This Is Not A Drive-By

A/N: The lyrics used in this chapter are from the Train song "Drive-By", which I do not own. Also, this chapter is pretty much all sex. Enjoy~

 

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CHAPTER SIX

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"You guys are incredibly weird," Kendra said with a smile, "but I adore you both." She stood on the sidewalk in Dean's shirt and some sweats, the morning light catching against her eyes and tinting them violet.

Dean kissed her forehead. "See ya around, babe." He was shirtless, uncaring, his boots barely tied.

Castiel, dressed in one of Kendra's shirts and a pair of Dean's jeans they'd found in the trunk, waved from the passenger seat as they drove away.

"She was nice," he remarked at some point, not quite watching the flow of scenery through the open window. Being in the Impala again was exciting. She always made him feel like he was flying, just barely skimming the ground.

Dean grunted absently. His mind was still firmly fixed on the previous night, on the lingering, blurry memories of the way Castiel writhed beneath him, the feel of the angel's mouth on his neck, hand on his cock.

He barely remembered Kendra's part in it at all, and it actually bothered him a bit that it didn't bother him as much as he thought it should.

When they reached the motel Dean went in to grab his duffel, but he was gone a long time. Castiel thought he could mark the passage of time now, being human -- it was like a slip-sliding sensation of not-quite-air on his skin. He was fairly sure the increment of minutes required to retrieve one bag had passed several times over by the time he decided to investigate.

He found Dean sitting slumped on the far bed -- he'd gotten a double out of habit, Castiel noticed fondly. He didn't move when the angel came in.

Castiel sat beside him, and when the bed dipped Dean startled, looking over with wide eyes. Dark circles that Castiel hadn't noticed yet that morning accentuated brilliant green like deep settings for two gems, and despite a wave of worry at the expression on Dean's face, Castiel felt a little twinge of awe at just how beautiful the hunter truly was.

"I can't see your soul anymore," he said softly, "but your face is just as --"

"Cas," Dean interrupted, then he sighed, dragging a hand over his eyes. "About last night."

Castiel allowed the goofy grin he felt welling inside him to plaster itself across his face. "Last night was amazing," he said.

Dean's echoing smile held sadness, and Castiel felt his own slide away. Something was wrong -- I did something wrong.

The angel's face fell and Dean hated himself just a little bit more. He never wanted to see an expression like that on Castiel, especially not to be the one who caused it. But he forced himself to say it. "Cas, last night was a mistake."

A mistake? Castiel searched those sorrowful eyes. He couldn't read the soul behind them anymore. He had only the emotion-painted surface to analyze. No wonder humans get so frustrated with one another.

Aloud, he said, "How could something that glorious be a mistake?"

Dean huffed, a cross between a laugh and a newborn sob. "Because, Cas, you're human now, and everything's new to you, and I can't expect you to --" he gesticulated wildly. Castiel saw panic surface in his eyes and grabbed one of his hands. "If I liked it, does any of that matter?"

"Well, no, but -- then there's -- you're a guy, Cas! And I --"

Castiel understood in a flash of clarity exactly what was bothering Dean. "My vessel is male," he affirmed, "but I am not."

"Right now?" Haunted eyes met his. "You are." Dean dropped his hand. "Right now, you are flesh and blood and bone. There is nothing angel in there. You are a man, Cas, and I just don't do guys."

Well, there. Dean let his shoulders slump. He'd ruined another good thing in his rough way, all because he couldn't not freak out about it after all. And he saw Castiel's demeanor change, saw him withdraw and huddle in on himself. I am a low-down, dirty thug, Dean thought morosely. I ruin everything I tou--

Castiel surged over him, knocked him flat, and kissed him, hard.

Dean struggled for a bit, but even fully human the angel was strong, and he kept Dean's hips twisted beneath his weight. And then Castiel flicked his tongue against Dean's unresponsive lips, which parted without permission, and -- holy shit, did he learn that from us?

Castiel kissed with everything he had, knowing that at any moment Dean could overthrow his advances, storm off and leave him. He had to take this chance, to show his hunter the way he'd been feeling for so long, the feelings that he could only now define. There was nothing else he could do – Dean said it, and he was right: there is nothing angel in there. A low pang resounded through Castiel's chest at the echo of those words and he kissed Dean harder, driving it all away.

There was a point where neither of them were breathing and the singularity of that moment was, in and of itself, divine.

