fromfryingpantofire | He's as damned as he seems/And more Heaven than a heart could hold (NSFW)

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castiel,
rp

He's as damned as he seems/And more Heaven than a heart could hold (NSFW)

They tended to switch bars a lot, never sticking to any one location and they'd drive out a ways away from the bunker. Lebanon was way too small for them to hit up the bars there very often, but it wasn't that far to the state line and there were other towns around, too.

Sam and Dean had gone their separate ways tonight, each planning to hustle pool or cards in a different place. As usual these days, Castiel had come with Sam. The former angel had picked up pool rather quickly, which wasn't surprising considering it was pretty much all math and angles. For the moment, though, Sam was the one cleaning the table with the current set of drunkards who had decided to try their hand against him.

He looked up just as he finished the current game, gathering up the money that had been bet. He'd been going to call out to Castiel, but the sound died in his throat when he saw someone else was talking to the other man. Someone who was entirely too close for Sam's liking.

He nodded to the other players, pocketing the money before walking over and putting a hand between Castiel's shoulder blades before letting it slip down. "Hey, Cas. Who's your friend?"

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The words are a balm on the part of Castiel's mind that's been knocked off balance, that's spinning at the wrong axis. Yes... yes, this is what he needs. To be reclaimed completely and utterly, remade by Sam's hands has he once remade Sam's brother, and Sam himself, too.

He makes a desperate little sound at it, because it sounds too good, too caring, to have Sam devote himself so thoroughly to taking him apart and putting him back together.

"Yes, Sam. I'm yours. I... can I request, your belt?" To tie him up with or to lay stripes across his skin with, he doesn't care. Just wants as much of Sam on his body as he can possibly get.

Sam puts the car back in gear, watching the road. "You are not to talk unless spoken to, unless you are giving your safeword. You will be allowed to call 'yellow' to slow down, but the punishment will not stop until I'm finished unless you use your safeword." Even in punishment, Castiel could stop everything.

"I'm going to warn you now. You're going to be collared for the immediate future." He glances over at Castiel. "If the tattoo and the device isn't enough show of my ownership for you, then I am perfectly happy to be more clear about it."

The fact that they probably wouldn't leave the bunker much in the next few days doesn't mean that the collar won't be punishment in and of itself. After all, Dean and Kevin knew what it meant.

Sam smiled at that. "Of course. How about I get out my good belt as well. Use that one to take your hands from you and my everyday belt to stripe your ass and shoulders?" He could moderate the hits across the shoulders just fine, after all, and it would include the tattoo, the permanent mark of their relationship.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Castiel's shoulder. Because his head was difficult to get to. "I'm going to get out of the car now so that I can pick you up and take you to the bathroom. Is that all right?"

Castiel lowers his head, equal parts thrilled and humbled. This is precisely what he needs to feel grounded again, and and he's once again grateful to have Sam taking care of him, owning him. He can live with Dean's and Kevin's knowing glances, with being in pain for a few days.

It will be good.

True to form, Castiel remains silent on the rest of the way home, taking Sam's lead. He was bad, he deserves the silence, deserves to be put back in place. Needs to be put back in place, even.

"The belts sound wonderful, Sam. Thank you."

He's not sure he can thank him enough, for providing everything Castiel never knew he needed, and then some. As an angel fresh out of Heaven, he hadn't even thought there was such a thing as this lifestyle, or that it might be just what he need, now as a human more so than ever. Strange, what turns his life took until he ended up just where he needed to be.

"What about Dean and Kevin?"

Sam remains silent as well, not even turning on the radio to relieve it. Still, the silence is relaxing for him in a lot of ways. It allows his mind to drift, to consider what needs to be done that night.

When they pull into the garage, Sam parks the car and sits back, letting out a slow breath. The anger is long gone by now, replaced only by the need to see this through, to put Castiel in his proper place as he's obviously needing. He reaches down, unbuckling his seat belt. "Directly to our bedroom," he reminds Castiel, turning to look at him. "Strip and kneel. I'll be in in a few minutes."

They won't be leaving the bedroom again tonight. Which means that Sam needs to grab a few items that they'll need before he follows Castiel. "If you're not on your knees when I get to the bedroom, I'm adding to your punishment."

Allow Castiel to decide how much punishment he needed to be set right.

With that, he got out of the car, waiting for Castiel to follow.

