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After dinner, Cas gets his cup of tea going. A glance at the clock. Eight PM and some change.
Reading glasses and the tiny home office he’s set up in the room which, according to the floor plans of the apartment, is the designated nursery. The PC idles until he sits down, wriggles the mouse. That familiar, smooth whirr of the fans. Browser, private window; their chat room. Cas types the address by heart.
sam joined 7:57 PM
Castiel joined 8:08 PM
Castiel: Hello, Sam.
sam is typing…
Cas has a sip of his tea.
sam: hi
sam: is it snowing where you are?
Castiel: Yes. All day.
sam: same. fuck.
sam: man I don’t wanna spend the weekend shoveling
Castiel: Your brother might help you if you asked him.
sam: nah he’s out
sam: ugh
sam: my car is getting swallowed up as we speak
Castiel: I am sorry that you are experiencing these inconveniences.
Castiel: I feel bad for saying this now, but: it is beautiful to look at, at least.
sam: no problem
sam: yeah. neighbor kids are loving it.
More tea. Cas peers out the window. Black with night—snowflakes. Another sip.
sam: so
sam: have you thought about it?
Cas leans forward to type. His hand hovers for a moment.
Castiel: ‘Thinking’ might be an understatement. Yes.
Castiel: Have you?
sam: you could say that, yeah
Cas’ guts do that thing Sam makes them do. His dick does its own for the sent picture file.
sam: have I proven yet that I can stick to instructions, sir?
Castiel: Indeed. Yes.
sam: I hope you don’t take this the wrong way though
sam: if you’re not ready yet or not up for it or in general, that’s cool
sam: I’m happy with how things are! I really am.
sam: but just checking in y’know
Castiel: Thank you. I am aware, yes.
Cas picks his mouth off his knuckles; scratches through his stubble. Next to him, the radiator gurgles through its heavy duty. He uncrosses his legs, crosses them anew.
Castiel: You said you’re due next week, correct?
sam: yeah
sam: feeling it a little already
Castiel: I see.
sam: if you want we can just do it like this again? if that’s more comfortable with you
Castiel: When are they finally coming up with a way to share scents online? It would make things so much easier.
sam: [laughing emoji]
sam: still got your PO box address if that’s what you’re implying…
Castiel: No, it’s fine.
Castiel: I think
Cas looks up from the monitor and at the blank, white wall instead. He’s imagined this exact conversation so many times before that it doesn’t make sense that he still gets giddy for it. That, after so many months, he’d still be nervous.
Castiel: If you are still up for it, I’d be glad to have you next week.
He hits ‘enter’ before his anxiety can get the better of him.
He leans back into his chair, kneads at his chin and then his face. He sighs as he smears his glasses on accident; he tugs his shirt out of his pants to clean them. Sam has yet to start typing.
Then, finally.
sam: I don’t think I’ve ever been more up to anything
sam: like, ever
~
Sam takes Friday off. As Cas vocalizes his guilt, Sam assures him not to worry, seriously. It buys them more time, sure, but Sam only has so many vacation days to go around and he really, really despises his job. An honor, for sure. All of it.
Cas spends Wednesday night in the bathroom. He doesn’t fuck up with the clipping machine this time and skips the shave (as per usual). A trim to his pubes before he realizes maybe Sam doesn’t like that—but it’s too late. No going back.
Thursday dawns with a distant itch. With the knowledge that—finally. After months.
He’d tried to be so so good, his boy. How he’d replied to all of Cas’ questions, met all of Cas’ requirements despite his rut hitting. Sent pictures and let Cas see—everything. Peeled back layer by layer and Cas is gonna get all that in person, finally.
(Folders upon folders labelled with according body parts. There is something so beautiful about the fact that Cas has seen every square inch of that skin without ever having touched it.)
All that planning—but as the doorbell chimes at exactly eight PM and Cas opens the door to the wall that is Sam, is Sam’s scent, it takes all of him to not overthrow—everything.
