Admittedly, this did hold a certain amount of appeal.

"This" is Dean, in shorts and nothing else but a pair of old sunglasses, sitting on the prow of the sailboat, sun warming his shoulders and the wind whipping through gel-less hair.

The air smells wonderful; the sails are rippling and snapping with the gusts. They'd reached open water, and were traveling north to Miami, about four days away if the wind held. It was such a relief to shut off the noisy, smelly engine and let the wind carry them. He's surprised at how much faster the boat moves on the sails.

Sam is sitting next to him, hair wild and Ray Bans on. He's also just in shorts, leaning up against the cabin. His skin is darkening beautifully, and Dean feels a twitch of desire as he tilts his head back to drain the beer in his hand. Sam has one gloriously long throat, and watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows makes Dean think about how Sam would look with a mouth full of Cas's cock and how his jaw muscles would dance as he…

Stop it! Dean chastises himself. Get yourself together Winchester, this is getting ridiculous! Between the unbelievable dreams and the fuckin' looks Captain Morgan Spiced Rum keeps giving me…fuck this is insane! I'm happy with Sam! I don't need Cas too. What I need is a life. And maybe a hobby. Coupla stiff drinks couldn't hurt either.

Sam sighs happily beside him and stretches out on the deck, all eight feet of him, tan and muscled like a Greek god. An Adonis with puppy dog eyes.

There's a strange little sound behind him, and Dean turns to find Cas at the wheel, staring unashamedly at Sam, eyes sweeping appreciatively down his brother's hard body. Sam tilts his head slightly, and grins at Cas, who returns the grin.

Scowling, Dean glares at the man, who he quickly realizes can't even see his eyes through the heavy tint of his glasses.

This situation has reached new levels of weirdness.

Since Carnivale, and that smoking hot dream, Dean has been filled with ideas and thoughts he wants no part of.

At least, that's what he keeps telling himself.

Every time he closes his eyes, every time he dozes off, his dreams take over. Each dream presents new and increasingly obscene ways to fuck both his brother and Cas at the same time. Each time he wakes up, sweaty and shaking, and so hard it hurts. The dreams are relentless and don't go away and it's almost like someone is planting them in his head.

It's starting to slip into his waking hours as well. He's skating a knife edge of near constant arousal. Dean's already jerked off once in the shower that morning, and he's starting to feel like he needs to do it again. Watching Sammy chug that beer hasn't done him any favors, and he reaches down to adjust the front of his swim shorts.

"Sam, come here," Cas bellows from the wheel. His brother pulls himself to his feet with a grin for Dean, reaching down to fondly chuck his chin before making his way back to where Cas stands by the wheel.

Dean sighs and leans forward, letting the salt spray blow into his face. He loves the smell and taste of the ocean. Dammit, he isn't ready to admit it, not to anyone and barely to himself, but he could get used to this. He could get used to the gentle rocking motion of the sailboat while he sleeps at night. He could get used to the sound of the wind snapping in the sails. He's already used to being with Sam all the time. He could get used to Cas…

Sam laughs, a pleased, contented sound.

Turning slowly to face them, Dean's eyes widen at the sight of Sam at the wheel, huge grin lighting his face, Cas's arms wrapped tightly around him, his hands over Sam's at ten and two on the wheel.

Sam turns his head slightly, and his smile becomes sweeter, more intimate. Dean knows that smile. It's the one Sam usually gives him when he's being sweet and loving or just in the mood to show Dean he cares.

He doesn't know how he feels about that. The intimacy alarms him.

Is he in danger of losing Sam? Has he been doing something wrong?

Dean's stomach churns, and he thinks he might vomit. Cas laughs, then Sam laughs again as the dark haired man whispers something into his little brother's ear. They turn to each other and laugh harder, and as Dean watches helplessly, Cas's right hand slips off the wheel and onto Sam's hip, slender fingers wrapping around the jut of bone like his hand belongs there.

