Fic: The Gospel of Pizza-Man (SPN)
Title: The Gospel of Pizza-Man
Author: fete_in_june
Pairings/Characters: Castiel/Robosam, Castiel/Sam
Ratings/Contents: NC-17 / spanking, D/s
Wordcount: 5420
Spoilers: Through S6
Notes: Wow. Okay, so this was originally written for Round 5 of Blindfold for the prompt It turns out that Soulless!Sam offered to explain the pizza man and the babysitter (the porn movie Cas was watching in "Caged Heat") to Castiel with a practical demonstration. Now that Sam has his memory back, Castiel wants him to spank and screw Castiel the way Soulless!Sam did. I never bothered to repost. So here it is, finally.
Then
“Dean said we don’t talk about it.”
Crowley and the monsters have been dealt with. Sam’s soul, for now, is still in the Cage. They’re no closer to finding a solution than they were at the beginning, and despite Castiel’s misgivings, he’s still determined to find another way. He promised Dean, after all.
“I’m not Dean.”
All of which brought Castiel here. Attempting to find Sam’s thoughts on the matter. But Sam doesn’t seem interested in talking about his soul. Not important, he says. Already made up my mind, he insists. Nothing more to talk about. Now, about the pizza man…
Castiel fidgets on the bed, looking anywhere but at Sam. His gaze darts between the broken T.V., the crooked lamp, his own clasped hands.
“No,” he says, like an invitation, and spares a glance at Sam. There’s a predatory smirk on his face and the light is gone from his eyes. “You’re not.”
The smirk widens to an all-out grin, and Sam grabs him by the back of his coat. “So tell me, Cas, how did it feel? Watching them like that. What did it do to you?”
“You were there,” Castiel says. “You know what it did.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Sam inches the trench coat from his shoulders. Castiel allows it, curious. “I meant, what did you see when you looked into that whore’s face?”
Castiel hesitates. He knows what Sam is offering. He also knows what answering honestly will bring, and he knows it’s a terrible idea. But he’s fallen so far already-perhaps this jump will bring him the peace he craves. He makes his choice.
“I saw myself.”
“Do you want to feel what she felt?”
“Yes.”
Sam nods. “Good.” He is triumphant. It reminds Castiel of when another inhabited Sam Winchester’s skin. He shudders. “Shoes. Socks. Coats. Off, Cas.”
He bends down to unlace his shoes and pull his socks off. He can feel Sam’s gaze on him, watching his every movement. His face burns, and he wonders why he agreed. Why he’s still agreeing. Sam wouldn’t hurt him, he trusts, but this is not Sam. Carefully, he stacks his shoes by the bed, tucking the socks into them, and stands to remove his coats. He meets Sam’s eyes as he does so, and this time the emptiness comforts him. If he does this, he will not be betraying a friend. It will not add to his long list of regrets. Dean will return Sam’s soul in time, and it will be forgotten.
His hands go to his tie. Sam stops him.
“No. Leave it on.” Castiel drops his hands. Sam grabs the thin slip of blue fabric and tugs him forward, hands moving swiftly across his belt buckle, before sliding the belt from his pants in one smooth yank. He folds it and sets it aside. “For later,” Sam says. Castiel shudders.
Sam finishes with his pants, shoving them down around Castiel’s ankles. The cool air as it hits his exposed skin makes him gasp. He begins to step out of the fabric, but again, Sam stops him and beckons him closer. With his pants hindering his movements, Castiel is forced to shuffle awkwardly until he’s pressed between Sam’s legs.
“Eager little thing, aren’t you?” Sam chuckles, wrapping a hand around Castiel’s hardening prick. Castiel gasps again, louder, and Sam flicks the head. He winces. “Good. I like enthusiasm. ‘Course, reluctance can be fun too, in the right circumstances. And you’re a little bit of both.” He shoves Castiel away, and the angel stumbles back, nearly tripping. “There now.” He pulls at the tie again. “Over my knee.”
It’s an awkward business, climbing across Sam’s knees. Though Sam is several inches taller and quite a lot broader than Castiel, Castiel isn’t exactly tiny, and Sam’s thick knees dig into his stomach. He wiggles a little to find a more comfortable position, and Sam’s arm comes around to grab him around the middle and force him to lie how Sam wants.
His pants are still around his ankles, his shirt bunched up over his lower back. Sam positions him so that his naked rear is firmly in the air and his face is pressed against the bed. The threadbare, once-orange comforter smells like mold and sweat and he grimaces. Still, the smell gives him a slight distraction from his current position.
~ * ~
“Hmm,” Sam hums, stroking his hand up and down Castiel’s rear, drawing swirls with his fingers against the bare skin. Castiel squirms, groaning with anticipation, pushing up into Sam’s hand in a silent plea. Sam draws his hand away. “Ask nicely,” he says. “I want to hear how much you want it.”
Castiel shudders. His voice cracks when he tries to speak, and he clears his throat and tries again. “S-Sam, please. I want you to-I want you to teach me, to show me, to-” and his voice breaks again, though he doesn’t stop. Sam is waiting. Castiel is vulnerable. In this position, he thinks, he can ask for anything. Almost. “I want you to punish me, so that I might be forgiven,” Castiel finishes.
“In that case, tell me your transgressions.”
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned runs through Castiel’s mind, and he shoves it aside. This is not a confessional. He will not tell Sam everything he has done-though this Sam is strong and merciless, he cannot punish Castiel enough to make up for it all. And Castiel cannot hope to confess everything. “I have-I have lusted,” he chooses instead. “I have gazed upon carnal acts, and I have been tempted to fall into them myself.”
Sam laughs. “Naughty angel,” he says, and the first slap falls.
Castiel jerks in Sam’s grip. He’s allowing himself to feel as a human would feel, and Sam’s going all-out, grunting as he lays down half a dozen sharp smacks that shove Castiel forward with each blow. He’s still hard, despite the pain, his erection dragging across Sam’s jeans.
Sam pauses, then, to run his hand over Castiel’s throbbing rear. Castiel groans and pushes back for more-stop being gentle, I can take it. Sam laughs and complies.
The spanks fall hard and fast, never letting up in speed or strength, a flurry of slaps that bleed together and never give Castiel a chance to recover. Sam’s hands are unpredictable, striking random spots with no pattern, overlapping already-covered areas. The sting is agonizing, and he lets out a soft cry as he begins to struggle. His hands fly up behind him. He tries to block his rear from further harm, but Sam just gathers his wrists together and presses them into his back.
“Now, now, none of that,” Sam says cheerfully, stopping the assault. The brief respite just makes Castiel’s skin burn hotter, makes the ache deeper. His arousal hasn’t flagged, though; he’s still hard and leaking into the denim of Sam’s jeans, wet against his stomach. He squirms a little, and he can feel where Sam is hard as well-then Sam grips his hair, stilling him. He flushes, embarrassed, and presses his face back into the comforter to hide his shame. It sends a fresh shudder of arousal through him, and he whimpers.
Sam continues. “We’re not done yet, Cas,” he says, shifting them and reaching back for something. Castiel twists his head around, curious, but looks away again at the sight of Sam folding his belt. He doesn’t want the human to see the panic in his eyes. “You were meant to take your punishment,” Sam says.
The belt stripes hot across his seat, and Castiel can’t bite back the scream it draws from his throat. Flaming agony laces across the mark, and Castiel wouldn’t be surprised to see fire dancing on the welts the belt surely leaves on his already-bruised skin. Three more lashes, and Castiel’s shouts have turned to hitched cries, his entire body trembling. He can no longer even struggle. The intensity of the pain has exhausted him. All he can do is let Sam hold him, let Sam strike him, take his spanking and remember that it’s hardly a fraction of what he truly deserves.
The last five fall across his yet-untouched upper thighs, striking hard in quick succession along a single, strategic point, grazing his unwavering erection, and as the last one falls, Castiel arches into Sam’s touch and comes. He screams and chokes and slumps down, barely registering Sam’s gentle laughter as darkness takes him.
~ * ~
He wakes some time later. Sam has removed Castiel’s shirt and tossed his pants somewhere, though the tie’s still around his neck. Sam is rubbing something into his skin. His rear is still blistering, and he groans softly at the pain, but whatever Sam is applying seems to abate it. Castiel considers healing himself, cutting off his vessel’s pain receptors entirely, but decides against it. He’s still unable to block pain without blocking all sensation entirely, and he likes the way Sam touches him.
