Fic: Hands Behind Your Back
Title: Hands Behind Your Back
Pairing: Sam/Castiel
Rating: NC-17 How did that happen?
Wordcount: Around 2200.
Warnings: Please, please someone beta for me. I'm begging. (Edit: Thanks grlmonday & lilchibibunny & awff7 for helping me/offering to help me fix crap. You guys rock. :D) (Oh, and possession!kink.) This is when everyone around here loses whatever respect they may have for me.
Spoilers: (Yes and no?) Up to 5x20 (The Devil You Know).
Disclaimer: It belongs to Kripke, please don’t kill me, etc.
Out of all the stupid ideas Sam’s ever had, this one probably takes the cake.
Sam has thought about what it would be feel like to be one with Lucifer, and win. Trying to overpower Lucifer in his own mind is absolutely insane. Of course, Castiel doesn’t say it like that. The angel sees it in his eyes as soon as the thought runs through Sam’s head, and patiently waits leaning on the wall until both Dean and Bobby have gone to bed. Sam knows what’s coming, and tries to drown his sorrows with a beer.
The angel’s stare and the silence at Bobby’s house are starting to make Sam uneasy, and he sets the bottle down on the table, scattered with old books and research. He turns to look at Castiel, but the angel doesn’t give him time to explain himself. His eyes are not accusing, but his voice sounds, more than anything, disappointed. “I know what you are thinking.”
“If someone can push demons off, maybe I can do the same. It could work, as wild as it sounds.” Sam does his best to look as apologetic as he feels when the angel’s eyes are fixed on him with that look, eternal and impossibly blue. “It could be our last shot.”
“It is a logical thought,” the angel concedes briefly, and yet his eyes don’t give in for a second. “But not when you talk about the Devil himself. You are incapable of taking on Lucifer on your own.” Castiel doesn’t wait to hear Sam’s protests, and drowns them out with a simple gesture of his hand. “Angels have a strong grip on their vessels, Sam, one with as much power as Lucifer would leave a man catatonic after he’s been used.”
“I know.” Sam hasn’t really thought about what would happen after. His plans ended at victory. He sighs and shakes his head, looking defeated at the angel’s words, but Castiel knows he is not convinced. He looks at the angel and observes the way the trench coat seems to be just a little bit too big, the suit that envelops him too sober, tie hanging in disarray. Castiel doesn’t look that threatening at first. Sam can’t help but hope until he tries.
Castiel is silent for a moment, and Sam watches the angel’s lips pressed together in a thin line with grief. When he doesn’t speak, Sam thinks they will both let it pass. Sam looks away from the angel, and then his deep, low voice reaches him. “Will I have to prove it to you?”
Sam looks up from a thick, antique volume on demonology he’s fixed his eyes on. He is both curious and afraid of what the angel will say. “Would it be worth it?”
Castiel doesn’t answer.
He looks at Sam for a moment and sits on the couch, and for a moment seems to doubt. Feeling observed, the angel looks up again at Sam and all traces of hesitation vanish. His eyes flutter closed, and in a flash of light, Castiel’s vessel seems to fall fast asleep. Sam waits in silence for a minute until curiosity gets the best of him and he gets off the chair to look at Jimmy, all that’s in that body, human gestures of exhaustion and calm showing as he is deep in sleep. Sam takes in a deep breath and, afraid to wake him, walks away.
He only makes it to the kitchen until he feels a presence at his back, sizzling and powerful. Out of the corner of his eye, all he can see is the quiet house. The sensation of something breathing down his neck sends a shiver through his spine, and the whisper of Castiel’s voice, in a language he doesn’t understand, making an unmistakable question doesn’t take him completely by surprise. Hesitantly, he decides on trust.
“Yes.”
At first, it feels like burning. A kind of tingling, gradual heat seems to pour over his skin like molten steel, gripping and strengthening as it moves over him, flowing into him gently at first, then slamming in with full force. Sam closes his eyes against the growing light, and in a second, it has passed.
His eyes open again after a second, and he doesn’t feel it.
Sam’s still in the kitchen, back to the door, looking at the countertop bathed in what little light the night has to offer filtering through the small window before him. The sensation of warmth isn’t yet gone, but it isn’t until he tries to reach out for the fridge that he notices how frozen in place he’s been. The angel isn’t a voice at the back of his head, but a sensation over him, covering him from head to toe as soon as he feels his neck tilt to the side with a hint of curiosity and a great deal of power. The gesture is Castiel’s, and for what he can see of his reflection in the window, the eyes are too, intense and determined.