Sam, gorgeous and too-tall and with snow in his hair smiles as he says, “Hi,” and Cas can smell his rut through what might be three layers of clothes, and. He thinks he says hi back.
He corrects himself: “Hello, Sam,” and lets the Alpha in. Offers his help with Sam’s jacket and, “Was the drive okay?” Sam lets him take his jacket, his bag. Mumbles about snow and yes, yeah.
“Still can’t believe it. That I’m—here.”
Sam shakes the snow out of his hair like a dog. His face is flushed with frost from outside; his rut. Cas intertwines his hands behind his back, keeps his distance while the boy nearly stumbles, nearly falls while taking off his shoes.
Wild eyes to Cas. Dimples. “Two hours. It’s always been just—two hours between us.” He laughs, high.
They settle down in the living room. Sam ignores the pot of tea, the cups. Huge hands, wringing. Jeans. He dwarfs Cas’ armchair even though he’s hunched over, attempting to—look small. Be less of a threat, softer. Cas thinks he might be looking at him a hint too adoring because Sam gets flustered even more, beams even hotter.
All tests came back negative; they confirm each other, shift through the papers. Cas keeps his voice steady but he doesn’t talk much. Their knees are inches apart but they don’t touch, and when their fingers slip against each other in the paper mess, Sam flinches.
“Sorry.”
Cas assures, “It’s fine,” and he thinks, distantly, how all this might trigger a rivalry rut. And how they talked about that possibility because they talked about every possibility, of course, and how Sam had ‘said’ god of course, of course I’d let you, sir.
Cas holds out his hand with his palm facing up.
“The keys, please.”
Sam doesn’t hesitate to fumble for his key ring. That shiny-new, small twin set gets worked free and, pinched between the very tips of Sam’s fingers, gets dropped into Cas’ waiting hand. So warm, kept so close to Sam’s body during the car ride.
“Thank you.”
Cas pockets the keys. Elbows on his knees, a mirror of Sam. If he didn’t know any better, if he couldn’t smell it—Sam could just be an O in heat. Feverish, agitated.
“Undress, please.”
Under Sam’s breath comes a, “Fuck,” but he stands immediately, pulls his shirt over his head without unbuttoning it first. Belt, jeans. He’s bare underneath.
One lonely, thick string of precome pearls from the tip of his caged cock. It catches on the hairy inside of his thigh as he moves; he ignores it. Cas doesn’t.
“Kneel, please.”
Sam sinks to the carpeted floor. His arms shift behind his back and his chest puffs out, shudders with his sigh, his breath. Cas watches him clenching his jaw, the ebb of his throat as he swallows below the heavy black leather of his collar.
Sam’s eyes slip closed. As Cas reaches out and cups his cheek, the Alpha’s first instinct is to flinch back, away. But he corrects himself, reminds himself—leans right back, sucks a breath. Such a clean shave.
“How do you feel, Sam?”
“Like—my skin’s about to pop. Like blisters,” and he keeps his mouth ajar just-so for Cas’ thumb, lets it edge into the corner of it and past his teeth. A rush of breath when Cas presses down on his tongue, makes him open up further.
“Good. It will keep feeling like this.”
Sam swallows.
Cas’ fingers feather along Sam’s jaw, the collar. “You look gorgeous. Done up like a present.”
Sam’s tongue quivers underneath Cas’ thumb as he replies, “Thank hou, thir.”
“You drove all this way just to get used.”
“Yes, thir.”
Cas hums. In the hollow of Sam’s throat sits that tiny silver heart (five bucks extra per letter). “Can you smell it? What it does to me, seeing you like this? Scenting you?”
Softer: “Yes, thir.” Open eyes for Cas, withdrawing his hand. So far gone already. Cas’ boy is so, so patient.
“I want to fuck you right here, on the floor.”
Sam doesn’t reply. His eyes say it all.
Yeah. Yeah, Cas feels just the same.
