall. “Okay, that works too,” Sam conceded, still panting.
“You like that you are not stronger than I am,” Castiel breathed, and Sam jerked at the truth of it, and at the strangeness of how Castiel had said it: a person would’ve said, you like that I’m stronger than you are. That made it better, and Dean would’ve had a cruel joke about how Sam’s days of dating humans were past. Or maybe Dean would’ve bitten it back, or spat it out and then felt guilty, but Sam wasn’t going to think about any of that right now.
“Yes,” Sam acknowledged, and Castiel nosed at the line of his jaw. One hand was under Sam’s shirt now, running over Sam’s stomach and up to his chest. Castiel’s fingertips were cold as he mapped Sam’s skin, sending shivers through his body.
“What shall I do with you?” Castiel asked, a serious question breathed hotly into his skin.
Sam’s eyes wanted to flutter closed, head tilted up and surrendered to him, but Castiel had asked and he deserved an answer. “Just, unh. Tell me what you want to try. What feels good.”
“Sit down,” Castiel ordered instead, and Sam’s knees nearly gave out. He slid down the wall and Castiel followed, his hand still on Sam’s chest. Castiel knelt, taller than Sam just this once. The position didn’t make Sam feel small, exactly, but he was still boxed in, submitting.
Castiel’s teeth scraped at the skin of Sam’s jaw, not anywhere close to painful. His tongue licked a stripe along Sam’s stubble, and Sam shuddered. “This feels good,” Castiel said. His hair brushed Sam’s cheek, the sensation what Sam would’ve called feathery if he hadn’t thought of Castiel’s wings, invisible and swept back by the winds of the heavenly spheres. Instead Sam thought of an animal’s pelt, dry and ticklish.
When Castiel pulled his head back, he brought his free hand up to Sam’s mouth, fingers pressing ungently down. Sam opened for him, sucking his fingers down with a moan. Castiel’s skin was cool and rough against Sam’s tongue. Sam swallowed his spit as he felt his lips stretched wide, almost painful.
Castiel’s hand down his jeans was shocking. Sam slammed his head back into the wall, the pain lost in the spike of lust from having a warm hand on his dick, the angle strange and trapped in his briefs. Castiel’s grip was not quite tight enough—Sam pressed his own hand down over the denim, guiding Castiel through the layers of fabric, and Castiel took Sam’s lead easily, tightening his grasp until Sam was moaning his pleasure continuously. Castiel’s breath was hot and wet against the skin just below Sam’s ear, panting out like Castiel couldn’t coordinate his body well enough to do anything other than jerk Sam off.
Sam lost it in a matter of minutes, coming in shuddering spasms that left him half collapsed into Castiel, Castiel’s fingers at last slipping out of his mouth.
While Sam was still dazed, Castiel pulled him to his feet. Sam could have leaned back against the wall, but he didn’t want to. Castiel took his weight easily, and after a blissed-out minute where Sam’s brain wasn’t working even at ten percent he regained enough coherence to realize that Castiel was humping his leg.
Sam felt a whisper of smug satisfaction—there, Castiel didn’t know what he wanted after all; Sam had brought him all the way into his body. But mostly he just enjoyed the feeling of closeness and tried to provide a counterpressure that would feel good. Especially if he wanted to do this again, he needed to show Castiel just how good the pleasures of the flesh really were. As his limbs started responding to commands again, Sam managed to bring one hand down to palm Castiel’s ass.
“Your mouth,” Castiel ground out. “I have wondered—”
Sam pulled back enough to turn them so that Castiel was the one with his back against the wall. He dropped to his knees. Castiel’s suit pants were wrinkled, his cock pushing the rough fabric out. “Cocksucker—” Sam didn’t falter as he flicked open the pants and pulled down the zipper. “It is an epithet among you, and yet—”
Sam suited actions to words, putting his hands on Castiel’s upper thighs, his thumbs resting in the hollows of Castiel’s pelvis, underneath the jut of bone. Castiel’s dick was thick, the purpling head smooth against Sam’s tongue. Jimmy Novak had been circumcised. Sam mouthed down the length of him; clean, and something almost like ozone, but maybe that was Sam’s overactive imagination. Ruby had always tasted faintly like sulfur.
Castiel’s hand tangled in Sam’s hair, urging him on, and Sam dragged his tongue back up until he was in position to swallow Castiel’s dick. He was moving, shallow unpracticed thrusts, and Sam took it, opening his jaw until Castiel could fuck his face. Even without the lassitude of a good orgasm settling in his own bones, Sam would have enjoyed this: giving Castiel something human and sweaty-real.
Castiel’s fingers scraped against his scalp. Sam opened his eyes and glanced up; Castiel was staring down with a raw curiosity that was exponentially more intense than his usual scrutiny. His mouth was open, bitten-pink, and his eyes were blown so wide that the blue of his irises was not much more than an aura. “You are so—” he said, and then he was coming, thrusting hard enough that Sam almost gagged even as his fingers scrabbled for purchase on Castiel’s hips.
Sam swallowed until Castiel made a soft confused sound and pushed him away. He stayed crouched, looking up at Castiel’s face. Sam had no idea what was going on in Castiel’s head, or for that matter in his own. But he remembered: “Thank you,” he said.
Castiel blinked. “That was—powerful. I enjoyed it,” he finished, with the air of someone who wasn’t used to enjoying things, or even really to being an ‘I,’ which Sam supposed made sense. Before Sam could ask about whether Castiel was ready to change his opinion on the importance of sex, he continued, “Now I wish to watch you sleep.”
Sam’s inner Dean, who’d been mercifully silent for a while, immediately suggested, ‘that’s not creepy at all.’ But whatever: Castiel wanted him. An ancient and powerful intelligence who knew exactly what Sam had done wanted him, and Sam wanted him right back. Plus, the post-orgasm comedown made sleep sound like an excellent idea. “Yeah,” Sam agreed, forcing himself to his feet long enough to shed his clothes. “Just give me a sec.”
In his tiny bathroom, he brushed his teeth and did some minimal cleanup so that he wouldn’t be disgusted in the morning, forcing himself not to check that Castiel was still there every three seconds. If Castiel had to leave, he’d be gone in an instant anyway, and Sam was guessing that adding sex to his repertoire was not going to improve his habits with respect to hellos and goodbyes.
Sam got into his bed, leaving the covers flipped open just long enough to confirm that Castiel showed no interest in joining him. Snuggles were in the advanced human sexuality course; Sam allowed himself the wish that they’d have time to cover that. “Are you going to be here when I wake up?” Sam asked.
“If I can be,” Castiel said.
That was a better answer than Sam had hoped for. He still had no fucking clue what he was doing, or what Castiel was doing, or how they’d all keep from dying bloody. But just maybe, with Castiel by his side, he’d be able to claw his way to some kind of peace.
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