He moans again, higher, and Sam moves his hand to rub Castiel’s shoulders.
“Good, you’re up,” he says. “How’d you like the first part of your demonstration?”
It takes Castiel a while to register Sam’s words. “First part?” he asks.
“Oh, yeah,” Sam says, and rubs his crotch against Castiel’s bruised flesh. His pants are gone. “See, Cas, it’s not polite to fall asleep before getting your partner off.”
“Oh,” Castiel says. “What do you want me to do?”
“Just lie there,” Sam says. “You were so good before, I think you’ll be just as good at taking my cock.”
Sam’s fingers delve between the cleft of Castiel’s rear and push against his hole. He shoves two inside, and Castiel gasps-Sam’s fingers are cool and slick from whatever he’s been rubbing into Castiel’s welts, but the sensation is still uncomfortable, a different kind of pain, though no less arousing. The fingers twist inside him, thrusting and stretching, then Sam pulls out.
Castiel groans at the loss, trying to follow Sam’s fingers with his body, but the fingers pop out anyway and Sam grabs his hips, pulling him up so that he is kneeling with his face still planted in the sheets. Castiel tries to push up on his hands, but the attempt finds him exhausted. Instead, he closes his eyes and waits.
A fresh wave of agony bursts through him when Sam grabs his heated cheeks and pulls them apart, exposing his hole. Castiel squirms at the touch, whimpering, and twists around to watch. Sam has his prick in one hand, stroking easily, and it’s huge-even against Sam’s large palms, it’s enormous, thick and long and dripping down his fingers, and Castiel tenses at the thought of taking it inside himself. He whines a little, clenching and trying to pull away, but Sam ignores him. He holds Castiel tighter, one hand on his hip, the other gripping his tie. He presses the head of his length at Castiel’s entrance and pushes inside with a single long, hard thrust.
Castiel cries out, the intrusion feeling like he’s been broken in two, and he claws uselessly at the sheets. He tries to control his breathing, tries to relax, tries to adjust, but Sam doesn’t allow it. He pulls back just as harshly and shoves back in, setting a fast, brutal pace.
The angel squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to let go and take it, as Sam whispers the same instructions in his ear-yeah, that’s it, so tight, take it, Cas, take my cock.
“Sam,” Castiel whines, high and needy, and Sam groans in response.
“Should see yourself, Cas. Your ass is all red, covered in my marks, your greedy little hole stretched wide and hungry, desperate for my cock. You need this, don’t you? Filthy little angel.” He thrusts harder, slapping against his bruised skin.
“Sam, please,” Castiel begs.
“Yeah. Fuck, Cas.” He drops the tie and thrusts two of his fingers into the angel’s mouth. Castiel sucks obediently, staring up at Sam, as the other hand wraps around his waist to grip his second erection of the night. “God, next time, Cas, next time I’m going to fuck your mouth.” Castiel hums against the fingers, his eyes fluttering shut.
That does it for Sam. He spills inside Castiel with a final grunt. The feeling of his semen flooding through Castiel, dripping out of him, sends Castiel over the edge as well, and he comes into Sam’s hand.
Sam wipes himself off with Castiel’s shirt, then tosses it aside, not bothering to give Castiel the same consideration. Castiel watches Sam’s expression turn to mocking and disdain, and though the humiliation is almost unbearable, he can’t turn away. Instead he lies there, wet and used, his entire body sore and aching. Sam pulls on his jeans and throws on a shirt. He doesn’t button it.
“Room’s paid for the night,” is all Sam says before the door slams shut and Castiel is alone.
Four days later, he seeks out Sam again.
~ * ~
It goes on like that for two months. Whenever it all becomes too much, whenever the strain of war and deception and his dwindling faith threatens to choke him, Castiel finds Sam. Sam is happy to oblige, provided Castiel asks properly. Once, after a particularly awful battle, Castiel refuses. He pushes Sam into the wall and tries to take what he wants. It ends with Castiel kneeling naked in the corner for hours, hands tied behind his back with his tie, and Sam shoving his cock down Castiel’s throat. He doesn’t let Castiel come at all, and once he’s done, he abandons Castiel to free himself and use his own hand for pleasure. Castiel becomes much better at following the rules after that.
For two months, Castiel comes for Sam. Then, one day, Dean calls for him.
Dean has returned Sam’s soul.
Castiel is asked to feel for Sam’s soul, and he does so, pushing his hand into Sam and running his fingers gently across the battered, mutilated thing. His own chest aches. This Sam, if he wakes, will not be the same Sam he was before Castiel failed to pull him from the cage properly. Neither will he be the same Sam that offered Castiel a respite from the continuing horrors of war. It may be selfish to think so, but Castiel is not sure he can fight on without that Sam. And it pains him to think he cares more deeply for the Sam without a soul than the Sam with one.
He answers Dean’s questions with terse, angry words. Once, Castiel said they shared a more profound bond. Now, he’s not so sure. He flees before Dean can ask anything more of him.
Later, Sam prays for him. Castiel answers at once. Sam is whole, Sam is back, Sam is-Sam is right and Castiel almost can’t bear to look at him this way. Yet he greets him anyway, and thinks how this version would show affection. The other Sam would have Castiel kneel at his feet, would tug at Castiel’s hair and promise that if Castiel is very, very good, Sam would put him over his knee rather than the impersonal motel furniture. He does not think this Sam would appreciate that.
Dean and Bobby offered hugs, he remembers. He moves in to do the same, but Sam rejects it, and Castiel forces his disappointment away. This is not his Sam. The relationship he has with this Sam is tense at best. He drops his arms and barely notices when Sam starts fishing for details about the year past. Of course he wouldn’t remember. Of course Dean wouldn’t give him the answers he wants. Dean even extracted the same promise from Bobby. But Castiel has sworn nothing, and so it is with an almost vicious satisfaction that he sits across from Sam and walks him through his time without a soul. He leaves out the parts with Sam’s cock up his ass.
(He’s gotten better at the dirty-talk. Two weeks into their arrangement, Sam tied him spread-eagled to the headboard, slipped the head of his dick inside Castiel, and refused to move at all until Castiel’s vocabulary improved.)
Castiel leaves as soon as Sam is satisfied. He has a war to fight and his net is gone. He is feeling surprisingly free and just a little bit reckless.
~ * ~
Now
Castiel makes sure Dean is gone before fluttering into Sam’s motel room. Dean’s tailing a potential victim all day and Sam is stuck doing research. He remembers how much the soulless version hated research and preferred bullets. It should be a great improvement, Castiel thinks. It’s not.
Sam lets out a surprised squeak when he sees Castiel. “Uh. Hi? Dean’s out right now, but he’ll be back this evening. Or you could go find him, he’s following this woman who-”
“I’m not here for Dean,” Castiel says. “I’m-I’m here for you.” He drops wearily onto the bed closest to the door and stares at his hands. They’re scraped and bruised, like the rest of his vessel, rips made by angelic weapons that won’t heal quickly. His sleeves are smeared with blood and dirt, and he’s sure he looks like the walking dead. Sam’s eyes widen.
“Cas, are you okay?”
Castiel shakes his head. “The war. It is wearing on me.”
“Should take a vacation, man. You look awful.”
“I can’t,” Castiel snaps. “There’s-there used to be an escape. A way I could recharge. Like a vacation, almost. I had that. But not anymore.”
Sam’s arm jerks, like an attempt to brush Castiel’s shoulder, aborted quickly as he remembers that this is Castiel. The angel tries not to be disappointed. Of course, this Sam wouldn’t know what that gesture would mean. The other Sam wouldn’t either, of course. The other Sam was inventive in ways Castiel had never seen in all his millennia watching over humanity. But he wasn’t gentle. Castiel didn’t want him to be, and Sam was incapable of it. It was a good arrangement, ended far too soon.
And there’s no way he can make this Sam understand.
“Why?” Sam asks.
“That-person-is no longer available.”
Sam grins. “You had a girlfriend? Damn. Good for you, Cas. Who was she, angel or human?”
“Not a girlfriend,” Castiel says. “But-someone.” Sam watches him, eager for details that Castiel can’t spare. Determined to wring the truth from him, just as his counterpart was-but with perfectly calculated glances this time rather than perfectly calculated strikes to his ass. The memory makes him squirm, makes his dick twitch in his pants, and he stares at Sam, horrified.
“Cas, what’s wrong?”
