Too much is never enough - SPN - Sam/Cas - R
Title: Too much is never enough, part three in the "Bad Things" 'verse
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Sam/Cas, Dean
Warning(s): WTF - is that a plot?, Adult Situations, Language, Sam apparantly has a voyuer!kink
Spoiler(s): 5.16, "Dark Side of the Moon"
Word Count: 2044
Beta Reader: fallingemerald, as always.
Rants: Did anyone else notice these parts are getting steadily longer? Also, Lisa, did you see what I did thurr?
Summary: Castiel's been avoiding them again. Sam is beginning to question their situation.
Disclaimer: I don't own SPN. Kripke does.
Master List: Here
Crossposted to: My ff.net, sn_slash and sam_castiel
Sam's still standing under the spray of water when Dean bangs on the door yelling at him to “gtfo” and get ready to leave. As he turns off the water he can hear Dean complaining on the other side of the door about ridiculously long showers and awkwardly loud masturbating.
Sam wonders what Dean would do if he told him the truth, but he values his own life too much to seriously do it. That, and Dean would want to know why and Sam honestly isn't sure. The first time, in the restaurant; under the table, Sam couldn't help himself. He needed to do it, just like he needed the demon blood. Just now in the shower? How the hell was he supposed to resist?
He sighs as he gets dressed and tries to ignore the scratch and bite marks Castiel had left across his shoulders, neck, and back. If this was going to keep happening, and Sam kind of hoped it would, he was going to have to talk to the angel about subtlety.
- -- - --- - ---- - --- - -- -
Another town, another case. It's a routine salt and burn, nothing they can't handle on their own, but it still feels strange without Castiel looking over their shoulders. Sam's gotten so used to him hovering around awkwardly that life just feels kind of empty when he isn't around. Dean's noticed too but he isn't enough of a teenage girl to call the angel and ask why he's not around anymore.
Sam knows why Castiel isn't around, and he also knows it's his fault.
”What have you done to me?” Castiel had asked.
What had Sam done to him indeed? He's starting to think he maybe shouldn't have jumped Castiel in the shower right away. The angel had been freaked out and Sam had ignored it. Sam is the worst friend in the history of terrible friends.
- -- - --- - ---- - --- - -- -
It's another two weeks before Dean finally snaps. It was a tough case, witches this time and Castiel essentially tells them to piss off and figure it out on their own, he has more pressing matters to attend to. Dean's speechless and Sam bangs his head against the wall.
“What the fuck is his problem lately?” Dean snaps, throwing his phone on his bed before pacing up and down the room. “Ever since Famine he's been such a little bitch.”
“Maybe he's got a lot on his mind,” Sam says, tentatively while he watches his brother.
“What the hell can possibly be more important than helping us stop the Apocalypse?” Dean scoffs.
Sam wants to point out they just ganked four witches, not demons or a horseman, so it wasn't really an Apocalypse related case. He doesn't though, because Dean's got that look in his eye, the one that tells Sam he should get the hell out of dodge while he's ahead.
Instead, Sam says, “Maybe he's focused on the search for God, Dean.”
“Fuck God,” Dean says, just like that.
Sam sighs heavily but doesn't otherwise respond.
Dean keeps wearing a path into the cheap hotel room carpet. “And what's Cas' problem with you all of a sudden?” Dean asks, rounding on Sam. “I thought he was going to attack you.”
Sam opens his mouth to reply, though whether to tell Dean the truth or tell him to piss off he doesn't know, but it doesn't matter because apparently it was a rhetorical question.
“Let's go get lots of booze,” Dean suggests, shaking his head to clear his mind. “Tonight is a good night to drink.”
“For you,” Sam says slowly, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice, “It's always a good night to drink.”
Dean just glares at him before grabbing his phone back up off the bed and storming out of the hotel room.
Sam stares after him in silence for a moment before shaking his head and following. Dean was so damn high maintenance sometimes.
- -- - --- - ---- - --- - -- -
It's cold in Omaha at night. It could have been worse, apparently Nebraska suffered through one of the worst winter's it's had in a real long time, but Sam's still shivering and he wishes he'd thought to grab his jacket.