Cuffs for Sam’s wrists and ankles from the bedroom. Sam’s neck tenses for the whole-handed rub right into the crease of his ass, across the body-warm black silicone of the plug he’d been instructed to work up his ass before he’d gotten in the car. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t squirm. Keeps himself pliant and soft just like he said he’d be, how he wanted to be.
Just—the rumble of his slowly climbing breath. The buried instincts to snarl, to growl. Oh, how often they’d fantasized about this. Together. In secret. Over and over.
A low squat, one hand to Sam’s shoulder for stabilization, reassurance. Cas secures his grip on the plug despite the lube, despite Sam’s position—barely-pushes down on that shoulder when Sam wants to rise, make it easier. Those heels shift outwards instead. Cas tugs as carefully as their little game will allow it.
“Still so tight.”
(A light noise.)
“It will hurt.”
(A deeper, not any less appreciative noise.)
“Normal, during a rut,” mumbles Cas. His eyes stay on the clench of Sam’s body around the toy, how it doesn’t want to let it go just about as desperately as it didn’t want to swallow it down in the first place. Enough movement to make it squelch, now. He lets Sam lift just an inch. “But you know that, don’t you.”
(I imagine it’s you when I do it. That you hold me down and just get all up in there, make me yours. Make me take it.)
“So good for me, Sam. Keeping yourself wet and ready just for me.”
The plug leaves Sam’s ass with a last, gentle pull. Cas’ attempt to tease it back in for another thrust or two remains unsuccessful—too nervous or too deep in its rut already, Sam’s body snaps tight immediately.
A groan (helpless, not embarrassed).
And Sam might be a foot taller and twenty pounds heavier, but he shivers, hard, for Cas leaning in, snarling into his ear.
“You will feel so damn good on my cock.”
Sam just says, “Oh,” as he gets shoved to the floor, tips like a falling tree. Gasps, cranes his neck to see—Cas, behind him, over him. A whimper and he shuffles into how he assumes Cas wants him, all within the limits of the linked cuffs on his hands and feet. His arms are out of the way, tied forearm to forearm with his elbows bent and he startles for another snarl like he doesn’t expect it. Doesn’t. No Alpha before Cas; just, uhm, I—I tried playing with this girl, once, but she didn’t—it didn’t feel right, you know? Not that I’d know, but. I just knew.
Another shift because Cas gets his cock out, strokes it, smears the head over where they both want him. Their scents mix and Sam’s asshole pulses for it. Kisses back at Cas’ cock without meaning to and there’s that faint hitch of panic, somewhere, but Sam sucks his breath right over it and forces himself to rock back against Cas, and. That’s that.
Cas praises, “Sweet boy,” as he leans in, blankets Sam for real. Nose behind Sam’s ear and just—feeling. Smooth, careful. Sam’s body puts up a decent fight, but Cas is an Alpha through and through, after all.
Once he’s forced the head inside, he feeds a couple of inches right after. No room to breathe for either of them—Sam is crushing him. Choking him.
Cas growls, low and real. Nuzzles Sam’s scent gland and he’s all arousal, all shame—pain, too, but all blissed. (You could even bite me. I’d like that, honestly.)
“Feel that. Feel me.”
Cas slams his hips forward.
Sam wails.
“Yes,” slurs Cas. “Like this. Just like this.”
Stray sobs until Sam is all pliant. Not any less tight, no, but he visibly slips into his headspace; into that mellow, beautiful place—finally, his back stops bowing like a wild horse’s. Dips soft below Cas’ weight, lets him mount him easier.
Cas informs, “You’re sucking me in,” and Sam’s eyes are closed again and he nods into the carpet, wet. “Begging me in. So needy for it. So needy you’d let me fuck your tight little ass, Alpha.”
Distorted, “Cas,” and Cas snaps his hips until he’s fully seated, until Sam’s asshole can mouth around the fat root of his cock, the loose skin where his knot will form.
“You feel good, boy? Feel me?”
Sam nods again. Cas nips at an earlobe, kisses behind an ear. He churns himself deep into Sam’s guts, into the fever-heat of them. A thrill, such a privilege—that Sam trusts him like that, that Sam really would go through with it. Them. This.