Ok, that's it!

Unable to watch their silly little dance any longer, Dean yanks himself to his feet, spilling what's left of his beer on the deck. He stalks around the side of the boat, wrenches open the cabin door and steps down inside, slamming the door behind him.


"That was a charming display of temper," Cas says drily.

"Yeah…not sure what that was about. He seemed like he was in a good mood. I dunno what his deal is."

"Maybe he's jealous?" As if to make his point, Cas leans forward, pressing his chest closer to Sam's back. He presses a soft kiss along Sam's neck, and Sam can't help the slight shiver the contact causes.

"He doesn't need to be. I dunno, Cas, I think he's interested…or he wants something. I don't know. I swear he's turned on all the time, if he thinks I can't see that…fuck, I don't know."

Cas is quiet, rubbing his hand along Sam's hip a while and letting him think.

"You know, I know he's interested."

"How can you tell?"

"He talks in his sleep. He's said your name in his sleep. Then he wakes up all sweaty and shaking. I'm telling you Cas, he's interested. Or at least his subconscious is. Just got get the rest of him on board."

"Any bright ideas?"

"Maybe," Sam says softly, thinking hard. He watches the sea for a while, reveling in the solid feel of Cas at his back and the warmth of the sun on his bare shoulders.

This is wonderful. It's relaxing and warm and comfortable and as close to heaven as Sam believes he'll ever get. He's honest enough with himself to recognize he has incredibly strong feelings for Castiel.

Cas's fingers slip along the band of his shorts, and two of them dip inside, brushing the skin just below his navel. Sam hums as the fingers dip lower. Dean isn't the only one in a near constant state of arousal, just Sam isn't the least bit embarrassed by it.

"Want me to stop?" Cas growls in his ear, his hand dropping lower into Sam's shorts, cupping his dick. His fingers tighten around him, and he slowly pumps his hand a few times.

Sam lets his head loll back onto Cas's shoulder. "Don't stop," he gasps. Cas chuckles in his ear, then his tongue licks a hot trail down the side of Sam's neck.

"You're incredibly turned on, aren't you? More than you thought you'd be? Can you imagine, watching me do this to Dean? You know how hot it would be, don't you? You want it. You want it bad."

His hands grip tight on the wheel and Sam's knees are shaking. Cas runs his hand over the head, gathering the thick beads of precome, using it to slick him up, his hand moving faster now.

"Fu-fuck, Cas. Fuck."

"Mmm, I'd like to. How would you like it, Sam? Wanna fuck Dean while I suck him off? Or maybe I fuck you while you fuck Dean? There's a thousand different ways we could do it." Cas's other hand is traveling down the back of his shorts now, index finger sliding between the cheeks of his ass, and Sam jumps slightly when that finger finds his hole. "Have you ever been fucked, Sam? Or are you always the top?"

"Nngh, only bottomed…once…Dean's a slut. Loves takin' it from…fuck…me." Sam's breathing is uneven, he's shaking, and that distinct heat is gathering in his belly, his groin, his lower back. He's close, so fucking close it hurts.

"I'm going to fuck you, Sam. I'm going to fuck you so good, you'll beg me for it."

That gravelly voice is burning in his ear, and he thinks he could come just from that alone, but then Cas slips the tip of his finger, the one that's been gently circling, into him, just up to the first knuckle, and that's it, Sam gasps, grips the wheel as tight as he can, his whole body catching fire as he comes in Castiel's hand.

He sucks in a ragged breath, slumping back against the man behind him. Cas pulls his come-covered hand out of Sam's shorts and stares at it critically before lifting it to Sam's mouth. "Taste yourself," he growls.

"Uh..."

"Do it." Cas pushes his hand into Sam's face, turning him around to face him, caging Sam between himself and the wheel. The other man has a devious look in his blue eyes, and he leans forward to run his tongue over his own fingers.

