I'll Give My All To You (Castiel/Sam)

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"More, I can take more," Sam breaths, eyes wild and glossed over, but not with pain. The shredding, ripping ache from hours before is soothed and lost to the heat, the blessed warmth of the pleasure burning its way through his body. His hair is mussed and he bleeds only from where he'd bitten through the skin on his lip when Cas had first pushed into his body. The words spilling from his lips are laced with need rather than fear and hurt. "Don't stop, keep go-ah! Oh god, please keep going."


The whispers were nothing new, not by a long shot.

Sam couldn't remember a time, not anymore, when there hadn't been voices in his head. Voices that whispered malicious, demeaning things. Words that scalded like Hell with their torturously cold burns. Cold, cold, cold, he was always freezing in one way or another.

Sam pulled the blankets tighter around himself and shivered with the dull throb that had been left in the wake of Gadreel's remnant Grace being ripped from his body. The extraction had been for nothing and now the small measure of warmth that came from an angel's essence-no matter if he was friend or foe-was gone.

No amount of thermos bottles and blankets piled high could replace it, and Sam thought perhaps he'd found a new addiction. A subtle, crafty, bathed-in-light craving that was somehow more damning than demon blood. Was he doomed to need what he couldn't have until he felt the sting of Hell again?

Sam snorted and shook his head in wry amusement against the soft fabric of the pillow.

That question had been answered ages ago.

He wondered why he still asked it sometimes.


"Please, please!" He cries out, pushing back against the small thrusts of the angel's hips, feeling himself open wider to let Cas in. "I can take it, just have me, I don't need-"

"Be silent, Sam!" Cas's voice is power and light and backed with the resonance of a heaven lost to them all. "Let me do this, let me give. I don't want to take from you. I don't want to be like the world that has left you bereft and without care for yourself." Cas presses his forehead to Sam's back, letting his lips brush over the scarred skin he found there as he moves. The slight waver of his words is more than Sam could take right now.

"Okay," he murmurs, voice wrecked and strained with need.


Tonight had brought one small difference, and for better or worse, Sam latched onto new things like a lifeline. The breaking of monotony was enough to send him chasing after the softer voice that swam through his head. Deep and rumbling and saying things that could let him pretend. He could lose himself with the voice that proclaimed in old languages the power and radiant light of his soul. The tone that tore through his spirit and left it singing cried out into the heavens that his heart and mind were things to covet, to be nurtured and set to loving the world and seeking out its mysteries. It pleaded for all to know that he was a priceless treasure, a gem amongst a vast hoard of riches, to be guarded and carefully maintained rather than left to tarnish and grow dulled with weariness.

Sam loved this voice.


"Tell me that you know," Cas says, more begging than demanding. His movements still, buried in the hunter's body, but no amount of panting on Sam's part is going to get him to move.

Sam shakes his head, trying to find the words that will convey just how much he could know but not understand. "I don't, Cas. I don't know if I can," he admits, breath hitching when Cas starts a slow rhythm, a dragging glide that has Sam crying out and collapsing to his elbows, tipping his ass up in further invitation, hoping against hope that Cas will just plunge in and take what is his.

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