He'd stormed out of the room when Dean decided he was going to spend the night drinking and complaining about how much he hated Castiel and he hadn't thought to grab a coat when he'd done so.
He's tempted to tell Dean that he should just hurry up and confess he wants to bone the angel but Sam doesn't like to share - it's never been one of his strong points. That, and Dean would probably ream him.
It's late, well after two in the morning, but that doesn't stop Sam from climbing a chain link fence and making his way over to a swing set and collapsing upon it. Sam's a rebel like that. He's still cold and his legs are too long for him to swing but he's got a great view of the starry sky, and that's kind of nice.
He doesn't say anything when Castiel arrives with a soft flutter of wings and he can feel the angel boring a hole into the back of his head. Sam's content to sit in silence but Castiel's just as stubborn as he is and they'll never get anything sorted if Sam continues to ignore him.
“Pull up a swing,” Sam says after a while without bothering to look at the angel.
There's a shuffling to his left, and he's a little surprised when Castiel really does sit tentatively on the hard plastic seat, the chains groaning in protest but holding his weight. They stare at each other in silence for Sam doesn't know how long, before Sam turns away to look at the sky again.
“I'm sorry,” He says, and the words sound lame, even to his own ears. “I shouldn't have - the first time it was Famine, and I didn't even think about it, but two weeks ago-”
“You haven't done anything I have not permitted you to,” Castiel says.
When Sam looks over at him, Castiel's staring up at the stars, his face expressionless. Sam doesn't feel very reassured. “All the same,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't be,” Castiel says.
They don't say anything for a long while after that. It's a quiet night, even for Omaha, and every sound seems to carry for miles and miles. The dead, bare branches of trees creak all around them, cars thrum by on the motorway, and a drunk guy kicking a trashcan echoes like a bullet in the sleeping city.
Sam can't help but feel like there's an elephant in the living room, even with Castiel's gentle assurances that they were cool. Well, that Sam shouldn't be upset about all of this, anyways. There was still something that was bothering him, but he wasn't sure what it was, let alone how to ask it.
“It is late,” Castiel mentions eventually. Sam glances down at his watch, and yeah, it's almost four in the morning, how long have they just been sitting there? “Should you not head back to your room?”
“Dean would've called if he was worried about me,”Sam says, but he gets the distinct impression that's not what Castiel is talking about.
Castiel's standing then, the chains of the swing clattering loudly in the night, and moving towards Sam. He touches the taller male then and in a blink of an eye Sam's sitting on his motel room bed with Castiel standing, towering above him.
“Thanks,” Sam says, more out of a need to say something.
Dean's passed out drunk on the next bed, still dressed, and Castiel is staring at him with intense focus. “Why does he do it?” Castiel asks, eyes trailing along the rows of empty beer cans and he looks so genuinely confused that Sam pities him.
“It makes the pain go away, Cas,” Sam says softly. He doesn't need to whisper, Dean could sleep through, well, the Apocalypse when he was in a funk like this, but it's a force of habit.
Castiel looks at him again, his expression unreadable in the near-dark of the room, and Sam smiles at him. Gently, Sam places his hands on Castiel's hips, tugging lightly until the angel is tumbling backwards onto the bed with him. They inch back until their heads hit the pillows, rolling onto their sides to face each other.
Sam places a chaste kiss against Castiel's lips, cupping the angel's face in one hand before asking softly, “What are we doing, Cas?”
“I don't know,” Castiel replies, his voice soft. There's a look in his eyes that Sam doesn't know how to describe and he swallows nervously. Castiel brings his own hand up to touch Sam's face gingerly, his fingers trailing over Sam's cheek, tracing across his eye brow and down his nose before settling on Sam's lips.
Sam smiles as he kisses them, stroking Castiel's cheek lazily with his own thumb, before parting his lips and rubbing his tongue gently across the angel's fingers.
Castiel inhales sharply, his eyes half lidded and focused intently on Sam's mouth.
Tentatively, Sam nibbled at the tips of Castiel's fingers before washing his tongue over them. When Castiel's breath hitches again, Sam drops his hand from the angel's face and moves it to his wrist, squeezing gently before he sucks the Castiel's index and middle finger into his mouth.