Castiel laughs bitterly-something else the other Sam taught him, and the memory of that particular lesson sends another jolt of arousal to his slowly hardening cock. “Many, many things, Sam.”
“You came to talk to me. Why?” Sam shifts closer, and Castiel wonders just how perceptive the younger Winchester is. Wonders if Sam can sense Castiel’s purpose.
“I need-I-” He can’t get it out. This isn’t his Sam. And yet, if Castiel doesn’t get a release, if he can’t let go of the war and his deals and the horrific reality of his current situation, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. Something desperate, probably; something so destructive that Castiel won’t even be recognizable any longer. He shudders. In the next instant, he makes his decision.
He slides off the bed and falls to his knees before Sam, hands folded behind his back, head bowed and eyes up. Sam looks like he’s been slapped.
~ * ~
“Cas, what are you doing?”
It’s easier to speak from this position, Castiel finds. “I need you, Sam. Please. I need you to help me.”
Sam scrambles away, off to the side, and backs slowly away. Castiel remains kneeling on the stained carpet, though he raises his head and stares at Sam, questioning. “What-you left out a few things, didn’t you?” Sam says. There’s an almost hysterical edge to his question.
“Yes,” Castiel says simply.
“What did I do?” Sam asks. He’s moving seamlessly into fury, now, though his anger seems directed at himself more than Castiel. “What did I make you do?”
“Nothing,” Castiel answers. “I-I wanted it, the first time, and then every time after that, I came to you. On my own. I’m not a child, Sam. I’m an Angel of the Lord. Do you truly believe your counterpart could overpower me? As strong as he was, I am stronger still. Nothing happened that I didn’t consent to.”
“And what did happen?”
Memories flood him. Images of himself with his Sam, all the positions, all the instruments, and he feels himself blushing. He’s still half-hard, and if Sam hasn’t noticed yet, he will soon enough. “Do you want that list alphabetically or chronologically?” he asks. Something the other Sam had said once, when Castiel asked him if he had any regrets. Castiel suspected the list was blank, though didn’t say so. He was still punished for the transgression, and that memory flies to the forefront of his mind. His dick gives another aching throb.
“Jesus, Cas,” Sam says, and for some reason it’s those words that snap Castiel out of his reverie and he realizes what he’s doing. He tries to scramble to his feet, apologizing for the intrusion, promising to never bother Sam with this again-to forget it entirely, to see him only in the safe presence of his brother. Sam steps forward and grabs his shoulder, shoving him back down.
“Sam?”
“You can’t just dump this on me and bail, dude,” Sam says. He rubs a hand over his eyes. “Okay. Okay, Cas. Here’s what we’re going to do. I can’t promise I’ll be able to do whatever kinky shit you got up to when my soul was in the Cage, but maybe I can take the edge off.”
Castiel stares at him. Sam can’t have said what he just-“You’ll what?”
“You’re a wreck, man. Look at you. I don’t want our pocket angel to go all darkside on us because he can’t get laid. So I’m going to help you out.”
He smiles, a little, joy and trepidation and oh yes, he wants this. “Thank you, Sam.”
Sam holds up a hand. “This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you for whatever you did with me while I was soulless, and it doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you for hiding it from me. You have a lot to make up.”
Castiel bows his head. “More than you know,” he says. “But I’m grateful regardless.”
“Good. Now that that’s settled, what do you want me to do to you?” His hand brushes Castiel’s head, and he jerks slightly before leaning into the soft tugs at his hair.
This is familiar ground. Asking for what he wants, begging Sam to give it to him-it’s easy and it’s familiar and Castiel lets his mind drift. “I want you to put me over your lap,” Castiel says. “I want you to punish me for my transgressions against you.”
If Sam is surprised, he doesn’t show it. The hand in his hair keeps the same pace, and Sam’s voice is steady when he responds. “And how should I punish you?”
“With your hand, first,” Castiel says. “I want you to spank me with your hand, and then, if you feel I have not sufficiently atoned, you have had favorable results with a belt or a hairbrush.”
Sam snorts. “So that’s why I suddenly had a giant wood hairbrush in my duffel,” he says. “Good thing I kept it. These are serious violations, Cas.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Yeah. I’ll make sure of it.”
~ * ~
Castiel moans at the words. His cock is fully hard now, and Sam has certainly noticed, though he hasn’t spoken of it. He can’t understand this sudden change in Sam, either. Maybe it’s something that slid past the memory block. Maybe it’s something that’s always been part of Sam, some constant between him and his soulless counterpart. It doesn’t really matter, and Castiel doesn’t dwell too long on it. Sam is giving him what he needs, and for now, that’s all that matters.
“Well?” Sam says, impatient. He circles around Castiel and sits down on the side of the bed. “Much as I like seeing you on your knees, this’ll go much easier if you’re not wearing so many layers.” Castiel doesn’t move. Sam’s words confuse him, a suggestion rather than an order and Castiel’s not quite sure what Sam wants. After a few drawn-out moments, Sam seems to catch on. “Strip how the other me liked it,”
This, Castiel can do. While Sam’s counterpart was imaginative and rarely gave Castiel the same night twice, when it came to removal of Castiel’s clothing, he was consistent. On the nights when he had Castiel do it himself, anyway.
Sam liked to see Castiel reluctant, like that first night together. He liked it when Castiel hesitated in removing the final piece, and he liked it when Castiel blushed. Castiel removes his jackets first, tossing them over the card table by the mini-fridge, then toes his shoes off and bends down to remove his socks. Sam always had him do this standing, and Castiel finds it rather difficult to balance. And Sam always watched like he was waiting for Castiel to tip over. He wonders if this Sam is waiting for the same, and Castiel briefly considers falling before deciding against it. He places his second bared foot on the awful carpet and straightens. Sam has agreed to this, however unenthusiastically, and one misstep might cause Sam to come to his senses and leave.
Castiel’s hands shake as he removes his belt and hands it to Sam. Sam takes it and folds it and sets it behind him, understanding. Then Castiel lowers his pants and boxers, keeping his head bowed, and tries not to tremble at the calculating look Sam is sending his way.
“I said strip.”
“With him, I always-he thought it would be more humiliating for me like this,” Castiel says. Sam shakes his head.
“Maybe next time,” he says. “Right now, I want to look at you.”
Castiel flushes hotly. His fingers struggle with the buttons of his shirt, shaking too badly for the smooth reveal he wants to display, but perhaps Sam is enjoying Castiel’s distress. The thought sends another twinge through his dick, and he feels wet pre-come sliding down his shaft. Sam grins, and Castiel finally finishes with his shirt, tossing it carelessly on top of his jackets and kicking his pants under the table. Finally, he removes his tie and hands it to Sam.
“In case I need to be restrained,” Castiel explains. Sam frowns.
“Do you usually need to?”
“No,” Castiel says. “But sometimes I need assistance in feeling as a human would. And sometimes I struggle too much.” He pauses. “I think-I think I might need it now.”
Sam nods and grabs Castiel’s arm, nudging him to turn around. Castiel does, and Sam loops the tie around his wrists. Castiel tests the knots. They hold firm, just as the other Sam’s had, and Castiel wonders again how much of his Sam is shared with this Sam.
“There,” he says. “Turn.” Castiel does so, facing Sam. His face is warm and only grows hotter as Sam rakes his eyes up and down Castiel’s body. He moves automatically to cover himself but as his wrists are still caught in the tie, he can’t. Sam grins appreciatively at his leaking dick. Castiel squirms. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmurs, and Castiel moans. Sam clears his throat. “Right. Uh. Assume the position?” he says, grimacing.
~ * ~
Castiel does, lowering himself carefully across Sam’s lap. Sam’s hands guide him, big and warm and gentle, and he wants to scream-wants to tell Sam all this barely-touching and treating Castiel like he’s made of glass isn’t why he’s here. He wants Sam to be rough with him, to grip his arm so tight it leaves bruises in the shape of Sam’s fingers, to jerk him around and shove him into position. Most of all he wants Sam to hurt him and with the way this Sam’s been acting, he’s not sure the human can deliver the punishment Castiel craves.
Then the first slap comes down over Castiel’s ass. It stings, but Sam’s not using anywhere near the strength he normally does. A few more come down, and he can feel Sam hesitating with every movement.
“Sam, you have to-harder,” Castiel says. Maybe Sam is just new at this.
“Ask me,” Sam says, and for a brief moment he imagines having the old Sam back with him.