Castiel rode that infinite moment until his head felt light and then he broke the connection, long enough to gasp: "You have always been mine, Dean Winchester." His voice was wrecked, much rougher than usual, and at the sound those exquisite green eyes dilated, eyelashes dipping.

Dean threw caution and discomfort to the winds, pulled Castiel back to him and clashed their lips together with enough force to bruise. The angel's muffled noise struck his nerves and he pawed the back of Castiel's head, endeavoring to roll his hips to the side and get fully on the bed. Because damn it all if he wasn't all systems go, and he no longer cared about his earlier trepidations. This was Cas, vibrant and no less himself as a human. More himself, Dean realized as he drew back to look into those incredible blue eyes. Castiel was flushed, breathing heavily. He's an individual now. The only one like him there will ever be.

Something new.

Castiel stared down at Dean, who had an odd expression on his face. "Dean," he ventured, leaning down, "are you --"

As he leaned his hips rolled over Dean's, and the sweet friction was mirrored in identical 'o' expressions as hunter and angel stared at one another.

"What are we doing here, Cas?" Dean's voice was broken glass.

"I -- I don't know," the angel said, suddenly confused. "I should probably --" He made to swing off of Dean, but strong hands grabbed his pelvis and held him down as Dean rolled his own hips upward, a lazy arc into a snap that sent waves of heat through Castiel's core.

"I don't want to regret this," Dean said gruffly, his voice tickling Castiel's spine, "but I don't think I will."

Castiel, tingling all over, drank in those hooded green eyes. Dean's face was pale, his freckles standing out like constellations, his parted lips kiss-bruised. They looked as soft as Castiel knew they felt. He wanted -- he just had to taste them again.

When he swooped down to capture Dean's lips, the hunter mewled – a sound he never would have guessed that Dean would make – into his mouth, bucking his hips up and sliding heat against heat. Castiel felt increasingly confined in his borrowed jeans, but didn't want to stop kissing Dean in order to sit up and undo them. Luckily, Dean made that decision for him, rolling them both over and dumping Castiel on his back as he hastily tackled his zipper. “Wanna feel you, Cas,” he breathed, completely lost. Castiel's answering shudder sent sparks straight to his cock.

Without knowing he'd even moved Dean had the angel's length in his hand, already hard, glistening precome dragging from the tip. Dean ran his thumb over the slit, smearing the opalescent mess, and reveled in Castiel's ragged gasp. “Gonna make you feel so good, Cas... wanna feel you coming, fuck, you're fucking gorgeous, Cas...” Where was all this dirty talk coming from? He wasn't even drunk.

That's just how the angel affected him.

Which is why he suddenly felt himself sliding down, lowering his mouth over Castiel's fat, flushed cock and slowly taking him in, loving the angel's torn whisper of his name. Precome slid salty on his tongue and he licked it up, flicked his tongue through the slit and then down the underside, lapping at the vein before simply deciding to see how far down he could go.

Castiel was drowning in that wet heat, writhing, trapped beneath Dean's body, the hunter's skin on his the perfect prison. Dean's flawless mouth closed around his cock and Castiel's eyes rolled back, his mouth gaping open, a litany of choked Enochian syllables falling from his lips.

Dean hollowed his cheeks, sucking for all he was worth, thinking back to his Top Ten Best Blowjobs of All Time and trying to remember what it had felt like those girls were doing. He didn't dwell on the unsettling fact that he was giving a blowjob; he just wanted to please Castiel. To hear those noises wrenched from him again, and again. Whatever language his angel was currently muttering in with that cracking, honeyed-gravel voice... it fit perfectly. The rumble of Castiel's words caressed him through the mattress.

“Dean...” the angel keened roughly, thrusting into his hunter's mouth. He could feel Dean grinning around him, then that glorious sun-drenched cavern was withdrawn. Castiel wriggled his displeasure.

“Patience, Cas,” Dean chuckled, doing something that made the bed shake. As the angel lifted his head to stare with bleary eyes, Dean dropped his jeans on the floor. He met Castiel's gaze and flushed, kneeling there naked, golden skin forming adorable wrinkles over his stomach. His air of innocence was overwhelming. Castiel struggled to sit upright, to shuck off his own jeans, but his hands weren't working. Dean saw, smiled, and helped.

As soon as his legs were free Castiel dragged the hunter over-top of him with a surge of inhuman strength, their bodies sliding together in one long rush of friction. Dean's gasp became a moan as Castiel wrapped his legs around Dean's, setting a brutal pace with his hips, catching Dean behind his neck with a forceful hand and pulling him down into a kiss that threatened to meld their very atoms. It was open-mouthed, sloppy, and erotic -- both tongues twisting, tasting, claiming each others' mouths.