Castiel's panting as Sam teases the fingers, twirling his tongue over and around them, spreading them between his tongue to lick the webbing before sucking at them. Castiel tastes clean and if Sam wasn't already hard from the keening cries and moans, he's sure the pure taste against his tongue would have done it.
Sam knows he really shouldn't, Dean's sleeping maybe five feet away, but he can't help himself and he lets go of Castiel's wrist to undo the angel's belt and slacks, worming his hand down to wrap around Castiel's cock. He tries to stop sucking on Castiel's fingers to kiss him, but the angel won't let him and shoves them rather forcefully back into Sam's mouth and Sam would roll his eyes and scoff if he wasn't so busy.
It's getting easier and easier to do this, Sam thinks as he works Castiel's cock. It's starting to get familiar, and that sends a warm tingly feeling down Sam's spine, even as he tries to palm himself through his jeans. If Castiel insists on moaning like a wanton whore while Sam strokes him, than Sam's pretty sure he's going to come before he can even wiggle out of them.
Castiel's fingers are slipping in and out of Sam's mouth in sync with Sam's hand on his cock, the digits gliding over his slick tongue easily. It's not really doing anything for Sam except making him wonder what it would feel like to wrap his lips around the angel's cock, but that really isn't an option anymore because the next moment Castiel's coming all over Sam's hand with a choked cry that sounds an awful lot like "Sam".
The bed on the other side of the room groans as Dean rolls over. “Sammy?” He slurs, and Sam looks over his shoulder at his older brother, eyes wide. Dean's staring at him blankly and Sam's not even sure he's all there.
“Dean?” Sam asks nervously. Fuck my life, Sam thinks, because this is more awkward then the time Dean walked in on him trying to feel up Lisa Talbot back in the eleventh grade.
Dean doesn't respond and it takes Sam a long time to realized that he's fallen back asleep. He lets out a shaky laugh as he rolls back over to face Castiel. Who is gone. Again. Sam stares at the spot the angel had been dejectedly before pushing off the bed to go to the bathroom. Dean had almost caught him jerking off Castiel, he wasn't going to risk his brother catching him getting off himself.
Sam and Castiel really had to talk about the angel's constant fleeing.
Continued in: Lie back and suffer now
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Sam/Cas, Dean
Warning(s): WTF - is that a plot?, Adult Situations, Language, Sam apparantly has a voyuer!kink
Spoiler(s): 5.16, "Dark Side of the Moon"
Word Count: 2044
Beta Reader: fallingemerald, as always.
Rants: Did anyone else notice these parts are getting steadily longer? Also, Lisa, did you see what I did thurr?
Summary: Castiel's been avoiding them again. Sam is beginning to question their situation.
Disclaimer: I don't own SPN. Kripke does.
Master List: Here
Crossposted to: My ff.net, sn_slash and sam_castiel
Sam's still standing under the spray of water when Dean bangs on the door yelling at him to “gtfo” and get ready to leave. As he turns off the water he can hear Dean complaining on the other side of the door about ridiculously long showers and awkwardly loud masturbating.
Sam wonders what Dean would do if he told him the truth, but he values his own life too much to seriously do it. That, and Dean would want to know why and Sam honestly isn't sure. The first time, in the restaurant; under the table, Sam couldn't help himself. He needed to do it, just like he needed the demon blood. Just now in the shower? How the hell was he supposed to resist?
He sighs as he gets dressed and tries to ignore the scratch and bite marks Castiel had left across his shoulders, neck, and back. If this was going to keep happening, and Sam kind of hoped it would, he was going to have to talk to the angel about subtlety.
- -- - --- - ---- - --- - -- -
Another town, another case. It's a routine salt and burn, nothing they can't handle on their own, but it still feels strange without Castiel looking over their shoulders. Sam's gotten so used to him hovering around awkwardly that life just feels kind of empty when he isn't around. Dean's noticed too but he isn't enough of a teenage girl to call the angel and ask why he's not around anymore.
Sam knows why Castiel isn't around, and he also knows it's his fault.
”What have you done to me?” Castiel had asked.
What had Sam done to him indeed? He's starting to think he maybe shouldn't have jumped Castiel in the shower right away. The angel had been freaked out and Sam had ignored it. Sam is the worst friend in the history of terrible friends.