Sam's eyes are wide, watching the show, and his limp dick gives an interested twitch despite itself. "Cas," he whimpers pathetically, and Cas takes the opportunity to shove two fingers into Sam's mouth. The taste isn't terribly unpleasant, it's no worse than when Dean comes in his mouth. Cas pulls his fingers back out and replaces them with his tongue, shoving Sam hard against the wheel.

He melts into the kiss, the taste of himself in Cas's mouth is intoxicating. When they finally break apart, Sam is breathless, and a little shaken by the intensity of it all. He falls to his knees with a smile, reaching for the band of Cas's speedo. He can clearly see the other man's erection under the thin black spandex, and he's surprised when Castiel stills his hands, gentle pressure on his wrists. "No, Sam. Not yet. Not until we get Dean onboard."

Sam blinks up at him in confusion. "But I wanted to return the favor."

"I know," Cas murmurs as he helps Sam to his feet, "and it's sweet of you. But we need to get Dean agreeable first. Any ideas?"

Leaning back against the wheel, Sam wracks his brain for ideas, smiling expansively when one comes to him.

"I think I got a plan."


Dean grumbles obscenities under his breath as he roots through the boxes Sam and Cas brought onboard at San Esteban.

There's got to be whiskey in one of them.

Or rum.

Rum works.

Ten minutes later, and he's managed to polish off a third of the damn bottle, and he's definitely buzzing. Seems as good a time as any to write a journal entry.

It takes entirely too long to find the leather bound book, and even longer to locate a pen. By the time all of that happens, he's already downed more than half the bottle and is staggering around the cabin, collapsing into a heap on his bed, sneezing when a small cloud of dust puffs out with the impact.

Dear Motherfuckin diary,

This is worse trip ever. I hate fuckin boats and Sammy is in love with the captain and I don't know what to do about that but I know I don't like it. Can't blame him though, dude is hot. Like fuckin walking on the sun hot.

Blue fucking eyes, fucking stupid dreads. I don't even like his smile evn if it's kinda pretty and his teeth are nice. Stupid trench coat. Stupid speedo. Stupid dumb stupid head.

Fuck im' drunk.

Haha, misspelling shit is fun!

Wheeeeeeeeee!

Drunkedy drunkedy drynk.

But what if Cas makes Sam happy? I don't want to lose Sam. I don't want to.

Fuck.

I'm an asshole. I don' hug Sammy enough. Don't kiss him enough. Fuck.

Mayeb Sammy should leave. 'sides might be better to fuck someone who ISN'T realted to you.

Fuck me.

Dean stares at the splotch on the page, poking at it with the pen. Is he crying?

He is. Dammit.

Why do I fukc up everythin I touch? I'm a fuckup. Total piece of shit. Dammit.

Sam deserves better. I won't stand in their way. If Cas maks him happy. Shit.

Shit shit shit.

Fuck fuckdy fuck.

Why in the evr livn fuck do I keep a fuckin journal anyway?

Dean tosses the journal off the bed, the pen following shortly thereafter. It's not much longer and the not-exactly-small bottle of rum is empty. He stares at it blankly, and is definitely a bit alarmed to realize he literally drank the entire thing.

The bottle follows the journal.

Dean flops back into the sheets and pillows with a huff and watches dazedly as the reflection of the sun on the water dances on the ceiling of the cabin. He's about to black out, he can feel it, and he welcomes unconsciousness.

He's still crying, tears rolling unchecked down the sides of his face, dripping into his ears, and he hates himself for it. If Sam wants to move on, then he'll let him. He's not going to stand in his way. No matter how much it hurts.

It's this rather morose thought that accompanies him down into the dark, black rushing up over him as he succumbs to the alcohol.


He dreams, again, of Cas and Sam.

Of heat, and sweat, hands, mouths, slick skin on slick skin, of gasps, and breathy moans, whispered names, and undeniable want.

He dreams of Cas inside him and of Sam sucking him down. He dreams of Cas's fingers sliding inside of his brother and the sweet noises Sammy makes.