The angel lets him see into his own eyes, shared, for a long moment. Makes him notice the difference, and then lifts a hand and runs it through his hair. Sam’s mesmerized by his reflection, moving along with his body without his permission. He does his best to gather strength and walk, but it’s like pushing against a wall, and his muscles strain against Sam’s will. He feels a worry that does not belong to him, and his own frustration keeps him pushing against himself. The angel places his hand against his chest, his heart beating frantically in panic even if his face won’t betray it. Sam attempts to lift a hand that gets stopped a second later and rests lightly on the counter, right in front of him. The angel’s voice alone seems to hold him in place.
Learn some restraint. You’ll hurt yourself.
Sam doesn’t speak, doesn’t move and doesn’t try for a few moments, counting his own breath, feeling his chest heaving at the angel’s presence. Castiel doesn’t let him rest for very long. With a hand that shouldn’t be used to such gesture, the angel tugs on the buttons of his shirt, baring the skin below his neck and pressing his fingers against Sam’s pulse. They both wait for the rush to disappear, and once Sam thinks he has the courage to try again, Castiel continues baring him. Sam struggles against Castiel’s hand, and the button is sent flying against the glass he sees himself in. He imagines the angel’s hand ghosting over his, slipping under his clothes and running over his scarred skin, and a sudden fear crawls up his spine at not being alone in his own head. The thoughts of the angel that fill Sam’s mind are can’t be restrained, and he tries to shut them down in desperation.
Cas, Sam tries to call out, straining. He feels his heart hammering in his chest, only because Castiel lets him feel it, and that thought only makes him lose what little concentration he can muster. The feeling is soon overtaken by the angel’s calm.
I know what you’ve been thinking. Castiel’s voice echoes in his head, but rather than offended, it seems in awe. The angel’s thoughts seem to echo his as thoughts of human passion come to him in response. Castiel rests his hands lightly at Sam hips as if they were his own, slipping them under the shirt and drawing small circles over the marked skin he can find, the feeling of serenity still overlapping Sam’s own distress and slowly engulfing it. Sam relaxes, and Castiel lets him close his eyes and lean into the touch. Without rush or hesitation the angel opens the shirt and lets it slip carelessly over Sam’s shoulders, spreading his hands over taut muscle and travelling up the expanse of exposed skin, his hands feeling smooth and hot and foreign. Sam doesn’t recognize them as his own.
Soft long fingers trace the outline of the tattoo embedded on his skin, and the ink suddenly feels like it’s been set on fire. Sam can feel himself jump in response to every touch, and the angel bites his lip lightly when his hands move over his stomach, Sam’s bated breath still echoing in his ears. Castiel doesn’t relent and scrapes his nails tantalizingly over his navel, exploring and intoxicating, and Sam thinks he should have warned the angel of what he would find inside his mind. He feels lightheaded at the touch, and comes alive under it despite himself. Castiel makes him kneel in penitence for the two of them, knees apart and resting on the floor. The want Sam is feeling could belong to either of them.
You are too used to the privilege of this body being yours.
The feeling is like having his hands tied behind his back. All the strength he can gather is good enough to hitch the angel’s breath, but Castiel’s hands travel down his stomach and dip into his jeans, tugging the buttons open and sliding the fabric down his legs, caressing his skin and diving into his underwear to gently stroke his cock, hard and smooth against his palm.
Sam struggles for breath when the angel’s hand moves faster, gripping him without shame or restraint. You wanted this, the angel tells him, voice low and challenging , and Sam knows that the sudden heat that’s gone to his face is all his, the last proof the angel needed to claim this body as his. Sam can feel the angel’s mood soften, his moves easy and the caresses longer, loving. He runs a warm finger over the dripping head of his cock, and Sam’s desperate enough to gather strength to cry out for the briefest second before Castiel makes him stifle it. The angel’s voice seems to lower to a whisper. Every want you have can be used against you. It’s onto those desires that Lucifer will hold tighter. Castiel warns, and teases him lightly, Sam’s breath frantic and erratic as stays trapped in his own body. He will see inside you, as I do.
Between the heat and the touch that’s driving him insane, Sam conjures a coherent though through heavy-lidded eyes. I don’t want him to. But that won’t matter if Sam says yes, and Castiel doesn’t have to repeat it for him to know. The thought of being at Lucifer’s mercy turns darker yet, but the angel doesn’t let Sam get lost in those thoughts for very long. The strokes become bolder, rougher, and Sam feels his hips thrust forward wildly and his back arch at the touch. The angel allows him the gesture, voice clear and demanding inside his head, and the tingling heat seems to touch his lips in reverence and possession.