- -- - --- - ---- - --- - -- -
It's another two weeks before Dean finally snaps. It was a tough case, witches this time and Castiel essentially tells them to piss off and figure it out on their own, he has more pressing matters to attend to. Dean's speechless and Sam bangs his head against the wall.
“What the fuck is his problem lately?” Dean snaps, throwing his phone on his bed before pacing up and down the room. “Ever since Famine he's been such a little bitch.”
“Maybe he's got a lot on his mind,” Sam says, tentatively while he watches his brother.
“What the hell can possibly be more important than helping us stop the Apocalypse?” Dean scoffs.
Sam wants to point out they just ganked four witches, not demons or a horseman, so it wasn't really an Apocalypse related case. He doesn't though, because Dean's got that look in his eye, the one that tells Sam he should get the hell out of dodge while he's ahead.
Instead, Sam says, “Maybe he's focused on the search for God, Dean.”
“Fuck God,” Dean says, just like that.
Sam sighs heavily but doesn't otherwise respond.
Dean keeps wearing a path into the cheap hotel room carpet. “And what's Cas' problem with you all of a sudden?” Dean asks, rounding on Sam. “I thought he was going to attack you.”
Sam opens his mouth to reply, though whether to tell Dean the truth or tell him to piss off he doesn't know, but it doesn't matter because apparently it was a rhetorical question.
“Let's go get lots of booze,” Dean suggests, shaking his head to clear his mind. “Tonight is a good night to drink.”
“For you,” Sam says slowly, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice, “It's always a good night to drink.”
Dean just glares at him before grabbing his phone back up off the bed and storming out of the hotel room.
Sam stares after him in silence for a moment before shaking his head and following. Dean was so damn high maintenance sometimes.
- -- - --- - ---- - --- - -- -
It's cold in Omaha at night. It could have been worse, apparently Nebraska suffered through one of the worst winter's it's had in a real long time, but Sam's still shivering and he wishes he'd thought to grab his jacket.
He'd stormed out of the room when Dean decided he was going to spend the night drinking and complaining about how much he hated Castiel and he hadn't thought to grab a coat when he'd done so.
He's tempted to tell Dean that he should just hurry up and confess he wants to bone the angel but Sam doesn't like to share - it's never been one of his strong points. That, and Dean would probably ream him.
It's late, well after two in the morning, but that doesn't stop Sam from climbing a chain link fence and making his way over to a swing set and collapsing upon it. Sam's a rebel like that. He's still cold and his legs are too long for him to swing but he's got a great view of the starry sky, and that's kind of nice.
He doesn't say anything when Castiel arrives with a soft flutter of wings and he can feel the angel boring a hole into the back of his head. Sam's content to sit in silence but Castiel's just as stubborn as he is and they'll never get anything sorted if Sam continues to ignore him.
“Pull up a swing,” Sam says after a while without bothering to look at the angel.
There's a shuffling to his left, and he's a little surprised when Castiel really does sit tentatively on the hard plastic seat, the chains groaning in protest but holding his weight. They stare at each other in silence for Sam doesn't know how long, before Sam turns away to look at the sky again.
“I'm sorry,” He says, and the words sound lame, even to his own ears. “I shouldn't have - the first time it was Famine, and I didn't even think about it, but two weeks ago-”
“You haven't done anything I have not permitted you to,” Castiel says.
When Sam looks over at him, Castiel's staring up at the stars, his face expressionless. Sam doesn't feel very reassured. “All the same,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't be,” Castiel says.
They don't say anything for a long while after that. It's a quiet night, even for Omaha, and every sound seems to carry for miles and miles. The dead, bare branches of trees creak all around them, cars thrum by on the motorway, and a drunk guy kicking a trashcan echoes like a bullet in the sleeping city.
Sam can't help but feel like there's an elephant in the living room, even with Castiel's gentle assurances that they were cool. Well, that Sam shouldn't be upset about all of this, anyways. There was still something that was bothering him, but he wasn't sure what it was, let alone how to ask it.
“It is late,” Castiel mentions eventually. Sam glances down at his watch, and yeah, it's almost four in the morning, how long have they just been sitting there? “Should you not head back to your room?”