When he actually does wake, he's sure he's still dreaming. There are warm hands sliding up his legs, tickling the fine hair on his thighs. His shorts are gone, and there's a tongue licking softly around the head of his dick.

Dean's eyes open, but all he can see is black. A silky piece of fabric is wrapped around his eyes, effectively blinding him, and when he goes to move his hands, he finds he's been tied, firmly, to the headboard.

The mouth on his dick is more insistent now, sliding down to take more of him in, tongue swirling around. A finger is circling his hole, then pushing in, the passage made easier by the cool slick of lube.

It's the lube that finally wakes him up enough to realize he isn't, in fact, dreaming. He's very much awake, and apparently, Sam is giving him one hell of a blow job.

"Sammy," he murmurs, wishing he could put his hands down and wrap them in his brother's overlong hair. Not that he minds being tied up. That's hot too.

The mouth around him hums, a filthy little chuckle follows, and holy shit, it feels so good, and Dean's hips arch of the bed involuntarily. Sam swallows him down even further, relaxing his throat and taking him down so far, his nose brushes the nest of wiry hair at the base of Dean's dick.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck I'm so close," he gasps, and all the while, the fingers in his ass have been moving, three now, brushing against his prostate, stretching him wide, and it's good, god, it's so fucking good.

Then everything stops.

If you asked him, he'd never admit to the absolutely pathetic whine that tumbles from his mouth, but whine he did.

"Sammy, c'mon, finish the job, c'mon." His brother's hands move behind his head, and the blindfold's removed.

And that's when Dean Winchester realizes that if God actually does exist, he completely and unequivocally hates Dean Winchester.

Expecting to see his brother's shaggy hair and beautiful puppy dog eyes, Dean feels his heart stop when he finds himself looking up into a pair of electric blue eyes that seem to glow in the dim light of the cabin.

His dreads are pulled back, which is why Dean didn't feel them dragging across his legs, and his lips are stained red and swollen. He looks totally wrecked, except for the wicked smirk he's currently directing at Dean.

"What the hell?" Dean whispers helplessly.

Cas doesn't answer, just smiles in that infuriating way, and shoves his fingers back into Dean.

Dean moans, and arches his back off the bed, because, Christ, that feels fucking good as fuck.

Somewhere in between the assault on his prostate and the mouth that's returned to his cock, he realizes he's actually cheating on Sam but fuck, Cas is so damn good at this and it's so intense.

Then the fucker stops again.

"Why…why'd you stop?" Dean gasps.

"Do you want me too?"

"I don't…I don't know."

"Yes or no, Dean. Yes, I get up and leave. I stop. No," he pauses and grins, "no means stay. And if I stay, I'm going to put your legs over my shoulders and fuck you. Do you understand?"

Wide-eyed, Dean nods his understanding, and his heart is pounding so hard, he's terrified that he's going to give himself a heart attack. It's also during this time that he realizes he's still extremely drunk. Not buzzed, not tipsy, fucking raging drunk.

"So, I'll ask you again. Do you want me to stop?" Cas stares at him expectantly and a thousand and one reasons rush through his mind, all of them arguments for stopping but when he opens his mouth, only one word slips out, his voice hoarse and ragged.

"No."

Cas grins, and does as he said he would, reaching for Dean's legs and pulling them over his shoulders, Dean's knees level with Cas's ears.

The other man shoves in none too gently, and Dean's head falls back into the pillow, blissed out with his eyes closed. Cas's thrusts are hard and unrelenting, and he's pounding Dean into the mattress, he's got him practically folded in half.

It's incredible, the rush, and the heat gathering in his belly is becoming more insistent. Dean would give anything to be able to wrap a hand around himself. "Cas, please, fucking touch me, please."

"No. You're going to come on my cock or not at all," he growls.

"Fuck!" Dean whines, but on second thought, it might not be a problem after all. He's getting really close. Dean opens his eyes, and stares up at the man above him.