Everything you are is mine.
“God, Cas,” Sam breathes out, surprised at the sound of his own voice, threadbare as it is, and Castiel takes that as an invitation, and grips tighter in a final stroke that lets Sam find his release, pulsing hot and hard into his hand. Sam can feel the angel inside him as he comes back to his senses, and the angel’s grip on his mind seems to slip along with that on his body. Castiel absently touches Sam’s thigh, his hip, and Sam isn’t sure if the pleasure’s all his own.
The moment passes, and Sam tries to hold onto that warmth inside him even as he feels it slip away gently, and he closes his eyes against the light.
Being alone in his own head again hits him like a gust of cold wind, and with bated breath Sam tries to collect what’s left of his clothes and dignity, but his knees seem to give in whenever he attempts to get off the floor. His hands start to ache from the strain of pressing against the angel’s will unsuccessfully, and he knows that when morning comes it will be worse.
He hears soft footsteps at his back, way too smooth for them to belong to Dean, and it’s that thought alone that keeps him from scrambling to hide. Castiel’s hands are different when they rest on his head, and Sam looks up to find him in his vessel once again. The angel’s fingers run gently through his hair, and his blue eyes seem torn between fondness and pity. He bows down to him and almost presses his lips against Sam’s, but holds back when they are only a breath away. Sam leans into the touch and tilts his head up to reach Castiel, but those firm fingers keep him close and yet so far.
“Will you find another way?” The angel asks softly, eyes hopeful.
Sam looks up, torn, and doesn’t say a word. The angel’s breath ghosts over his lips, but they never touch. In a heartbeat the hands in his hair are gone and so is Castiel. He finds himself in the dark, sprawled over the floor, and it seems unbearable. He gathers enough strength to stand and make his way back to his room with a knot in his stomach and not a peaceful thought in his head.
Out of all the stupid ideas Sam’s ever had, this one probably takes the cake.
He almost regrets the thoughts that have been running through his head and losing what he could have in exchange, but the need is great and he’s got hope. It’s almost enough. Almost.
But not quite.
Pairing: Sam/Castiel
Rating: NC-17 How did that happen?
Wordcount: Around 2200.
Warnings: Please, please someone beta for me. I'm begging. (Edit: Thanks grlmonday & lilchibibunny & awff7 for helping me/offering to help me fix crap. You guys rock. :D) (Oh, and possession!kink.) This is when everyone around here loses whatever respect they may have for me.
Spoilers: (Yes and no?) Up to 5x20 (The Devil You Know).
Disclaimer: It belongs to Kripke, please don’t kill me, etc.
Out of all the stupid ideas Sam’s ever had, this one probably takes the cake.
Sam has thought about what it would be feel like to be one with Lucifer, and win. Trying to overpower Lucifer in his own mind is absolutely insane. Of course, Castiel doesn’t say it like that. The angel sees it in his eyes as soon as the thought runs through Sam’s head, and patiently waits leaning on the wall until both Dean and Bobby have gone to bed. Sam knows what’s coming, and tries to drown his sorrows with a beer.
The angel’s stare and the silence at Bobby’s house are starting to make Sam uneasy, and he sets the bottle down on the table, scattered with old books and research. He turns to look at Castiel, but the angel doesn’t give him time to explain himself. His eyes are not accusing, but his voice sounds, more than anything, disappointed. “I know what you are thinking.”
“If someone can push demons off, maybe I can do the same. It could work, as wild as it sounds.” Sam does his best to look as apologetic as he feels when the angel’s eyes are fixed on him with that look, eternal and impossibly blue. “It could be our last shot.”
“It is a logical thought,” the angel concedes briefly, and yet his eyes don’t give in for a second. “But not when you talk about the Devil himself. You are incapable of taking on Lucifer on your own.” Castiel doesn’t wait to hear Sam’s protests, and drowns them out with a simple gesture of his hand. “Angels have a strong grip on their vessels, Sam, one with as much power as Lucifer would leave a man catatonic after he’s been used.”
“I know.” Sam hasn’t really thought about what would happen after. His plans ended at victory. He sighs and shakes his head, looking defeated at the angel’s words, but Castiel knows he is not convinced. He looks at the angel and observes the way the trench coat seems to be just a little bit too big, the suit that envelops him too sober, tie hanging in disarray. Castiel doesn’t look that threatening at first. Sam can’t help but hope until he tries.