One of Dean's hands snaked between them, and before Castiel knew what was happening he felt that hand grab both of their cocks together and the pressure was glorious, it was too much, pleasure like lava flooded his body and oh, he was going to --

“Ah! Ah!” He couldn't form words, in any language. He could barely breathe. Castiel shuddered his orgasm all over Dean's hand and dick, the mess getting tangled in where the friction grabbed it and heated it further and all Dean could hear was his angel's ragged breathing and the squelch of slick in his hand. He was sliding in and against incredible heat, and it was Castiel lying beneath him, staring at him in absolute wonder with those unearthly blue eyes --

-- and Dean tensed, shouting as he came, trying to hold Castiel's gaze. As he wrung himself out onto his angel's chest, everything dissolved into white, and he fell to the side with a sigh, gathering Castiel against him with weak and trembling arms.

“Awesome,” he murmured, reveling in the sweat-soaked heat of the body he embraced. Wherever that came from, he was mostly okay with it – though his heart sped in his chest, and a hint of the old anxiety came creeping back in: what the fuck, I just basically masturbated Castiel, I gave a blowjob to a friggin' angel of the Lord... Castiel's lips on his broke that train of thought nicely in half, and sank each half in a different ocean. Though he'd never admit it later, Dean melted into the kiss, slotting his body against the angel's til it felt like they were two halves of one whole.

This? This was weird, but this was also okay.

 

~#~#~

 

The sun set over Yosemite Valley with lazy grandeur, rays like fire lighting the mountainsides and chasing down into shadows below. Sam hung on the sheer rocky face of El Capitan, long brown arms slung out carelessly, gracing the stone like a perversion of the crucifix. He considered the sunset through narrowed eyes. Sam was thinking, always thinking, his trains of thought spanning eons and millions of miles in the span of a moment.

At the moment, he considered his brother.

Dean was a stalwart human being, to be sure. He was also limited. Oh, he made an EMF meter out of his busted-up Walkman, he could rebuild the Impala from scrap, and he could almost, almost sing – but he was singular when faced with many things. Of course, Sam reasoned, he was sure his brother could be enlightened, somehow. After a fashion. With time.

His ankle itched. He lifted his other foot to scratch it.

Dean was remarkably determined. In some areas, he was remarkably determined to remain obtuse, to not understand. He wanted his opinions to endure, even in the face of new information and, at times, damning evidence. Sam knew this about his brother, and yet he couldn't keep it from frustrating him. This time, he couldn't just let it go. Sam studied that thought, for a moment. It seemed, he noted with some fascination, that he was unable to move past Dean's stubbornness. He wanted his brother's – well, if not approval, at least his understanding.

The sun chased wisps of clouds below the treeline, and Sam felt the first chill of evening like a passing thought. With the sudden cold came a shiver across his taut shoulders, and on the tail of the shiver came thoughts of Castiel.

Sam felt himself frown, and agreed with his face.

He hadn't killed the angel on purpose. For a purpose. He knew Castiel would seek out Dean as soon as he regained consciousness, and while Sam was always aware of Dean's location... he wanted to see what would happen. What they'd do, where they'd go. How Castiel would handle his new-found humanity, the endless slew of choices, emotions. The physical sensations alone might overwhelm him. Some humans who'd been human their whole lives couldn't handle it – how would a fallen angel cope? Sam had made a series of assumptions, most of which had subsequently proven wildly inaccurate.

Sam still wasn't sure how to translate what he'd seen, for a multitude of reasons.

Wind whipped through his clothes and stung his skin, the sun a forgotten pleasure now settled beneath the horizon. It was time to return to Cim. The demon had become almost petulant of late, insisting that they forge ahead and endeavor to complete the master project. Sam, with a smirk, realized he was just about ready to silence those thin lips.

With a cocky salute to the deepening sky, Sam let go of the cliff face and dove forward. The mountain wind whipped tears from his eyes as he fell, a lone comet plunging earthward toward the trees.

His heart skipped a beat and he was above the Atlantic ocean instead, flipping to hit the water feet first, toes pointed, barely a splash to mark his entry. He shot down fathoms before he slowed, and for an uncounted minute hung in the depths, seeing nothing, mind whirling with purpose.

When he appeared before his mentor, Sam was dry, and his smile was like a curse.