Castiel whimpers. “Please. I’ve been-I’ve been very bad. I’ve disobeyed you, I’ve flaunted your orders and your wishes and I-I’ve betrayed your friendship and your trust,” he says. The true weight of his words is lost on Sam, he knows, but for Castiel it’s almost close to the confession he’ll one day make. The one he won’t be able to atone for. “Your only recourse is to punish me severely. Please, Sam.”
A light humming and jerk of Sam’s hips and Castiel can feel just how much his words are affecting Sam. He gives a little triumphant smile to the seafoam-green quilt, but it’s quickly wiped off his face as Sam begins striking again. Castiel grunts sharply at the blows, which are still not as hard as Castiel has grown accustomed to, but the fact that Sam is layering them over the same spot more than makes up for it. He begins squirming embarrassingly early, trying to force Sam’s hand to hit a different part of his skin, but with his hands bound and his body draped over Sam’s lap he has no leverage.
Sam’s other arm clamps down more firmly over Castiel’s waist, scooping him up and holding him still as Sam continues to strike that same spot, a white-hot center of pain. He wonders if he’ll be left with a single, round bruise or an imprint of Sam’s hand. He hopes it’s the latter, and the image of walking around with Sam’s handprint on his ass makes him gasp. His cock jerks against Sam’s leg.
The assault is unrelenting, and Castiel is crying out in earnest now, struggling desperately in Sam’s grip. He can hear his own voice begging though he’s certain what he’s saying is unintelligible-more please stop no more in a garbled strand of syllables. Finally, Sam does stop, and Castiel shakes with exertion, gulping heavily and forcing himself to calm. That one spot on his right ass cheek is throbbing horribly.
~ * ~
But Sam isn’t done. As soon as Castiel relaxes, the second the tension leaves his body, the spanking starts up again. This time, Sam picks a spot on his left cheek, delivering a flurry of spanks that knock the breath out of Castiel. He has no time to recover, no time to adjust, and he can’t even focus enough to tense. His body is completely slack against Sam as he takes the barrage of slaps.
There’s a hand in his hair, and Sam’s no longer holding his waist-he’s running his fingers gently through Castiel’s hair. It’s something the other Sam loved, pulling at Castiel’s dark strands until his scalp was as sore as his ass, but this Sam is petting him. It’s almost like he cares. And maybe this Sam actually does. Maybe Castiel can convince himself, just for now, that he cares. The thought twists in his mind, darkens, then suddenly lightens again and Castiel believes it. For now, he believes it. Castiel whimpers into the quilt, accepting it, accepting this Sam, and accepting the punishment that can never be enough-as enough. And as that final thought hits him, something inside Castiel breaks. He turns his head into Sam’s side and weeps.
Sam stops then, ceases the bruising hits and runs his fingers gently over Castiel’s burning ass. Castiel allows it as his breathing evens, as his sobbing slows, and then he’s moving and Sam’s arms are around him, pulling him onto the bed.
“Shh,” he whispers, brushing the tears from Castiel’s eyes with one hand and untying Castiel’s wrists with the other. “Hey. You with me, man?”
Castiel nods and tries to turn his face into the pillow. He doesn’t want to speak to Sam. He doesn’t want to talk about why he-he’s never done this, not quite, and the sensation of letting go, of allowing himself such powerful emotional release, is overwhelming. He never did it with the other Sam. But he never quite felt safe with the other Sam, either. The violence of whatever he had with Sam’s counterpart was an escape in its own way, but it was never as intense as this. And he’s still hard, he realizes, as Sam’s knee bumps into his crotch and Castiel gasps.
Sam chuckles. “Here, let me,” he says. He draws his tongue down his hand, then wraps it around Castiel’s dick. He moves slowly, drawing it out, long deep strokes and gentle rubs over the head of his cock. Castiel’s half-sobs turn to strangled moans. The sound is deafening in Castiel’s ears, and he comes with a shaking sigh and slumps boneless on the pillows.
“I should,” he says, attempting to wave in the direction of Sam’s pants. Sam shakes his head.
“Don’t worry about it, man,” he says. Castiel shakes his head.
“No. No, you said, it’s rude not to reciprocate.”
“That wasn’t me, Cas,” Sam reminds him. “I don’t mind, and you’re exhausted.”
Castiel nods. Though Sam’s words are still confusing, he’s willing to accept them for the moment. Sam runs his fingers through Castiel’s hair, like before, and rolls him over on his side. Castiel grunts when his bruised ass hits the bed, but then Sam’s behind him, holding him, kissing his neck, and Castiel realizes for all the things they’ve done, Sam has never kissed him. Not this Sam, and not the other Sam. If tonight weren’t the end of it, if Castiel weren’t so determined that this would be the last time he’d burden Sam with his presence, he’d make kissing the first thing they’d do when they woke.
As it is, Sam will be gone by the time he wakes. Castiel will be gone shortly after. They will not speak of what happened. It’s better, Castiel decides, that they haven’t kissed. It’ll make the separation less painful on both their parts.
~ * ~
Later
One of the problems with sex in the middle of the afternoon is how awkward it is when your partner goes to sleep and you’re not the least bit tired. Cas, despite the fact that he’s an angel and angels don’t sleep (but they don’t fuck, either, and Cas has always been weird-maybe this is some new kind of angel unconscious time or something) passes out easily, Sam’s arms wrapped around him. A sliver of bright sunlight from behind the heavy curtains casts a line down Cas’s nose. It makes him look even more angelic. Sam finds it fascinating-then recoils at the thought as he remembers that Cas is an angel. He’s probably going to Hell.
Again.
Cas stirs, and Sam holds his breath.
“Hey, Cas,” he says finally. Cas’s blue eyes flutter open and the angel stares at him, clearly confused.
“You’re still here.”
“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That was pretty intense.” Cas nods slowly, and something occurs to Sam. “The other me didn’t stay at all, did he?”
“No.”
Sam tries not to feel guilty at that. He’s still trying to piece together everything that happened while he was in Hell and not-in-Hell and the whole thing gives him a headache. And Dean keeps warning him not to remember, but Sam can’t help it-he has to know what he did. With Cas, and with… whatever else he did. It’s weird and confusing and he’s not comfortable with this, with any of this, but he does know that even before Cas knelt down and confessed what he’d done with Sam’s counterpart, Sam wanted him. He still does. And he kind of wants to show the angel what normal sex is like, too.
Whether or not that still means anything, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know if Cas could want what Sam would offer, especially after not-Sam apparently broke him. And after Sam finished the job and what was he thinking.
He doesn’t know. Maybe it was the other Sam leaking through the wall. Maybe it was always inside him, like the psychic powers, like his own doomed self. He started the Apocalypse. Breaking an angel was just… inevitable, probably.
Oh, God. He broke an angel.
“I’m going to Hell again, aren’t I?” Sam mutters. Cas shakes his head.
“I don’t think so. You’re a good man, Sam Winchester.”
“Still. I’m sorry. I didn’t-I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Cas blinks. “But I wanted you to,” he says. “No harm was done, and a great deal of good came from our arrangement. Though I understand you want nothing more to do with it, with me, and I accept that. Thank you, regardless.” He looks resigned, but not upset, as though from the beginning he’d known and accepted that this would be the last time. The last time for what, Sam’s not entirely sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Cas thought he’d never want to see him again for any purpose.
“No, that’s not-” Sam starts, then stops. He sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes. “I like you, Cas. I liked you even before all of this. And I don’t know how much is me and how much is that other Sam, I don’t know how alike we were, and who knows-maybe I’m still that Sam. And I don’t know what’s going to happen, either. It’s really messed up, Cas.”
“I understand,” Cas says. Sam shakes his head and carefully takes Cas’s hands.
“No, Cas, you don’t. You don’t because I don’t. But I do know that I want to work something out. Me and Dean-our whole lives are about not talking, not working things through, and ignoring vital details and usually that ends with one of us dying or the end of the world or something and I’m not going to go through that anymore. I’m back from Hell. I want things to be different.”
Cas nods. “So what, then?” He looks hopeful, but Sam knows Cas is just waiting for Sam to admit that his entire rant is pretty much crap and Cas should just leave before any more damage is done. Sam’s not exactly an expert, but he’s pretty sure his counterpart did some serious harm with ditching Cas after sex.
Sam shrugs and grins. “Well, for starters, we could get a burger. I’m pretty hungry.”