"They aren't back yet." He hadn't seen the Impala when they'd driven in, but Sam looks up to check that he hadn't just missed it. "I doubt they'll be back before we're done in the bathroom, honestly. I'll leave them a note, though. Let them know that you had a bad night and we'll see them in the morning." Or, possibly, closer to early afternoon. It depends a lot on how much Castiel crashed.

He reaches down, stroking his fingers through Castiel's hair before undoing his seat belt. He opens his door and gets out, careful of Castiel before going around to the other side to help him out of the car. There's absolutely no problem at all with carrying the other man. He enjoys that Castiel allows it to happen sometimes.

Castiel follows in silence. Doesn't dare look Sam in the eyes. He makes a beeline for their bedroom, and strips with nothing but white noise rushing in his ears. The clothes are tossed in their laundry basket, and for a moment Castiel just stands there, naked, opening and clenching his fists and feeling like his insides are writhing inside of him. He's full of need for something he can barely articulate.

And so he sits on the bed instead of kneeling, eyes wet with tears he hopes he won't shed before it's time. Castiel feels disgusting doing this, knowing Sam will be angry, disappointed, rightfully so. Truth be told he doesn't know why he's not kneeling, not complying, just knows that he's full of need for something.

And so he waits, silent and terrified and in such obvious violation of Sam's order. Yet he can't move, is frozen to the spot and unable to think straight.

It's a rare thing to happen. Castiel is a proud creature, much older than Sam and he used to be much stronger, too. Usually he dislikes being carried. Situations like this are a clear exception, when he's shell-shocked and overwhelmed, when he's reminded that even just scraping his hand and feeling that pain for the first time overwhelmed him not so very long ago.

So he wraps his arms around Sam's shoulders, holds on tight as he's carried inside. Allows the world to narrow down to Sam and nothing else, because that's just what he needs now that his skin is crawling with someone else's touch, someone else's violation.

"Sam," he murmurs, clutches at him harder. At least they're home now. He'll be taken apart and reassembled soon. Everything will be well. Sam's got this. Sam's got him.

While Castiel goes to the bedroom, Sam goes straight to the kitchen. He grabs a couple bottles of water and makes a couple of sandwiches, simple things they can eat later or that can wait until morning. No matter how disappointed Sam might be with the way the night has turned out, taking care of Castiel will always be his first priority.

He also leaves a note for Dean and Kevin, letting them know that he and Castiel would be busy until possibly late the next morning. Let them make of that what they may.

He heads back for the bedroom, then, uncertain what he will find. There's a part of him that isn't surprised, though, to find Castiel sitting on the bed rather than kneeling as he had been told. Sam doesn't say anything, only going to his side of the bed to deposit the water and sandwiches before he comes back to stand in front of Castiel, watching for a few moments before he reaches out and curls his fingers into the hair at the back of Castiel's head, using it as a handle to pull Castiel's head back to look up at him.

"It's going to be like this tonight, is it?" he asks, voice calm but allowing a little of his disappointment to show through. Even though he's mostly concerned at how much Castiel seems to need punishment. Has he missed something before now? "Impatience and a very willful flaunting of my orders tonight."

Sam turns his head, brushing his lips over Castiel's forehead as he walks through the bunker. It's quiet without anybody else there, but that's what they need right now. Castiel doesn't need the noise and possibly being startled by someone else seeing him in his current state. "I'm here, Cas. I've got you."

He makes his way to the bathroom, which has been remodeled a bit recently. The bathtub is still there, of course, because they all like a nice bath sometimes. But a shower has been added to one corner of the room, slightly at odds with the 50s decor but more functional than the bath after a hunt. Sam walks straight to the shower, pulling over the shower chair with one foot so that he can set Castiel down. "I need to get the shower started and get undressed," he tells Castiel as he does so. "I'll be right here and not going out of your line of sight."

Once Castiel is down, it's only a moment to make short work of his clothing, putting them in a pile to take to the bedroom in a little while. Then he leans into the shower to get it started, making it slightly warmer than either of them normally like. After the shocks Castiel had had that day, the extra warmth would be good. "All right. I think that should be okay. You tell me if I need to make the water cooler or warmer, okay?" He helps pull the blanket from Castiel, then, and help him into the shower.

Castiel opens his mouth, closes it, and simply nods in the end. He can reply - Sam addressed him, questioned him. It's just that Castiel doesn't know how to reply to this. He's being a poor example of a good sub tonight, even though he usually takes great pride in being good.