 

~#~#~

 

The Impala streaked across a mid-western desert highway, chrome catching the baleful sunlight, a cloud of dust like a lacy train behind her. She was cruising at 90 mph, the sound of her engine a joyful roar.

Dean lounged indolent in the passenger seat, staring at his partner with a lazy, lust-filled grin playing on his lips.

Castiel was behind the wheel.

His blood sang with the thrill of the drive. It was everything he remembered, and better, because Dean was sitting beside him perfectly healthy. And they were together.

A shiver of remembered pleasure made his shoulders shake, and he heard Dean's stifled laugh. All of a sudden a hand tiptoed over his leg, and he nearly leapt out of his skin, jerking the wheel and swerving the car all over the road. Dean's hand was on the bulge of his cock, trapped in those jeans, and when the hunter ground the heel of his hand down the flash of lust was so powerful Castiel's eyes crossed. Simultaneously the horn bleated, all the lights flashed, and the radio kicked on.

“I swear to you, I'll be there for you, this is not a drive-by...”

It was the same song from the bar. Kendra-as-Castiel swam across Dean's mind, and he smiled fondly at his angel, not letting up with his hand. Castiel was panting lightly, and even though he had to focus on driving and face forward, Dean could see the blue disappearing from those eyes as the pupils blew wide. “Dean...” His name dripped from the angel's lips in that broken whisper that always seemed to shoot straight to Dean's cock.

“God, Cas... you should probably pull over.” What had possessed him to say that? Dean bit his lip. His body had such a randy mind of its own, it was even speaking for him.

“Do you... think so?” Fuck, that voice. Like gritty silk all over Dean's body. “Mmph,” was all he could give in response. This was already moving faster than he'd ever thought it would, if he'd ever thought about it, which he hadn't, but the thing about it was: He didn't want to stop. Ever.

“When you move me, everything is groovy

They don't like it, sue me

Either way you do me --”

“Yessss, fuck it, pull over,” he growled, suddenly needy. Cas feathered the brake like a pro, threw the car into park, and then he was scrambling sideways to plow his mouth into Dean's, a desperate clash of tongues and teeth as frantic hands found hair and pulled, and they both gasped into each others' mouths. Dean hadn't let up on Castiel's crotch and now, as he fought for breath and dominance in the kiss, he yanked the button and zipper apart. “Yes,” Castiel gasped into his mouth, and Dean gave an answering tug to the angel's cock that had him thrusting into his hand, gasps and little muttered curses falling into the rhythm. Castiel groaned Dean's name and the sound was decadent; Dean felt the heat of that one little word across all of his skin at once.

Dean was about to slide to his knees on the floorboard, he wanted to taste his angel again, but Castiel grabbed his shoulders and slammed their foreheads together. Two blue-rimmed, lust-blackened eyes melded into one as Castiel stared him down and said in the most wrecked voice Dean had ever heard: “I need you to fuck me.”

Shock. How does he even – oh, fuck. Oh, shit. Ohhh, shit... Castiel's hand found Dean's cock, still trapped in his own jeans, and kneaded it, hard. “Dean,” said that voice, and Dean groaned, his hips rocking up of their own accord into the pressure of Castiel's hand.

Without meaning to, he imagined it – being Castiel's first. Taking him and claiming him completely. Dean pictured himself over Castiel in the back seat, the angel staring up at him with those blown eyes, utterly trusting, as Dean lined up to enter him.

He could almost feel that tight heat, how it felt to be encased in Castiel's clenching flesh, and Dean closed his eyes with a strangled growl. It turned into a high-pitched “ah!” of surprise when Castiel's lips latched on to his neck, that strong, slender hand still at work downstairs.

Oh, to hell with it.

“Backseat!” he grunted, and instantly Castiel was springing up and sliding back there with inhuman speed. Dean grinned as he less-than-gracefully joined him. “Your angel is showing.”

“Shut up,” Castiel breathed in a rush from his place on his back, knees splayed apart, feet on the seat. A pretty flush spread over his nose and cheekbones, his lips reddened and kissed plump, his eyes like lust-blown sapphires sending stinging shivers through Dean's nerves. He was beautiful. So human in his need, but still so much an angel -- the perfection, alien fury.

The paradox was mostly lost on Dean, but he enjoyed looking at the result.