Castiel is silent for a moment, and Sam watches the angel’s lips pressed together in a thin line with grief. When he doesn’t speak, Sam thinks they will both let it pass. Sam looks away from the angel, and then his deep, low voice reaches him. “Will I have to prove it to you?”
Sam looks up from a thick, antique volume on demonology he’s fixed his eyes on. He is both curious and afraid of what the angel will say. “Would it be worth it?”
Castiel doesn’t answer.
He looks at Sam for a moment and sits on the couch, and for a moment seems to doubt. Feeling observed, the angel looks up again at Sam and all traces of hesitation vanish. His eyes flutter closed, and in a flash of light, Castiel’s vessel seems to fall fast asleep. Sam waits in silence for a minute until curiosity gets the best of him and he gets off the chair to look at Jimmy, all that’s in that body, human gestures of exhaustion and calm showing as he is deep in sleep. Sam takes in a deep breath and, afraid to wake him, walks away.
He only makes it to the kitchen until he feels a presence at his back, sizzling and powerful. Out of the corner of his eye, all he can see is the quiet house. The sensation of something breathing down his neck sends a shiver through his spine, and the whisper of Castiel’s voice, in a language he doesn’t understand, making an unmistakable question doesn’t take him completely by surprise. Hesitantly, he decides on trust.
“Yes.”
At first, it feels like burning. A kind of tingling, gradual heat seems to pour over his skin like molten steel, gripping and strengthening as it moves over him, flowing into him gently at first, then slamming in with full force. Sam closes his eyes against the growing light, and in a second, it has passed.
His eyes open again after a second, and he doesn’t feel it.
Sam’s still in the kitchen, back to the door, looking at the countertop bathed in what little light the night has to offer filtering through the small window before him. The sensation of warmth isn’t yet gone, but it isn’t until he tries to reach out for the fridge that he notices how frozen in place he’s been. The angel isn’t a voice at the back of his head, but a sensation over him, covering him from head to toe as soon as he feels his neck tilt to the side with a hint of curiosity and a great deal of power. The gesture is Castiel’s, and for what he can see of his reflection in the window, the eyes are too, intense and determined.
The angel lets him see into his own eyes, shared, for a long moment. Makes him notice the difference, and then lifts a hand and runs it through his hair. Sam’s mesmerized by his reflection, moving along with his body without his permission. He does his best to gather strength and walk, but it’s like pushing against a wall, and his muscles strain against Sam’s will. He feels a worry that does not belong to him, and his own frustration keeps him pushing against himself. The angel places his hand against his chest, his heart beating frantically in panic even if his face won’t betray it. Sam attempts to lift a hand that gets stopped a second later and rests lightly on the counter, right in front of him. The angel’s voice alone seems to hold him in place.
Learn some restraint. You’ll hurt yourself.
Sam doesn’t speak, doesn’t move and doesn’t try for a few moments, counting his own breath, feeling his chest heaving at the angel’s presence. Castiel doesn’t let him rest for very long. With a hand that shouldn’t be used to such gesture, the angel tugs on the buttons of his shirt, baring the skin below his neck and pressing his fingers against Sam’s pulse. They both wait for the rush to disappear, and once Sam thinks he has the courage to try again, Castiel continues baring him. Sam struggles against Castiel’s hand, and the button is sent flying against the glass he sees himself in. He imagines the angel’s hand ghosting over his, slipping under his clothes and running over his scarred skin, and a sudden fear crawls up his spine at not being alone in his own head. The thoughts of the angel that fill Sam’s mind are can’t be restrained, and he tries to shut them down in desperation.
Cas, Sam tries to call out, straining. He feels his heart hammering in his chest, only because Castiel lets him feel it, and that thought only makes him lose what little concentration he can muster. The feeling is soon overtaken by the angel’s calm.
I know what you’ve been thinking. Castiel’s voice echoes in his head, but rather than offended, it seems in awe. The angel’s thoughts seem to echo his as thoughts of human passion come to him in response. Castiel rests his hands lightly at Sam hips as if they were his own, slipping them under the shirt and drawing small circles over the marked skin he can find, the feeling of serenity still overlapping Sam’s own distress and slowly engulfing it. Sam relaxes, and Castiel lets him close his eyes and lean into the touch. Without rush or hesitation the angel opens the shirt and lets it slip carelessly over Sam’s shoulders, spreading his hands over taut muscle and travelling up the expanse of exposed skin, his hands feeling smooth and hot and foreign. Sam doesn’t recognize them as his own.