Enough Omegas and Betas in Cas’ past to clearly feel the difference, to add to the excitement of how dissimilar it is.
Enough Alphas, too, to be able to tell how different Sam is.
Swollen and irritated from his rut, the past two weeks of edging without release that Cas had administered. The added pressure on his prostate with his cock locked up turns it into an easy target. Cas makes sure to get the angle right.
Sam sighs, whimpers. The lock jostles against the metal cage with every shove. Cas adds more lube, sits back. Pulls out all the way just to make Sam feel himself breaking open all over again on the push back in. Cas grinds to make Sam aware of the weight of his balls, lets them slap heavy against Sam’s taint. Cas shushes him as he thumbs along the too-stretched rim of his hole, watches his cock sliding in and out. Relishes.
“You like it? Getting your ass pounded?”
Carpet-slurred, “Yessir…!”
“You may come any time,” goads Cas. “As many times as you’d like, pet. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”
“Yes, sir. No, sir.” Sam’s voice breaks pretty on the next series of strokes.
Cas had taken the edge off this morning in wise foresight. His body doesn’t seem to remember. He growls as he knees in closer to truly ride Sam’s ass until—yeah, the swell settles in.
Only a bunch more thrusts until he has to shorten them so his knot doesn’t catch. Keeping that control is much more difficult, suddenly, in real life. Flashes to particularly intense chats, pictures of Sam with one of his inflatable toys—not now, not yet.
Cas blankets Sam’s sweaty back to kiss up his spine. Lets his teeth drag and Sam sighs for it, grumbles lost and confused and pushes back at him in blind hunger. No instincts. All man-made.
Cas warns, “I’m not pulling out,” and Sam stirs, moans.
Gasps, “Please,” and Cas is already coming, and it’s so different. So different than talking about it, describing it, recording it.
The helpless pressure of Sam’s insides; the shift in his scent with spurt after spurt of Cas’ come. The stinging, prickling mix of it overtakes the room, their airways. All hairs on Cas’ body stand on end and he can barely breathe, can barely blink. His orgasm bolts through him. He wrings his hand right behind his exposed knot to keep it going just a little longer.
“You feel that?”
Sam mumbles an incoherent reply. Cas hums, sucks his mouth over a well-developed trap. His teeth dig in with sheer habit. Just a gentle nip, really, but Sam draws up inside for it nevertheless.
“You take me so well. I’m impressed.”
Cas draws back just to press inside all over again. The drag is wet now, hollow. The lack of oversensitivity on his side is…not a surprise. His body knows it’s not done. That the job wasn’t done right.
He has to climb off and pull out before he falls into the next round right away. Goes careful and slow but Sam still winces. Cas shushes and smoothes his thumb over the sore, barely-there gape of Sam’s asshole while he fishes for that plug with his other hand.
“Let’s keep you nice and tidy, right?” he says, and Sam huffs for it, nods for it. He’s trembling with pleasure, still, as Cas sinks the toy back into him, settles it deep. His thumb pulses against the base in mockery of what his cock had been doing just a minute ago and Sam groans for it. Cas strokes himself once, twice, before he grabs a tissue, two. Cleans up the worst, tucks himself back into his pants.
Slurred, “Thank you, sir,” and Cas grants him a slap to his ass for that. A gasp, a clear tilt of those hips for more. Cas scoffs, smiles. Gives them out, because why not. Again, “Thank you, sir,” and Cas presses his palm against the wide toy base for a last time before he gets up for good.
Sam floats. Cas unhooks the cuffs so Sam can, in theory, move. In practice, he has to be ordered to get up, follow along. The Alpha is all liquid and complacent until he’s in Cas bed, until Cas climbs up to him, curls up against him. Cas brings his hand up to rest atop of that chest and Sam blinks at him, then, like he’s just woken from a dream.
In the warm darkness of his bedroom, Cas assures, “Hey,” but Sam stiffens, confused. Balks upon getting petted, upon Cas throwing his leg over his hip and snuggling in.