“Dean would've called if he was worried about me,”Sam says, but he gets the distinct impression that's not what Castiel is talking about.
Castiel's standing then, the chains of the swing clattering loudly in the night, and moving towards Sam. He touches the taller male then and in a blink of an eye Sam's sitting on his motel room bed with Castiel standing, towering above him.
“Thanks,” Sam says, more out of a need to say something.
Dean's passed out drunk on the next bed, still dressed, and Castiel is staring at him with intense focus. “Why does he do it?” Castiel asks, eyes trailing along the rows of empty beer cans and he looks so genuinely confused that Sam pities him.
“It makes the pain go away, Cas,” Sam says softly. He doesn't need to whisper, Dean could sleep through, well, the Apocalypse when he was in a funk like this, but it's a force of habit.
Castiel looks at him again, his expression unreadable in the near-dark of the room, and Sam smiles at him. Gently, Sam places his hands on Castiel's hips, tugging lightly until the angel is tumbling backwards onto the bed with him. They inch back until their heads hit the pillows, rolling onto their sides to face each other.
Sam places a chaste kiss against Castiel's lips, cupping the angel's face in one hand before asking softly, “What are we doing, Cas?”
“I don't know,” Castiel replies, his voice soft. There's a look in his eyes that Sam doesn't know how to describe and he swallows nervously. Castiel brings his own hand up to touch Sam's face gingerly, his fingers trailing over Sam's cheek, tracing across his eye brow and down his nose before settling on Sam's lips.
Sam smiles as he kisses them, stroking Castiel's cheek lazily with his own thumb, before parting his lips and rubbing his tongue gently across the angel's fingers.
Castiel inhales sharply, his eyes half lidded and focused intently on Sam's mouth.
Tentatively, Sam nibbled at the tips of Castiel's fingers before washing his tongue over them. When Castiel's breath hitches again, Sam drops his hand from the angel's face and moves it to his wrist, squeezing gently before he sucks the Castiel's index and middle finger into his mouth.
Castiel's panting as Sam teases the fingers, twirling his tongue over and around them, spreading them between his tongue to lick the webbing before sucking at them. Castiel tastes clean and if Sam wasn't already hard from the keening cries and moans, he's sure the pure taste against his tongue would have done it.
Sam knows he really shouldn't, Dean's sleeping maybe five feet away, but he can't help himself and he lets go of Castiel's wrist to undo the angel's belt and slacks, worming his hand down to wrap around Castiel's cock. He tries to stop sucking on Castiel's fingers to kiss him, but the angel won't let him and shoves them rather forcefully back into Sam's mouth and Sam would roll his eyes and scoff if he wasn't so busy.
It's getting easier and easier to do this, Sam thinks as he works Castiel's cock. It's starting to get familiar, and that sends a warm tingly feeling down Sam's spine, even as he tries to palm himself through his jeans. If Castiel insists on moaning like a wanton whore while Sam strokes him, than Sam's pretty sure he's going to come before he can even wiggle out of them.
Castiel's fingers are slipping in and out of Sam's mouth in sync with Sam's hand on his cock, the digits gliding over his slick tongue easily. It's not really doing anything for Sam except making him wonder what it would feel like to wrap his lips around the angel's cock, but that really isn't an option anymore because the next moment Castiel's coming all over Sam's hand with a choked cry that sounds an awful lot like "Sam".
The bed on the other side of the room groans as Dean rolls over. “Sammy?” He slurs, and Sam looks over his shoulder at his older brother, eyes wide. Dean's staring at him blankly and Sam's not even sure he's all there.
“Dean?” Sam asks nervously. Fuck my life, Sam thinks, because this is more awkward then the time Dean walked in on him trying to feel up Lisa Talbot back in the eleventh grade.
Dean doesn't respond and it takes Sam a long time to realized that he's fallen back asleep. He lets out a shaky laugh as he rolls back over to face Castiel. Who is gone. Again. Sam stares at the spot the angel had been dejectedly before pushing off the bed to go to the bathroom. Dean had almost caught him jerking off Castiel, he wasn't going to risk his brother catching him getting off himself.
Sam and Castiel really had to talk about the angel's constant fleeing.
Continued in: Lie back and suffer now