What he sees alarms him, but only for a second, because Cas leans in and kisses him, hard and fierce, and Dean melts into the kiss. Fuck, there's nothing Cas isn't good at, and Dean quickly forgets and a moment later he's being swept away by one of the most powerful orgasms he's ever felt. That's all he cares about in that moment and he forgets.

He forgets the undeniable, unnatural, glow in Castiel's eyes.


When it's over, Cas unties and cleans Dean up and pulls the sheet over the slumbering hunter.

He brushes his fingers over Dean's brow, using his grace to suggest another lewd dream. Yes, it's definitely abuse of his angelic powers but fuck if he cares.

He hasn't cared about being an angel for a very long time.

Sam is up on the deck, standing at the wheel and happily singing to himself. Cas can feel the contentment in the younger hunter, and it radiates calmness throughout the boat.

Dean's content too, sleeping peacefully after an intense orgasm that Castiel may or may not have intensified with his grace.

Heh. More abuse of his power. Again, ask him if he cares.

He doesn't.

Things are going beautifully, and he knows Dean's not going to last much longer. He'll give in before Miami, Castiel is sure of it. There's some concern about how the brothers will react when they find out Cas is an angel, but he's not worried. He's convinced he'll be completely in their good graces by then and everything will be fine.

Making his way up to the deck, his eyes meet Sam's, and they smile at each other, Sam with a wicked twinkle in his pretty hazel eyes. The water and the late afternoon sun are reflecting in his irises, making them appear almost aqua.

Sam is gloriously beautiful and he has no idea. Tall and well built, pretty smile and cheerful demeanor, Castiel meant it when he told Sam his soul was beautiful. It glows, a soft fluttering rainbow of colors, happiness trailing after him where ever he goes.

The younger brother isn't the great big bundle of unhappiness Dean is, and that's largely because of Dean.

Dean is beautiful too, with his plush pink lips and sweet freckled skin, and his sparkling green eyes. His soul is beautiful too, but there are shadows in his aura, dark places of sadness and unnamed hurts and blame that Dean carries around his neck like a mantle.

Bobby used to tell him all the time that Dean sacrificed everything so that Sam would never want for anything. He took care of Sam from the night his mother died, and is still doing it now. With Bobby gone, Sam and Dean are alone in the world, with no one to depend on but each other.

And that is something Cas wants to change.

"So, how did it go?" Sam asks him with a grin.

"Beautifully. Almost no resistance at all. Although he thought I was you until I removed the blindfold."

"Did he enjoy it?"

"I'd say so. He's passed out now. I wore him out," Cas chuckles.

"I bet you did." Sam's quiet for a while, manning the wheel and staring out to the west, watching the sun set in the distance. "Do you think we're doing the right thing, Cas? What if he doesn't want this, and he resents us for doing it? I don't want to lose him."

"I wouldn't worry," Cas murmurs as he wraps his arms around Sam's waist. "If he wasn't interested, he would have told me no. He was saying everything but. Trust me, he enjoyed himself, and I'm sure he wants more."

"Ok," Sam says happily. "I trust you."

He leans back into Cas, and together, they watch the sun fall over the ocean.


Sometime during the night, the alcohol gets the better of his brother, and Sam finds Dean wrapped around the toilet in the tiny bathroom.

"Hey? You ok?"

"Unngh, no. Fuck," Dean mumbles as he leans forward and vomits again. Sam fetches a washcloth and runs it under cool water. He wrings it out, then lays it over the back of Dean's neck.

"Too much rum, Sammy."

"Ah, that's why the rum is always gone." Sam grins and Dean glares at him.

"Not the time for your stupid jokes moron."

"Aw, c'mon. If the situation was reversed, you'd have totally used that on me. Then you would have danced around singing about your jar of dirt."

Dean says nothing else, mainly because he's too busy throwing up.

A short time later, and Sam has Dean tucked back in bed. His brother rolls over and lays his head on his shoulder. "I feel terrible," he groans.