Sam starts, “I’m,” but it’s him who bumps their noses together when Cas cranes his neck, gets their faces close. Cas hears him swallow, feels that nervous rush of breath.
Cas worries, “Too much?” but Sam gives a baby-shake of his head. Lets his eyes slip closed as Cas closes the last half of an inch between their mouths. There’s another troubled breath. Sam kisses back then, though. Careful, unsure. Cas keeps rubbing his chest, and that helps.
A sigh, small.
“Okay?” and Sam nods. Swallows. His arms are still caught between them, awkward and limp. Sam bumps their mouths together anew, though. Eases himself into it. Allows himself.
It’s a while of just this. Kissing, breathing. Cas’ limbs curl carefully, testingly—Sam is truly huge. Once he hugs Cas back, that only gets more obvious.
Easy to manipulate, though. Confident, the longer it goes on—roaming hands, eventually, up and down Cas’ back. Up his neck, half-cupped over his ass. Squeezes to learn the shapes of him like Cas is all new. Is, for those hands.
Cas tells him, “Adorable,” and means it. Has that face cupped and feels it heating while Sam inches his fingers into the back of his pants, kneads at his love handles.
“You smell so fucking good.”
“You too. Beautiful,” adds Cas. He rearranges himself so Sam can undo the fly of his pants for him, can nuzzle into the hollow of his throat. Gets a kiss, right there, and hums. Closes his eyes. Helps Sam with the buttons of his shirt and feels the half-stir of his cock, the warmth of it now bare against the inside of his thigh. Sam doesn’t touch; not without permission.
Keeps kissing Cas’ chest, though. Sucks his too-big mouth over a nipple once he can. He only hesitates for a second when Cas snarls for it. Keeps going like he’s nursing, and Cas sighs, drags his hand up that arm, cups that neck. That collar.
“This was supposed to be a break.” Cas’ hand winds back around his cock to pump it slow. Sam hums against him. Doesn’t interject. “What are you doing to me, hm? What am I supposed to do with you?”
They had been sharing it all back and forth. Harmless stuff at first, back when the proverbial ice hadn’t quite been broken just yet. You ever think about, I don’t know, reversing stuff? Don’t you get tired of…you know, it’s always the same, isn’t it? But wouldn’t it be hot? Isn’t it?
That first time Cas had implied that he’d fucked an Alpha before, and Sam’s reaction to that. So palpable even through chat, no voice, no face, no scent. Curiosity, fooling around. Just two strangers on the internet. Nothing serious.
“How do you feel?” and Sam’s pleased noises. The heat of him despite the cage, despite the exhaustion, the build-up. The hungry drag of his hands, still, like he can’t help it. Cas allows, “Go ahead,” and Sam looks at him in awe, in surprise—truly dips his hand low, fingers into the crease of Cas’ ass, rubs across his asshole. A tingle, a swallow. The obvious train of thoughts in Sam’s rut-melted brain; the mirror-throb to Cas’ own cock.
Cas gives him a smile, a kiss to that parted mouth.
“Why don’t you lie on your back for a bit. Let me take care of you.”
Sam looks heartbroken. Rolled over easily, no hesitation, sure, but—Cas, stark naked now, on top of him—any Alpha would have their urges, especially in a rut. Sam gets his wrists cuffed to the headboard and his forehead creases before he shakes that out, away. Groans, soft and sweet, for Cas folding his legs up for him, clipping first one and then both of his ankles next to his wrists. Easy.
“Flexible,” praises Cas, and Sam huffs cute. Gets another kiss and a, “You good?” and nods with his breathing compromised. His caged cock lies heavy atop his own stomach and he grunts when Cas gets a hand on his balls to roll them in a teasing, too-soft grip. Cas discards them, taps them, once. Kisses Sam again, rougher this time, before he sits back, slides his hand up and down the presented cleft of his ass. All that waxed, bare skin. Cas tuts, pushes at the silicone toy. Sam’s eyes are fixed right there. Already glazed over.