“Need you,” the angel insisted, wriggling out of his jeans. He grabbed one of Dean's hands, drew two of the fingers into his mouth with an obscene slurp. That tongue was nothing angelic. Dean's jeans were growing more uncomfortable by the second, and he reared as far up on his knees as the low ceiling would allow in order to use his other hand to open his fly. The open zipper grated something awful on the underside of his dick, though, so – and don't ask him how, because never in a million years could he tell you – he extricated himself from them one-handed, casting them aside. Castiel managed to get his mouth around two more fingers, sucking them in and out, never looking away from Dean's eyes. Dean got himself in hand and began to stroke, even pressed up against the ceiling like he was. But Castiel had other plans.

The angel pulled Dean's fingers from his mouth and led the hand around to the crack of his virgin ass, swirling one finger around the puckered ring. How does he – why – me, I'm just – Dean's other hand faltered on his cock, and he was sure his misgivings were showing on his face. Castiel just looked determined. “Do it, Dean,” he said firmly, and poked Dean's finger just inside that ring of muscle. A little gasp escaped him, and that sound went straight to the base of Dean's cock and smoldered there, and Dean pushed that finger in further just to hear Castiel make more noise. The angel whined, squirming, pushing the finger even deeper into that impossibly tight heat. Dean withdrew it, slowly, then fucked it back in, loving the way Castiel writhed beneath him. He added a second finger, pausing to allow those tight muscles to stretch, then he plunged both fingers slowly to the hilt, feeling around for that little bundle of nerves he'd heard about.

He knew he'd found it when Castiel shrieked, sat bolt upright, and when Dean's fingers grazed that same spot again the angel moaned, shaking, lowering himself back down. “Fuck, Dean...” he murmured, grinding his hips down onto those fingers. Dean added a third, then, scissoring all three to stretch his angel as wide as he could. He'd never done this, nor had it done to him, but he'd talked to plenty of people who had, and he remembered enough.

In order for Castiel to enjoy this fully, he'd have to start slow.

Dean never could have anticipated just how difficult that would be. The sight, never mind the sound, of the angel dancing around on his back while Dean finger-fucked him into oblivion, was more than enough to potentially drive him to just pick up Castiel's knees and slam his cock up to the hilt into Castiel's ass, bottoming out and then thrusting again, and again, hard as he pleased, wringing screams and sobs of ecstasy from his partner's lungs – but the angel was just a man now, no superhuman healing ability, and Dean wasn't a masochist.

Finally, he judged that the hole was stretched widely enough to accommodate his cock -- Dean wasn't the largest man on the planet, but he was no slouch, either -- and he withdrew the fingers, trying to ignore Castiel's whine at their loss. He spat on to his hand, wishing for an instant that they had some kind of lube, before slicking his erection and lining it up with the quivering entrance.

“Please,” Castiel began, but Dean was already thrusting in. The plea became a drawn-out cry, the angel being filled.

Castiel couldn't believe it. He was in the back seat of the Impala, after having driven her for hours, being fucked six ways to Sunday by Dean Fucking Winchester. If he'd ever dreamed, this would have been his ultimate fantasy. And Dean, despite never having done this with a man before, and having reservations about the whole thing, was doing something absolutely heavenly with his dick, pulling out slowly and driving back in with a snap that drove the air from Castiel's lungs. “Fuck!” he panted, falling into a nonsense litany of “fuck, Dean, yes, ah fuck, just like that,” as the rhythm Dean set punctuated the pulses of desire within him.

Dean's hands slid under Castiel's knees, lifting him, creating a different angle and then he was thrusting against the angel's prostate and Castiel was just screaming. He was hoarse with need, choking on it, every brush of that little nerve bundle sending passion skyrocketing through his system. His abandoned cock flopped against his stomach and Castiel reached for it, but Dean beat him to it, jerking the angel in time with his thrusts. It was too much, it was too good, he was going to --

Dean felt Castiel jerk beneath him, around him, clenching chaotically, and he knew his angel was approaching the edge. Dean sped his pace, driving brutally down, nothing but slap of skin and staggered moans filling his ears. He grappled blindly, his hand tightened around Castiel's swollen cock and that was all she wrote, the angel arching and crying out, scalding come spurting over his chest and Dean's hand. His body clamped down around Dean, those already tight muscles slamming shut tighter in spasmodic ripples and the hunter lost it, throwing his head back with a choked-out roar as he pumped his load deep into Castiel's body. The angel's seizing muscles milked his orgasm until it was almost too much to bear, and as the sensations multiplied Dean's arms gave out, the breath leaving his lungs in one long whoosh. He sprawled over Castiel, twitching, trying to say something like “Fuck, Cas”, but not able to get past the “Fffffuhh...”