The answering smile makes Sam think that this actually might have a chance of working out.
Author: fete_in_june
Pairings/Characters: Castiel/Robosam, Castiel/Sam
Ratings/Contents: NC-17 / spanking, D/s
Wordcount: 5420
Spoilers: Through S6
Notes: Wow. Okay, so this was originally written for Round 5 of Blindfold for the prompt It turns out that Soulless!Sam offered to explain the pizza man and the babysitter (the porn movie Cas was watching in "Caged Heat") to Castiel with a practical demonstration. Now that Sam has his memory back, Castiel wants him to spank and screw Castiel the way Soulless!Sam did. I never bothered to repost. So here it is, finally.
Then
“Dean said we don’t talk about it.”
Crowley and the monsters have been dealt with. Sam’s soul, for now, is still in the Cage. They’re no closer to finding a solution than they were at the beginning, and despite Castiel’s misgivings, he’s still determined to find another way. He promised Dean, after all.
“I’m not Dean.”
All of which brought Castiel here. Attempting to find Sam’s thoughts on the matter. But Sam doesn’t seem interested in talking about his soul. Not important, he says. Already made up my mind, he insists. Nothing more to talk about. Now, about the pizza man…
Castiel fidgets on the bed, looking anywhere but at Sam. His gaze darts between the broken T.V., the crooked lamp, his own clasped hands.
“No,” he says, like an invitation, and spares a glance at Sam. There’s a predatory smirk on his face and the light is gone from his eyes. “You’re not.”
The smirk widens to an all-out grin, and Sam grabs him by the back of his coat. “So tell me, Cas, how did it feel? Watching them like that. What did it do to you?”
“You were there,” Castiel says. “You know what it did.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Sam inches the trench coat from his shoulders. Castiel allows it, curious. “I meant, what did you see when you looked into that whore’s face?”
Castiel hesitates. He knows what Sam is offering. He also knows what answering honestly will bring, and he knows it’s a terrible idea. But he’s fallen so far already-perhaps this jump will bring him the peace he craves. He makes his choice.
“I saw myself.”
“Do you want to feel what she felt?”
“Yes.”
Sam nods. “Good.” He is triumphant. It reminds Castiel of when another inhabited Sam Winchester’s skin. He shudders. “Shoes. Socks. Coats. Off, Cas.”
He bends down to unlace his shoes and pull his socks off. He can feel Sam’s gaze on him, watching his every movement. His face burns, and he wonders why he agreed. Why he’s still agreeing. Sam wouldn’t hurt him, he trusts, but this is not Sam. Carefully, he stacks his shoes by the bed, tucking the socks into them, and stands to remove his coats. He meets Sam’s eyes as he does so, and this time the emptiness comforts him. If he does this, he will not be betraying a friend. It will not add to his long list of regrets. Dean will return Sam’s soul in time, and it will be forgotten.
His hands go to his tie. Sam stops him.
“No. Leave it on.” Castiel drops his hands. Sam grabs the thin slip of blue fabric and tugs him forward, hands moving swiftly across his belt buckle, before sliding the belt from his pants in one smooth yank. He folds it and sets it aside. “For later,” Sam says. Castiel shudders.
Sam finishes with his pants, shoving them down around Castiel’s ankles. The cool air as it hits his exposed skin makes him gasp. He begins to step out of the fabric, but again, Sam stops him and beckons him closer. With his pants hindering his movements, Castiel is forced to shuffle awkwardly until he’s pressed between Sam’s legs.
“Eager little thing, aren’t you?” Sam chuckles, wrapping a hand around Castiel’s hardening prick. Castiel gasps again, louder, and Sam flicks the head. He winces. “Good. I like enthusiasm. ‘Course, reluctance can be fun too, in the right circumstances. And you’re a little bit of both.” He shoves Castiel away, and the angel stumbles back, nearly tripping. “There now.” He pulls at the tie again. “Over my knee.”
It’s an awkward business, climbing across Sam’s knees. Though Sam is several inches taller and quite a lot broader than Castiel, Castiel isn’t exactly tiny, and Sam’s thick knees dig into his stomach. He wiggles a little to find a more comfortable position, and Sam’s arm comes around to grab him around the middle and force him to lie how Sam wants.
His pants are still around his ankles, his shirt bunched up over his lower back. Sam positions him so that his naked rear is firmly in the air and his face is pressed against the bed. The threadbare, once-orange comforter smells like mold and sweat and he grimaces. Still, the smell gives him a slight distraction from his current position.
~ * ~
“Hmm,” Sam hums, stroking his hand up and down Castiel’s rear, drawing swirls with his fingers against the bare skin. Castiel squirms, groaning with anticipation, pushing up into Sam’s hand in a silent plea. Sam draws his hand away. “Ask nicely,” he says. “I want to hear how much you want it.”
Castiel shudders. His voice cracks when he tries to speak, and he clears his throat and tries again. “S-Sam, please. I want you to-I want you to teach me, to show me, to-” and his voice breaks again, though he doesn’t stop. Sam is waiting. Castiel is vulnerable. In this position, he thinks, he can ask for anything. Almost. “I want you to punish me, so that I might be forgiven,” Castiel finishes.
“In that case, tell me your transgressions.”
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned runs through Castiel’s mind, and he shoves it aside. This is not a confessional. He will not tell Sam everything he has done-though this Sam is strong and merciless, he cannot punish Castiel enough to make up for it all. And Castiel cannot hope to confess everything. “I have-I have lusted,” he chooses instead. “I have gazed upon carnal acts, and I have been tempted to fall into them myself.”
Sam laughs. “Naughty angel,” he says, and the first slap falls.
Castiel jerks in Sam’s grip. He’s allowing himself to feel as a human would feel, and Sam’s going all-out, grunting as he lays down half a dozen sharp smacks that shove Castiel forward with each blow. He’s still hard, despite the pain, his erection dragging across Sam’s jeans.
Sam pauses, then, to run his hand over Castiel’s throbbing rear. Castiel groans and pushes back for more-stop being gentle, I can take it. Sam laughs and complies.
The spanks fall hard and fast, never letting up in speed or strength, a flurry of slaps that bleed together and never give Castiel a chance to recover. Sam’s hands are unpredictable, striking random spots with no pattern, overlapping already-covered areas. The sting is agonizing, and he lets out a soft cry as he begins to struggle. His hands fly up behind him. He tries to block his rear from further harm, but Sam just gathers his wrists together and presses them into his back.
“Now, now, none of that,” Sam says cheerfully, stopping the assault. The brief respite just makes Castiel’s skin burn hotter, makes the ache deeper. His arousal hasn’t flagged, though; he’s still hard and leaking into the denim of Sam’s jeans, wet against his stomach. He squirms a little, and he can feel where Sam is hard as well-then Sam grips his hair, stilling him. He flushes, embarrassed, and presses his face back into the comforter to hide his shame. It sends a fresh shudder of arousal through him, and he whimpers.
Sam continues. “We’re not done yet, Cas,” he says, shifting them and reaching back for something. Castiel twists his head around, curious, but looks away again at the sight of Sam folding his belt. He doesn’t want the human to see the panic in his eyes. “You were meant to take your punishment,” Sam says.
The belt stripes hot across his seat, and Castiel can’t bite back the scream it draws from his throat. Flaming agony laces across the mark, and Castiel wouldn’t be surprised to see fire dancing on the welts the belt surely leaves on his already-bruised skin. Three more lashes, and Castiel’s shouts have turned to hitched cries, his entire body trembling. He can no longer even struggle. The intensity of the pain has exhausted him. All he can do is let Sam hold him, let Sam strike him, take his spanking and remember that it’s hardly a fraction of what he truly deserves.
The last five fall across his yet-untouched upper thighs, striking hard in quick succession along a single, strategic point, grazing his unwavering erection, and as the last one falls, Castiel arches into Sam’s touch and comes. He screams and chokes and slumps down, barely registering Sam’s gentle laughter as darkness takes him.
~ * ~
He wakes some time later. Sam has removed Castiel’s shirt and tossed his pants somewhere, though the tie’s still around his neck. Sam is rubbing something into his skin. His rear is still blistering, and he groans softly at the pain, but whatever Sam is applying seems to abate it. Castiel considers healing himself, cutting off his vessel’s pain receptors entirely, but decides against it. He’s still unable to block pain without blocking all sensation entirely, and he likes the way Sam touches him.