Cas pinches the toy between his knuckles and pumps, always just behind that tense, tense sphincter. Sam’s body clings, struggles. Cas smells his own load, threatening to leak. Sam trembles, gasps.
“I’ll mount you again,” warns Cas, and Sam’s moan breaks off as he catches it midway, with Cas yanking the toy out of him. He’s clenching on purpose, attempting not to make a mess—Cas discards the toy and thumbs at that sore-looking hole, bows down to lap at it, kiss at it.
“Oh, God…!”
Cas shushes. Sucks. So beautiful. He needs to be back in there, now.
Sam is drenched enough inside for Cas to enter him without further ado, this time. Watches his ass getting split open, the impatient, wet push of Cas’ cock—the first dribbles of Cas’ load that escape on the first drawback. A humiliated whimper. Cas growls. Stuffs him further.
“I wonder how often you’re gonna make me come today, Sam. How many more times you’re gonna let me use this tight little ass of yours.”
Sam whines. His caged cock gives a faint, protesting throb.
Castiel makes a show out of thumbing at the taut stretch of Sam’s rim, amplifies how thick he must feel inside. Sam’s body mouths at him, overwhelmed.
“So generous. Serving your Alpha like that.”
Cas humps at him, speeds up with seemingly no regards for Sam’s comfort—chasing his own pleasure, groaning, enjoying.
“So tight. Perfect.” (Cas doesn’t miss Sam’s fixed stare down to where he’s slapping into him, grinds balls deep.) “Such a good comedump.”
Sam babbles, “Yes,” and, “oh my God,” and, “A-Alpha,” and Cas hums with appreciation. Doesn’t have to demand to be told, “Thank you,” when he spits into Sam’s mouth, when he devotes his right hand to slapping Sam’s pierced tits.
“You need to come so badly, don’t you?” Sam whines. Cas keeps driving into him, keeps jostling the cage with the power behind his thrusts. “Won’t work like this, will it? With that pretty cock all locked up for me? Even if you do just from getting fucked, it won’t be enough, trust me. Not on a rut.” He adds, “It’ll just keep hurting,” and Sam’s sobs don’t sound unhappy at all.
~
It’s late. Sam, on his knees. The shadows on the blinds tell Castiel that the snow keeps coming. He hums. Cards through Sam’s hair.
“So good to me.”
Sam hums around his mouthful. Cas doesn’t have to force anything to make Sam take him all the way down his throat. Beautiful. Sam said he practiced. Doesn’t seem like a lie.
Castiel ties Sam’s hair up so he can fuck his face better, can see it better—how those eyes tear up despite his surely vigorous training, how that face turns pink and then scarlet for the lack of oxygen. Thick slobber into Cas’ cut-down pubes, down his balls. Cas’ rut tears at him. Guides him.
“Enough. Sit on it.” Sam does. Cas groans, hands to those hips. “Fuck, make yourself come… Come on, let me feel it.”
Sam, God bless him, tries. Wrong way around and the squat must be hell on his glutes, but the view surely is breathtaking. Castiel grits his teeth, helps by shoving his hips up on the downstrokes. Sam’s hands dangle forgotten in the cuffs, against his lower back. He breathes like he’s close. Like it hurts. Good.
Castiel’s knot inflates and he roars, squeezes it with his bare fist. Sam whimpers for the loss of those inches. For the knowledge that he won’t be able to chase his orgasm any longer.
“Too bad,” growls Cas, teasing. His cock already flexes, already shoots his next load into Sam’s knocked-open guts. “Maybe next time.”
They shower together. Cas kisses and tends to Sam’s wrists; Sam says it’s nothing, don’t worry. He’s happy, giddy. High on the withheld rut. Cas lets him finger him, lets him eat his ass for a bit. Makes things worse, if it achieves anything at all—Sam smells so happy, though. Like this is the best thing that has ever happened to him.
He’s soft, dressed again, outside. Trailing after Cas, fumbling with the collar Cas makes him keep on. He smells humiliated all right. Like Cas’ come, regardless of the (thorough) shower. Castiel can’t deny that he’s proud.