He was destroyed, utterly spent, and he felt like a hundred-watt bulb. He couldn't stop grinning. He peeked up at Castiel and saw sweat dripping down the angel's face, from his hair, saw those gorgeous eyes heavy-lidded and looking at him like he was god on earth. That was a sight he could stand to see again.

With an abortive whimper Dean forced himself to slide out of the sodden warmth, and then the angel's arms enveloped him and they lay, not entirely uncomfortably, curled around each other in the back seat.

The Impala, still running, purred around them, and all they were for long minutes was breath, and silence, and wonder.

Castiel held his hunter as tightly as he was able, though his limbs felt limp and lifeless. He had no words, in English or Enochian or any other language ever created, to describe the way he felt. This was perfection personified. It was something he had never expected to experience, and would never again be able to live without. Castiel pressed a kiss to Dean's sweaty head and smiled, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Amazing. Dean Winchester had not yet ceased to amaze him. He wanted to lay like this, over and over again, forever.

Eventually, though, Dean got hot, and he reluctantly extracted himself from Castiel's embrace, opening the passenger door and sliding out.

Luckily they were on what had to be the loneliest state road in the entire country, so no one could see Dean's bare ass as he struggled back into his jeans. He hissed when the rough fabric slid over his sensitive dick, but all discomfort was forgotten when he saw Castiel on all fours in the back seat, chin propped on threaded fingers, staring up at him. Somehow the angel had his own jeans back on already. He looked sex-messy and glorious.

Dean stuck his thumbs into his pockets. “Want me to drive?” he teased.

More of that inhuman speed that took his breath away as Castiel slithered, like a fucking snake, back over the front seat. The angel threw the car into gear.

“You better hurry up and get in,” Castiel grated out the window, “or I'm leaving your ass behind.”

Laughing, Dean jogged to the passenger side, and they peeled out, hitting the asphalt at around 70 mph. That and Castiel's expression made Dean snicker again, he couldn't help it. His angel was just so damn cute.

And I'm turning into a girl, he thought good-naturedly.

“How in the fuck did you do this to me?” he mused aloud, sliding a hand over to ruffle Castiel's already sex-tousled hair. In reply the angel pressed down firmly on the gas pedal, and the car fairly flew along the road, the wheels barely skimming solid ground.

He didn't speak for a long while. Dean hummed Kansas absentmindedly, staring out the window and not really seeing anything.

“You make me feel like I'm whole again,” Castiel said, suddenly and so quietly that Dean wasn't sure he'd heard him. “Everything about you sings to me, harmonizes with the music I feel when I drive this car. The both of you together are a breathtaking symphony.” His breath hitched. “Dean, I -- I had no idea --”

A finger was placed lightly upon his lips, halting any further confessions. “Hey,” Dean said gently. “I'm not quite... I don't know what this is yet, okay? Let's...” He felt silly trying to say let's take it slow when he'd just fucked his angel's brains out in the back seat, but he still wasn't completely certain how he felt about the whole thing. Sex was sex, but whatever this was... this was something new.

Like Cas.

To break the tension, Dean went with a quip. “You know, you're pretty vocal.” He nipped at Castiel's earlobe with his fingertips. “Angel has a dirty mouth.”

Eyes on the road, Castiel stuck out his tongue, eliciting a full guffaw.

“Hey, if I'd known you loved it this much, we'd have done this a long time ago.”

He had to glance at Dean, then; the hunter looked at him and smiled the sweetest smile Castiel had ever seen.

The angel didn't ask which Dean meant, the sex or the drive.

 

~#~#~

 

Deep underground where unseen horrors skittered through the blackness, Sam faced his mentor, the marquis of Hell, by the light of a few tallow tapers. Both men were breathing heavily, and Cim looked paler than usual. Sam was smiling. It was a terrible thing to behold.

The demon's eyes glittered. “Do not presume to assert your strength over mine,” he rumbled, squaring his shoulders. “I made you what you are.”

But he didn't move forward, didn't press an attack. Sam met his eyes and held them, and before too long, Cim shifted his gaze to the ground. He'd felt the vice around his damned heart.

Sam smirked, and for that moment the candles guttered.

"Don't forget, Cimeries, we're in this together."

 

*FIN

 

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Well, there you have it. What did you think?

The third installment of the Open Road 'verse is coming! (It might be awhile – the boys are giving me fits – but I'm working on it!...)