He moans again, higher, and Sam moves his hand to rub Castiel’s shoulders.
“Good, you’re up,” he says. “How’d you like the first part of your demonstration?”
It takes Castiel a while to register Sam’s words. “First part?” he asks.
“Oh, yeah,” Sam says, and rubs his crotch against Castiel’s bruised flesh. His pants are gone. “See, Cas, it’s not polite to fall asleep before getting your partner off.”
“Oh,” Castiel says. “What do you want me to do?”
“Just lie there,” Sam says. “You were so good before, I think you’ll be just as good at taking my cock.”
Sam’s fingers delve between the cleft of Castiel’s rear and push against his hole. He shoves two inside, and Castiel gasps-Sam’s fingers are cool and slick from whatever he’s been rubbing into Castiel’s welts, but the sensation is still uncomfortable, a different kind of pain, though no less arousing. The fingers twist inside him, thrusting and stretching, then Sam pulls out.
Castiel groans at the loss, trying to follow Sam’s fingers with his body, but the fingers pop out anyway and Sam grabs his hips, pulling him up so that he is kneeling with his face still planted in the sheets. Castiel tries to push up on his hands, but the attempt finds him exhausted. Instead, he closes his eyes and waits.
A fresh wave of agony bursts through him when Sam grabs his heated cheeks and pulls them apart, exposing his hole. Castiel squirms at the touch, whimpering, and twists around to watch. Sam has his prick in one hand, stroking easily, and it’s huge-even against Sam’s large palms, it’s enormous, thick and long and dripping down his fingers, and Castiel tenses at the thought of taking it inside himself. He whines a little, clenching and trying to pull away, but Sam ignores him. He holds Castiel tighter, one hand on his hip, the other gripping his tie. He presses the head of his length at Castiel’s entrance and pushes inside with a single long, hard thrust.
Castiel cries out, the intrusion feeling like he’s been broken in two, and he claws uselessly at the sheets. He tries to control his breathing, tries to relax, tries to adjust, but Sam doesn’t allow it. He pulls back just as harshly and shoves back in, setting a fast, brutal pace.
The angel squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to let go and take it, as Sam whispers the same instructions in his ear-yeah, that’s it, so tight, take it, Cas, take my cock.
“Sam,” Castiel whines, high and needy, and Sam groans in response.
“Should see yourself, Cas. Your ass is all red, covered in my marks, your greedy little hole stretched wide and hungry, desperate for my cock. You need this, don’t you? Filthy little angel.” He thrusts harder, slapping against his bruised skin.
“Sam, please,” Castiel begs.
“Yeah. Fuck, Cas.” He drops the tie and thrusts two of his fingers into the angel’s mouth. Castiel sucks obediently, staring up at Sam, as the other hand wraps around his waist to grip his second erection of the night. “God, next time, Cas, next time I’m going to fuck your mouth.” Castiel hums against the fingers, his eyes fluttering shut.
That does it for Sam. He spills inside Castiel with a final grunt. The feeling of his semen flooding through Castiel, dripping out of him, sends Castiel over the edge as well, and he comes into Sam’s hand.
Sam wipes himself off with Castiel’s shirt, then tosses it aside, not bothering to give Castiel the same consideration. Castiel watches Sam’s expression turn to mocking and disdain, and though the humiliation is almost unbearable, he can’t turn away. Instead he lies there, wet and used, his entire body sore and aching. Sam pulls on his jeans and throws on a shirt. He doesn’t button it.
“Room’s paid for the night,” is all Sam says before the door slams shut and Castiel is alone.
Four days later, he seeks out Sam again.
~ * ~
It goes on like that for two months. Whenever it all becomes too much, whenever the strain of war and deception and his dwindling faith threatens to choke him, Castiel finds Sam. Sam is happy to oblige, provided Castiel asks properly. Once, after a particularly awful battle, Castiel refuses. He pushes Sam into the wall and tries to take what he wants. It ends with Castiel kneeling naked in the corner for hours, hands tied behind his back with his tie, and Sam shoving his cock down Castiel’s throat. He doesn’t let Castiel come at all, and once he’s done, he abandons Castiel to free himself and use his own hand for pleasure. Castiel becomes much better at following the rules after that.
For two months, Castiel comes for Sam. Then, one day, Dean calls for him.
Dean has returned Sam’s soul.
Castiel is asked to feel for Sam’s soul, and he does so, pushing his hand into Sam and running his fingers gently across the battered, mutilated thing. His own chest aches. This Sam, if he wakes, will not be the same Sam he was before Castiel failed to pull him from the cage properly. Neither will he be the same Sam that offered Castiel a respite from the continuing horrors of war. It may be selfish to think so, but Castiel is not sure he can fight on without that Sam. And it pains him to think he cares more deeply for the Sam without a soul than the Sam with one.
He answers Dean’s questions with terse, angry words. Once, Castiel said they shared a more profound bond. Now, he’s not so sure. He flees before Dean can ask anything more of him.
Later, Sam prays for him. Castiel answers at once. Sam is whole, Sam is back, Sam is-Sam is right and Castiel almost can’t bear to look at him this way. Yet he greets him anyway, and thinks how this version would show affection. The other Sam would have Castiel kneel at his feet, would tug at Castiel’s hair and promise that if Castiel is very, very good, Sam would put him over his knee rather than the impersonal motel furniture. He does not think this Sam would appreciate that.
Dean and Bobby offered hugs, he remembers. He moves in to do the same, but Sam rejects it, and Castiel forces his disappointment away. This is not his Sam. The relationship he has with this Sam is tense at best. He drops his arms and barely notices when Sam starts fishing for details about the year past. Of course he wouldn’t remember. Of course Dean wouldn’t give him the answers he wants. Dean even extracted the same promise from Bobby. But Castiel has sworn nothing, and so it is with an almost vicious satisfaction that he sits across from Sam and walks him through his time without a soul. He leaves out the parts with Sam’s cock up his ass.
(He’s gotten better at the dirty-talk. Two weeks into their arrangement, Sam tied him spread-eagled to the headboard, slipped the head of his dick inside Castiel, and refused to move at all until Castiel’s vocabulary improved.)
Castiel leaves as soon as Sam is satisfied. He has a war to fight and his net is gone. He is feeling surprisingly free and just a little bit reckless.
~ * ~
Now
Castiel makes sure Dean is gone before fluttering into Sam’s motel room. Dean’s tailing a potential victim all day and Sam is stuck doing research. He remembers how much the soulless version hated research and preferred bullets. It should be a great improvement, Castiel thinks. It’s not.
Sam lets out a surprised squeak when he sees Castiel. “Uh. Hi? Dean’s out right now, but he’ll be back this evening. Or you could go find him, he’s following this woman who-”
“I’m not here for Dean,” Castiel says. “I’m-I’m here for you.” He drops wearily onto the bed closest to the door and stares at his hands. They’re scraped and bruised, like the rest of his vessel, rips made by angelic weapons that won’t heal quickly. His sleeves are smeared with blood and dirt, and he’s sure he looks like the walking dead. Sam’s eyes widen.
“Cas, are you okay?”
Castiel shakes his head. “The war. It is wearing on me.”
“Should take a vacation, man. You look awful.”
“I can’t,” Castiel snaps. “There’s-there used to be an escape. A way I could recharge. Like a vacation, almost. I had that. But not anymore.”
Sam’s arm jerks, like an attempt to brush Castiel’s shoulder, aborted quickly as he remembers that this is Castiel. The angel tries not to be disappointed. Of course, this Sam wouldn’t know what that gesture would mean. The other Sam wouldn’t either, of course. The other Sam was inventive in ways Castiel had never seen in all his millennia watching over humanity. But he wasn’t gentle. Castiel didn’t want him to be, and Sam was incapable of it. It was a good arrangement, ended far too soon.
And there’s no way he can make this Sam understand.
“Why?” Sam asks.
“That-person-is no longer available.”
Sam grins. “You had a girlfriend? Damn. Good for you, Cas. Who was she, angel or human?”
“Not a girlfriend,” Castiel says. “But-someone.” Sam watches him, eager for details that Castiel can’t spare. Determined to wring the truth from him, just as his counterpart was-but with perfectly calculated glances this time rather than perfectly calculated strikes to his ass. The memory makes him squirm, makes his dick twitch in his pants, and he stares at Sam, horrified.
“Cas, what’s wrong?”