Even when he pushes Sam, needles him for more, it's... not usually like this, not this bad. Castiel isn't willful or this deliberately opposing the commands usually.

And yet he finds himself resisting the pull of Sam's hand, making his situation so much worse. It's like...

Like...

There's a crack in his chassis, and just like that he knows what all of this is, why he needs Sam at his worst and the punishment inflicted upon him to push the boundaries of what he can take further than anything before.

Thousands have died because of Castiel, in Heaven and Earth. The Winchesters have forgiven him, but he was never properly punished for his transgressions. Neither his self-imposed exile in Purgatory nor Naomi's attempts to reprogram him felt like punishment and absolution, but... he needs to be punished. He understands that, now, with Sam. This world of theirs makes sense in a way nothing else has, before. There are rules, and he always knows he's breaking them when it happens. His actions don't have unforeseeable consequences. Castiel wants punishment for every life he snuffed out, every brother he killed, every transgression, every mistake. He needs it.

So he doesn't look at Sam. Averts his eyes and pushes the familiar hand away from his hair, sets his jaw in tense defiance. Pushes one more button, oversteps one more border. It's not the usual situation in which he toes the line to make sure it's still in place. It's not a ploy to get off to something harsher than their usual play.

Castiel has crossed the line, and keeps trying to cross it again when Sam puts him in his place as usual. What normally would serve to cull the defiance in him seems to pearl off him right now.

No, it's not the usual situation and that makes Sam all the more concerned. Not that he can show it yet because Castiel doesn't need or want concern. He wants his boundaries, his lines that he knows just how far to go across them to get Sam's attention. Normally, anyway.

Sam reaches out again, taking tighter hold of Castiel's hair and pulling his head back once more. "One," he says, quietly, watching Castiel's face. "If I get to three, I'm going to safeword out of this. I will not punish you while I'm angry. Do you understand?"

Something set this off. Something that's pushing Castiel far beyond his normal testing. And he knows it's not an answer he's going to get until morning. Assuming, of course, Castiel can stop being a brat long enough to answer the question.

Castiel's jaw clenches a bit, but after a moment or two of silent deliberation, he nods.

Yes, he understands. Pushing to three is not something he wants to do. He needs this, needs Sam to lay into him and put him back in place, punish him for all he's done.

However, he might consider pushing to 2... later. For now, he opens his mouth, throat dry. He hates seeing Sam like this. Oh, he hates pushing Sam to this, too. And yet he still does it. Castiel will make amends for this, later.

"Yes. I understand."

There's a muscle that ticks at the corner of Sam's jaw, then he nods. He keeps hold of Castiel's hair, though. "Good," he says. "Then, when I let go of you, you're going to go and kneel down like I ordered you to earlier. You will be quiet while I prepare your punishment."

Which was going to have to be harder than he'd thought earlier. Which meant he needs to make a few changes, but nothing too much.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes. I understand."

It's starting to hurt, the pull on his hair. That in turn is almost enough to make Castiel feel a little better. He doesn't like the look on Sam's face, and if he wasn't feeling so off his own footing he'd do anything to make it go away, bring his dominant back the way Castiel knows and cherishes him.

Instead, when Sam lets go of his hair, he complies with the order, slides off the bed and kneels on the floor. Now pillow. Just Castiel, naked, waiting for his punishment.

He feels disgusting and filthy then. More than the feeling of being stretched around someone not Sam. But now that he's seated again with the initial shock fading bit by bit, he feels the bite of the stripes on his ass, the marks someone else put there, someone who then choked him.

Castiel can't wait for Sam to stripe him properly. Erase every last trace of tonight and replace every mark with himself. Fill Castiel in every way humanly possible, the way only Grace used to fill him.

"Hot is good, now." Nothing cold, nothing like natural water. The steam creates a further shield, shuts them away from the world as they step into the shower together. Castiel tugs on Sam's hands, places them on his backside. That stings, too, but it's a sting that makes Castiel feel better. Sam's hands are the perfect size to take hold of what they own.

"I'm starting to feel better."

He holds back a sigh, because that's not what Castiel needs. Instead, Sam watches to make sure his order is complied with before he begins moving.

First, he pushes aside a rug, which normally hides two rings set almost flush with the floor. He picks up the rug, folding it up to set it aside as he makes his way to their chest of toys. He sets the rug aside, opening the chest to start taking out items, including a couple of D-rings and the black punishment collar. The one that is the same as their favorite blue collar in every way other than the color. The D-rings go into his pocket, along with several lengths of rope before he picks up a spreader bar, closing the chest before standing and walking back.