Soft long fingers trace the outline of the tattoo embedded on his skin, and the ink suddenly feels like it’s been set on fire. Sam can feel himself jump in response to every touch, and the angel bites his lip lightly when his hands move over his stomach, Sam’s bated breath still echoing in his ears. Castiel doesn’t relent and scrapes his nails tantalizingly over his navel, exploring and intoxicating, and Sam thinks he should have warned the angel of what he would find inside his mind. He feels lightheaded at the touch, and comes alive under it despite himself. Castiel makes him kneel in penitence for the two of them, knees apart and resting on the floor. The want Sam is feeling could belong to either of them.
You are too used to the privilege of this body being yours.
The feeling is like having his hands tied behind his back. All the strength he can gather is good enough to hitch the angel’s breath, but Castiel’s hands travel down his stomach and dip into his jeans, tugging the buttons open and sliding the fabric down his legs, caressing his skin and diving into his underwear to gently stroke his cock, hard and smooth against his palm.
Sam struggles for breath when the angel’s hand moves faster, gripping him without shame or restraint. You wanted this, the angel tells him, voice low and challenging , and Sam knows that the sudden heat that’s gone to his face is all his, the last proof the angel needed to claim this body as his. Sam can feel the angel’s mood soften, his moves easy and the caresses longer, loving. He runs a warm finger over the dripping head of his cock, and Sam’s desperate enough to gather strength to cry out for the briefest second before Castiel makes him stifle it. The angel’s voice seems to lower to a whisper. Every want you have can be used against you. It’s onto those desires that Lucifer will hold tighter. Castiel warns, and teases him lightly, Sam’s breath frantic and erratic as stays trapped in his own body. He will see inside you, as I do.
Between the heat and the touch that’s driving him insane, Sam conjures a coherent though through heavy-lidded eyes. I don’t want him to. But that won’t matter if Sam says yes, and Castiel doesn’t have to repeat it for him to know. The thought of being at Lucifer’s mercy turns darker yet, but the angel doesn’t let Sam get lost in those thoughts for very long. The strokes become bolder, rougher, and Sam feels his hips thrust forward wildly and his back arch at the touch. The angel allows him the gesture, voice clear and demanding inside his head, and the tingling heat seems to touch his lips in reverence and possession.
Everything you are is mine.
“God, Cas,” Sam breathes out, surprised at the sound of his own voice, threadbare as it is, and Castiel takes that as an invitation, and grips tighter in a final stroke that lets Sam find his release, pulsing hot and hard into his hand. Sam can feel the angel inside him as he comes back to his senses, and the angel’s grip on his mind seems to slip along with that on his body. Castiel absently touches Sam’s thigh, his hip, and Sam isn’t sure if the pleasure’s all his own.
The moment passes, and Sam tries to hold onto that warmth inside him even as he feels it slip away gently, and he closes his eyes against the light.
Being alone in his own head again hits him like a gust of cold wind, and with bated breath Sam tries to collect what’s left of his clothes and dignity, but his knees seem to give in whenever he attempts to get off the floor. His hands start to ache from the strain of pressing against the angel’s will unsuccessfully, and he knows that when morning comes it will be worse.
He hears soft footsteps at his back, way too smooth for them to belong to Dean, and it’s that thought alone that keeps him from scrambling to hide. Castiel’s hands are different when they rest on his head, and Sam looks up to find him in his vessel once again. The angel’s fingers run gently through his hair, and his blue eyes seem torn between fondness and pity. He bows down to him and almost presses his lips against Sam’s, but holds back when they are only a breath away. Sam leans into the touch and tilts his head up to reach Castiel, but those firm fingers keep him close and yet so far.
“Will you find another way?” The angel asks softly, eyes hopeful.
Sam looks up, torn, and doesn’t say a word. The angel’s breath ghosts over his lips, but they never touch. In a heartbeat the hands in his hair are gone and so is Castiel. He finds himself in the dark, sprawled over the floor, and it seems unbearable. He gathers enough strength to stand and make his way back to his room with a knot in his stomach and not a peaceful thought in his head.
Out of all the stupid ideas Sam’s ever had, this one probably takes the cake.
He almost regrets the thoughts that have been running through his head and losing what he could have in exchange, but the need is great and he’s got hope. It’s almost enough. Almost.
But not quite.