Castiel laughs bitterly-something else the other Sam taught him, and the memory of that particular lesson sends another jolt of arousal to his slowly hardening cock. “Many, many things, Sam.”
“You came to talk to me. Why?” Sam shifts closer, and Castiel wonders just how perceptive the younger Winchester is. Wonders if Sam can sense Castiel’s purpose.
“I need-I-” He can’t get it out. This isn’t his Sam. And yet, if Castiel doesn’t get a release, if he can’t let go of the war and his deals and the horrific reality of his current situation, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. Something desperate, probably; something so destructive that Castiel won’t even be recognizable any longer. He shudders. In the next instant, he makes his decision.
He slides off the bed and falls to his knees before Sam, hands folded behind his back, head bowed and eyes up. Sam looks like he’s been slapped.
~ * ~
“Cas, what are you doing?”
It’s easier to speak from this position, Castiel finds. “I need you, Sam. Please. I need you to help me.”
Sam scrambles away, off to the side, and backs slowly away. Castiel remains kneeling on the stained carpet, though he raises his head and stares at Sam, questioning. “What-you left out a few things, didn’t you?” Sam says. There’s an almost hysterical edge to his question.
“Yes,” Castiel says simply.
“What did I do?” Sam asks. He’s moving seamlessly into fury, now, though his anger seems directed at himself more than Castiel. “What did I make you do?”
“Nothing,” Castiel answers. “I-I wanted it, the first time, and then every time after that, I came to you. On my own. I’m not a child, Sam. I’m an Angel of the Lord. Do you truly believe your counterpart could overpower me? As strong as he was, I am stronger still. Nothing happened that I didn’t consent to.”
“And what did happen?”
Memories flood him. Images of himself with his Sam, all the positions, all the instruments, and he feels himself blushing. He’s still half-hard, and if Sam hasn’t noticed yet, he will soon enough. “Do you want that list alphabetically or chronologically?” he asks. Something the other Sam had said once, when Castiel asked him if he had any regrets. Castiel suspected the list was blank, though didn’t say so. He was still punished for the transgression, and that memory flies to the forefront of his mind. His dick gives another aching throb.
“Jesus, Cas,” Sam says, and for some reason it’s those words that snap Castiel out of his reverie and he realizes what he’s doing. He tries to scramble to his feet, apologizing for the intrusion, promising to never bother Sam with this again-to forget it entirely, to see him only in the safe presence of his brother. Sam steps forward and grabs his shoulder, shoving him back down.
“Sam?”
“You can’t just dump this on me and bail, dude,” Sam says. He rubs a hand over his eyes. “Okay. Okay, Cas. Here’s what we’re going to do. I can’t promise I’ll be able to do whatever kinky shit you got up to when my soul was in the Cage, but maybe I can take the edge off.”
Castiel stares at him. Sam can’t have said what he just-“You’ll what?”
“You’re a wreck, man. Look at you. I don’t want our pocket angel to go all darkside on us because he can’t get laid. So I’m going to help you out.”
He smiles, a little, joy and trepidation and oh yes, he wants this. “Thank you, Sam.”
Sam holds up a hand. “This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you for whatever you did with me while I was soulless, and it doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you for hiding it from me. You have a lot to make up.”
Castiel bows his head. “More than you know,” he says. “But I’m grateful regardless.”
“Good. Now that that’s settled, what do you want me to do to you?” His hand brushes Castiel’s head, and he jerks slightly before leaning into the soft tugs at his hair.
This is familiar ground. Asking for what he wants, begging Sam to give it to him-it’s easy and it’s familiar and Castiel lets his mind drift. “I want you to put me over your lap,” Castiel says. “I want you to punish me for my transgressions against you.”
If Sam is surprised, he doesn’t show it. The hand in his hair keeps the same pace, and Sam’s voice is steady when he responds. “And how should I punish you?”
“With your hand, first,” Castiel says. “I want you to spank me with your hand, and then, if you feel I have not sufficiently atoned, you have had favorable results with a belt or a hairbrush.”
Sam snorts. “So that’s why I suddenly had a giant wood hairbrush in my duffel,” he says. “Good thing I kept it. These are serious violations, Cas.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Yeah. I’ll make sure of it.”
~ * ~
Castiel moans at the words. His cock is fully hard now, and Sam has certainly noticed, though he hasn’t spoken of it. He can’t understand this sudden change in Sam, either. Maybe it’s something that slid past the memory block. Maybe it’s something that’s always been part of Sam, some constant between him and his soulless counterpart. It doesn’t really matter, and Castiel doesn’t dwell too long on it. Sam is giving him what he needs, and for now, that’s all that matters.
“Well?” Sam says, impatient. He circles around Castiel and sits down on the side of the bed. “Much as I like seeing you on your knees, this’ll go much easier if you’re not wearing so many layers.” Castiel doesn’t move. Sam’s words confuse him, a suggestion rather than an order and Castiel’s not quite sure what Sam wants. After a few drawn-out moments, Sam seems to catch on. “Strip how the other me liked it,”
This, Castiel can do. While Sam’s counterpart was imaginative and rarely gave Castiel the same night twice, when it came to removal of Castiel’s clothing, he was consistent. On the nights when he had Castiel do it himself, anyway.
Sam liked to see Castiel reluctant, like that first night together. He liked it when Castiel hesitated in removing the final piece, and he liked it when Castiel blushed. Castiel removes his jackets first, tossing them over the card table by the mini-fridge, then toes his shoes off and bends down to remove his socks. Sam always had him do this standing, and Castiel finds it rather difficult to balance. And Sam always watched like he was waiting for Castiel to tip over. He wonders if this Sam is waiting for the same, and Castiel briefly considers falling before deciding against it. He places his second bared foot on the awful carpet and straightens. Sam has agreed to this, however unenthusiastically, and one misstep might cause Sam to come to his senses and leave.
Castiel’s hands shake as he removes his belt and hands it to Sam. Sam takes it and folds it and sets it behind him, understanding. Then Castiel lowers his pants and boxers, keeping his head bowed, and tries not to tremble at the calculating look Sam is sending his way.
“I said strip.”
“With him, I always-he thought it would be more humiliating for me like this,” Castiel says. Sam shakes his head.
“Maybe next time,” he says. “Right now, I want to look at you.”
Castiel flushes hotly. His fingers struggle with the buttons of his shirt, shaking too badly for the smooth reveal he wants to display, but perhaps Sam is enjoying Castiel’s distress. The thought sends another twinge through his dick, and he feels wet pre-come sliding down his shaft. Sam grins, and Castiel finally finishes with his shirt, tossing it carelessly on top of his jackets and kicking his pants under the table. Finally, he removes his tie and hands it to Sam.
“In case I need to be restrained,” Castiel explains. Sam frowns.
“Do you usually need to?”
“No,” Castiel says. “But sometimes I need assistance in feeling as a human would. And sometimes I struggle too much.” He pauses. “I think-I think I might need it now.”
Sam nods and grabs Castiel’s arm, nudging him to turn around. Castiel does, and Sam loops the tie around his wrists. Castiel tests the knots. They hold firm, just as the other Sam’s had, and Castiel wonders again how much of his Sam is shared with this Sam.
“There,” he says. “Turn.” Castiel does so, facing Sam. His face is warm and only grows hotter as Sam rakes his eyes up and down Castiel’s body. He moves automatically to cover himself but as his wrists are still caught in the tie, he can’t. Sam grins appreciatively at his leaking dick. Castiel squirms. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmurs, and Castiel moans. Sam clears his throat. “Right. Uh. Assume the position?” he says, grimacing.
~ * ~
Castiel does, lowering himself carefully across Sam’s lap. Sam’s hands guide him, big and warm and gentle, and he wants to scream-wants to tell Sam all this barely-touching and treating Castiel like he’s made of glass isn’t why he’s here. He wants Sam to be rough with him, to grip his arm so tight it leaves bruises in the shape of Sam’s fingers, to jerk him around and shove him into position. Most of all he wants Sam to hurt him and with the way this Sam’s been acting, he’s not sure the human can deliver the punishment Castiel craves.
Then the first slap comes down over Castiel’s ass. It stings, but Sam’s not using anywhere near the strength he normally does. A few more come down, and he can feel Sam hesitating with every movement.
“Sam, you have to-harder,” Castiel says. Maybe Sam is just new at this.
“Ask me,” Sam says, and for a brief moment he imagines having the old Sam back with him.