He places the bar on the bed before walking around to crouch in front of Castiel. "Chin up," he tells Castiel, unbuckling the collar as he waits.

Sam smiles, using that grip to pull Castiel closer, moving his leg so that his thigh rests between Castiel's legs. The chastity device is still on, but that's all right. Castiel can still feel some of the pressure of his leg against his balls.

"Let me take care of you, angel," he says, turning to press his lips against the shell of Castiel's ear. "Let me wash you clean so that I can wrap you up until you smell and feel only me."

His fingers dip between Castiel's cheeks, finding the slick from the earlier preparations. He uses his other hand to spread Castiel open, so that the water can find the spot better.

The black collar is... bad. Castiel dislikes wearing it because it stands for everything their relationship usually isn't about. The blue collar is a sign of belonging, something he picked himself and had Sam fasten onto him.

He'd sucked Sam off in the dressing cabin, fully aware that all the privacy they had was owned to a few rows of shelves and the music blasting in the store.

The black punishment collar had been a later purchase, and it rarely ever came into use. Castiel raises his chin, though not his eyes, refusing to meet Sam's. They are not equals tonight. Not in the way they usually are in this arrangement. Tonight, Sam calls the shots, and Castiel will do nothing but receive the punishment his dominant sees fit for him.

And oh, how he wants that.

Most of the time, if Sam were just asserting his ownership of Castiel, it would still be the blue collar. Tonight, though, Sam doesn't think Castiel needs the blue one. If he wants punishment, then he will get it in all of the forms Sam has for it.

He reaches around, buckling the collar behind Castiel's neck and double-checking that it's not too tight. Wouldn't do to choke Castiel as well, after all. Then he takes hold of the ring at the front of the collar. "Stand," he tells Castiel, even as he starts to move himself. So that Castiel HAS to stand with him.

It's a cleansing, the way Sam touches him, spreads him open so water can run between his cheeks and wash away every mistake that happened tonight. His fingers curl around broad shoulders, and he lazily rolls his hips, just to feel a little more of that delicious pressure. Not for arousal, just for touch. As much of it as he can get. Tipping his head up to press his lips to Sam's is easy, comfortable even. Allows their tongues to tangle lazily as the water washes the ghosts of this night away, resets it to something they can start from anew.

And then Castiel lowers his forehead to Sam's shoulder.

"I was still conscious when they walked into that lake. They had control over my body, but i was. I was there. And I knew I would die. I knew I would die having broken you and not fixed you."

Castiel follows immediately. While delaying the inevitable would have been tempting, he is really not that interested in choking himself. That would take all of this into a completely different direction, one they both want to avoid. So he just stands up with Sam, swallows heavily.

Castiel is tense in anticipation of things to come. It's not the good sort of the tense, the aroused sort. This isn#t about pleasure and pain - it's almost exclusively about just one of those.

It isn't that Sam doesn't know the demons that had been stirred up by James's mistake. But he doesn't expect Castiel to start talking about them. It's not something that he's ever done, something they've ever really talked about.

Sam turns his head, kissing Castiel's temple and holding him close. "I forgave you for that long ago," he murmurs, stroking his hands over Castiel's back. "Well before we thought you were dead, even." Certainly Castiel had to know that, had to remember Sam praying, saying that Castiel was still one of them. "I didn't know you were still conscious, though. I guess...I sort of guessed you might have been or might remember some of it. That's why choking was always off the list even before you said no. I wouldn't have wanted to bring those memories back up."

Sam would have let go before it got to actual choking. For the moment, he's mostly asserting his place as the dominant since Castiel seems to need that reminder.

He pulls Castiel into place by the rings in the floor, attaching a D-ring into one before taking up a length of rope and beginning to tie Castiel's ankle to the ring. Once it's tight and in place, he switches over to repeat the procedure on the other ankle, leaving Castiel's legs spread but still allowing him his balance. It also means that any struggling Castiel did would make the rope bite into the skin, leaving him with bruises and marks the next day.

Sam stands, walking back to the bed to pick up the spreader bar, taking another piece of rope to attach to the center of the bar so that he can attach it to another ring in the ceiling. He tugs on it, making certain it's secure before reaching for Castiel's hand to repeat the procedure with his wrists that he had with his ankles.

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