His favorite Turkish corner restaurant. He’s a regular and the owners tolerate whatever playthings he drags along—they give Sam a sideeye, though, for all it’s worth. So tall. So subdued.
They hold hands on top of the table. Cas is hard again and Sam looks like he smells it. Cas kisses those knuckles, those fingers.
“Is it…like you imagined?”
“Better,” vows Cas. Sam smiles, blushes further. “I feel like an idiot. We could have had this sooner.”
“I didn’t mind the wait,” Sam mumbles, still smiling. His thumb drags over Cas’ knuckles.
The food arrives. They eat. Cas tips generously. Several pairs of eyes follow them on their way out, but Cas is used to that. Sam doesn’t seem to mind it much, either. It’s snowing again. Still.
Castiel tugs Sam aside under a streetlight, Sam’s back to the brick wall. Castiel kisses him deep and wet and Sam sighs hot, lets Castiel slip his semi-warm hands through and under the layers of his clothes. He lets Castiel suck at his lip, bite it. Gets his junk fondled out in the street like he’s a cheap thing like that. Like Cas has every right to do it.
Cas blinks fascinated. Sam’s cock drools over his wrist. Cas feels around the firmly seated plug.
“How am I supposed to let you go on Sunday?”
Sam chuckles. Tosses his head, rubs their foreheads together before he hides against Cas’ neck, makes Cas hiss for the drag of those teeth.
“I’m afraid I’ll just have to keep you. Chain you to my bed or something.”
“Talk about threatening me with a good time, man…!”
Cas pleads, “Don’t tempt me,” and Sam laughs before he kisses Castiel again.
They make it back home, somehow. Just a few blocks and it’s the middle of the night, deep snow. Their ruts are enough to keep them warm. Goosebumps on Sam’s back, though, in the corridor, with Castiel yanking the few clothes off of him.
He shifts right into position and Castiel growls for how badly he needs to be back inside this boy.
“Bedroom. Now.”
Sam hurries; Cas pushes him from behind anyway.
“Floor. In your knees. Yes.”
Cas yanks his pants open, off. Looks down, stares—at Sam, presenting, chest to the bed. Wrist-cuffs again. Cas paces himself to land a few strikes across Sam’s ass before removing the plug, taking its place.
Sam gasps, squirms. The lube doesn’t suffice. It’s not meant to.
“Fuck yourself,” rasps Cas, pressed over him from behind, chest to back. Right up against Sam’s ear. “Earn it. Work to be mounted like you need it, boy.”
Sam groans, moves. His hips roll and shift as he figures it out. He struggles so beautifully just to get hurt even more. Beautiful. Cas’ beautiful boy.
“That’s it. There you go.”
Sam splutters. Huffs into the sheets.
Castiel leans back to grab the lube from the nightstand, grabs his phone as well on a second thought. He pulls out just enough to drizzle the slick into place and navigates to the camera, points it where they’re joined. Hold for video. Perfect.
“Look at you,” he croons, moving. Sam’s asshole sits snug on him, irritated and pink and Cas thumbs at it again, slips his thumb next to his cock just to capture how tight the fit really is. Sam flinches, groans. Tips his hips more available. Cas praises, “Good boy,” and spreads the lube deliberately as he pumps into Sam. “I’m recording this one. For memory’s sake.”
Sam slurs, “Fuck,” and shifts, hitches his hips even better. So good under attention. Trying his best to please, unaware he’s already succeeded.
Cas doesn’t even bother to pan up Sam’s beautiful back, show off his massive frame. Later. So much time left, still.
He watches himself plunging into Sam’s ass over and over, how small Sam’s Alpha hole seems in comparison to Cas’ just-as-Alpha cock. Unnatural. Beautiful. Mesmerizing.
For preparations, Castiel assembled a list of every single thing Sam had rambled he wants to do. Gonna take until sometime tomorrow before he even gets to make him read that one out loud.