Castiel whimpers. “Please. I’ve been-I’ve been very bad. I’ve disobeyed you, I’ve flaunted your orders and your wishes and I-I’ve betrayed your friendship and your trust,” he says. The true weight of his words is lost on Sam, he knows, but for Castiel it’s almost close to the confession he’ll one day make. The one he won’t be able to atone for. “Your only recourse is to punish me severely. Please, Sam.”
A light humming and jerk of Sam’s hips and Castiel can feel just how much his words are affecting Sam. He gives a little triumphant smile to the seafoam-green quilt, but it’s quickly wiped off his face as Sam begins striking again. Castiel grunts sharply at the blows, which are still not as hard as Castiel has grown accustomed to, but the fact that Sam is layering them over the same spot more than makes up for it. He begins squirming embarrassingly early, trying to force Sam’s hand to hit a different part of his skin, but with his hands bound and his body draped over Sam’s lap he has no leverage.
Sam’s other arm clamps down more firmly over Castiel’s waist, scooping him up and holding him still as Sam continues to strike that same spot, a white-hot center of pain. He wonders if he’ll be left with a single, round bruise or an imprint of Sam’s hand. He hopes it’s the latter, and the image of walking around with Sam’s handprint on his ass makes him gasp. His cock jerks against Sam’s leg.
The assault is unrelenting, and Castiel is crying out in earnest now, struggling desperately in Sam’s grip. He can hear his own voice begging though he’s certain what he’s saying is unintelligible-more please stop no more in a garbled strand of syllables. Finally, Sam does stop, and Castiel shakes with exertion, gulping heavily and forcing himself to calm. That one spot on his right ass cheek is throbbing horribly.
~ * ~
But Sam isn’t done. As soon as Castiel relaxes, the second the tension leaves his body, the spanking starts up again. This time, Sam picks a spot on his left cheek, delivering a flurry of spanks that knock the breath out of Castiel. He has no time to recover, no time to adjust, and he can’t even focus enough to tense. His body is completely slack against Sam as he takes the barrage of slaps.
There’s a hand in his hair, and Sam’s no longer holding his waist-he’s running his fingers gently through Castiel’s hair. It’s something the other Sam loved, pulling at Castiel’s dark strands until his scalp was as sore as his ass, but this Sam is petting him. It’s almost like he cares. And maybe this Sam actually does. Maybe Castiel can convince himself, just for now, that he cares. The thought twists in his mind, darkens, then suddenly lightens again and Castiel believes it. For now, he believes it. Castiel whimpers into the quilt, accepting it, accepting this Sam, and accepting the punishment that can never be enough-as enough. And as that final thought hits him, something inside Castiel breaks. He turns his head into Sam’s side and weeps.
Sam stops then, ceases the bruising hits and runs his fingers gently over Castiel’s burning ass. Castiel allows it as his breathing evens, as his sobbing slows, and then he’s moving and Sam’s arms are around him, pulling him onto the bed.
“Shh,” he whispers, brushing the tears from Castiel’s eyes with one hand and untying Castiel’s wrists with the other. “Hey. You with me, man?”
Castiel nods and tries to turn his face into the pillow. He doesn’t want to speak to Sam. He doesn’t want to talk about why he-he’s never done this, not quite, and the sensation of letting go, of allowing himself such powerful emotional release, is overwhelming. He never did it with the other Sam. But he never quite felt safe with the other Sam, either. The violence of whatever he had with Sam’s counterpart was an escape in its own way, but it was never as intense as this. And he’s still hard, he realizes, as Sam’s knee bumps into his crotch and Castiel gasps.
Sam chuckles. “Here, let me,” he says. He draws his tongue down his hand, then wraps it around Castiel’s dick. He moves slowly, drawing it out, long deep strokes and gentle rubs over the head of his cock. Castiel’s half-sobs turn to strangled moans. The sound is deafening in Castiel’s ears, and he comes with a shaking sigh and slumps boneless on the pillows.
“I should,” he says, attempting to wave in the direction of Sam’s pants. Sam shakes his head.
“Don’t worry about it, man,” he says. Castiel shakes his head.
“No. No, you said, it’s rude not to reciprocate.”
“That wasn’t me, Cas,” Sam reminds him. “I don’t mind, and you’re exhausted.”
Castiel nods. Though Sam’s words are still confusing, he’s willing to accept them for the moment. Sam runs his fingers through Castiel’s hair, like before, and rolls him over on his side. Castiel grunts when his bruised ass hits the bed, but then Sam’s behind him, holding him, kissing his neck, and Castiel realizes for all the things they’ve done, Sam has never kissed him. Not this Sam, and not the other Sam. If tonight weren’t the end of it, if Castiel weren’t so determined that this would be the last time he’d burden Sam with his presence, he’d make kissing the first thing they’d do when they woke.
As it is, Sam will be gone by the time he wakes. Castiel will be gone shortly after. They will not speak of what happened. It’s better, Castiel decides, that they haven’t kissed. It’ll make the separation less painful on both their parts.
~ * ~
Later
One of the problems with sex in the middle of the afternoon is how awkward it is when your partner goes to sleep and you’re not the least bit tired. Cas, despite the fact that he’s an angel and angels don’t sleep (but they don’t fuck, either, and Cas has always been weird-maybe this is some new kind of angel unconscious time or something) passes out easily, Sam’s arms wrapped around him. A sliver of bright sunlight from behind the heavy curtains casts a line down Cas’s nose. It makes him look even more angelic. Sam finds it fascinating-then recoils at the thought as he remembers that Cas is an angel. He’s probably going to Hell.
Again.
Cas stirs, and Sam holds his breath.
“Hey, Cas,” he says finally. Cas’s blue eyes flutter open and the angel stares at him, clearly confused.
“You’re still here.”
“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That was pretty intense.” Cas nods slowly, and something occurs to Sam. “The other me didn’t stay at all, did he?”
“No.”
Sam tries not to feel guilty at that. He’s still trying to piece together everything that happened while he was in Hell and not-in-Hell and the whole thing gives him a headache. And Dean keeps warning him not to remember, but Sam can’t help it-he has to know what he did. With Cas, and with… whatever else he did. It’s weird and confusing and he’s not comfortable with this, with any of this, but he does know that even before Cas knelt down and confessed what he’d done with Sam’s counterpart, Sam wanted him. He still does. And he kind of wants to show the angel what normal sex is like, too.
Whether or not that still means anything, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know if Cas could want what Sam would offer, especially after not-Sam apparently broke him. And after Sam finished the job and what was he thinking.
He doesn’t know. Maybe it was the other Sam leaking through the wall. Maybe it was always inside him, like the psychic powers, like his own doomed self. He started the Apocalypse. Breaking an angel was just… inevitable, probably.
Oh, God. He broke an angel.
“I’m going to Hell again, aren’t I?” Sam mutters. Cas shakes his head.
“I don’t think so. You’re a good man, Sam Winchester.”
“Still. I’m sorry. I didn’t-I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Cas blinks. “But I wanted you to,” he says. “No harm was done, and a great deal of good came from our arrangement. Though I understand you want nothing more to do with it, with me, and I accept that. Thank you, regardless.” He looks resigned, but not upset, as though from the beginning he’d known and accepted that this would be the last time. The last time for what, Sam’s not entirely sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Cas thought he’d never want to see him again for any purpose.
“No, that’s not-” Sam starts, then stops. He sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes. “I like you, Cas. I liked you even before all of this. And I don’t know how much is me and how much is that other Sam, I don’t know how alike we were, and who knows-maybe I’m still that Sam. And I don’t know what’s going to happen, either. It’s really messed up, Cas.”
“I understand,” Cas says. Sam shakes his head and carefully takes Cas’s hands.
“No, Cas, you don’t. You don’t because I don’t. But I do know that I want to work something out. Me and Dean-our whole lives are about not talking, not working things through, and ignoring vital details and usually that ends with one of us dying or the end of the world or something and I’m not going to go through that anymore. I’m back from Hell. I want things to be different.”
Cas nods. “So what, then?” He looks hopeful, but Sam knows Cas is just waiting for Sam to admit that his entire rant is pretty much crap and Cas should just leave before any more damage is done. Sam’s not exactly an expert, but he’s pretty sure his counterpart did some serious harm with ditching Cas after sex.
Sam shrugs and grins. “Well, for starters, we could get a burger. I’m pretty hungry.”
The answering smile makes Sam think that this actually might have a chance of working out.