"Just sleep, you'll feel better in the morning." He feels Dean nod against his shoulder, and his breathing gradually evens out and slows, his body relaxing into sleep. Sam isn't far behind him, and just before he drifts off, he hears Dean mutter in his sleep.

"Yeah, Cas, just like that…fuck…"

Sam grins up at the ceiling and follows his brother into sleep.


The next morning, and Dean's a twitchy wreck.

It's funny, Sam thinks, watching Dean shuffle around the boat, throwing together some sort of breakfast. His eyes refuse to meet Sam's, and he's barely said two words to him all morning.

He's clearly feeling guilty about the day before and Sam wants to call him out on it, but Cas said to wait. So he's going to wait.

"Stupid boat!" Dean shrieks, yanking his hand back from the tiny galley stove.

"What happened?"

"Fucker burned me! Dammit, I fucking give up! I'm done! FUCK!" Dean hurls the egg pan into the tiny sink and disappears into the tiny bathroom.

Sam sighs heavily and moves into the galley to clean up the mess. He shuts the burner off and runs water into the scorched skillet, watching as the over-done eggs sluice off the pan and into the sink.

"What's wrong?"

Sam jumps, "Jesus, Cas! Scared the shit out of me."

"My apologies. I heard slamming and cursing and came to investigate."

There's a thud and another string of obscenities from the bathroom, followed by another thud, followed by a louder "FUCK!"

"Ah, our friend is out of sorts this morning."

"Yeah." Sam stops scrubbing at the pan and turns to face Cas. "Maybe we should, you know, talk to him? Tell him what we were thinking?"

"Nah."

"Nah?"

"Let him stew in his own juices for a while. I'm enjoying this."

Sam frowns. "I don't really want to torture him, Cas."

"I know," Cas smiles, "we'll see what happens today. We've still got at least two days before we reach Miami. I want to see him cave, Sam."

"I dunno…"

Cas crowds Sam against the counter. "Do you trust me?"

"What?"

"Do. You. Trust. Me?"

Fighting the urge to squirm, Sam nods, staring at the floor, trying to ignore his growing interest in Cas. The other man smirks, leaning forward, pushing Sam even closer into the counter. He gets as close to Sam as possible and whispers "good" against his lips.

Feeling his face heat, and arousal sweep through his body, Sam closes his eyes in anticipation of the kiss, but there's a strange fluttering sound, and when he opens them again, Cas is gone.


He'll hide in the bathroom all day if he has too.

He can't look Sam in the eyes. Oh fuck, he can't look himself in the eyes.

Dean splashes more water on his face. His head is pounding out a disco beat with a healthy dose of knives in his eyes, and he thinks he just might hurl again. There can't be much left in there, right? He barfed all fucking night after all.

Sam was not pleased when he realized Dean had polished off an entire bottle of rum. Not pleased at all. The bitch-face he'd had to endure…yeah, he didn't need to see that again anytime soon.

He slept with Cas. Holy fucking fuck, he let Cas fuck him. Jesus Christ on a cracker, what the hell was he going to tell Sam? Here he'd thought Sam and Cas might have something going on, but no, Cas is into him!

His stomach tosses again, and Dean releases a small stream of bile into the toilet. He hears a creak outside the door as Sam leaves the cabin, and he sighs, flushes the toilet, and leaves the bathroom.

The failed breakfast has been cleaned up, the dishes washed and drying in the drainer. He snags a bottle of water from the fridge, and heads to the bedroom. It only takes a minute to locate the Tylenol, and he takes two with a swig from the bottle and then crawls back into his bed, pulling the covers up over his head.

He can hear Sam's voice through the open cabin, and Castiel's gravelly response. The music floating on the air, Margaritaville, seems appropriate.

Dean rolls onto his stomach and buries his face in the pillow, trying futilely to ignore the twisting in his belly, the cramps in his gut.

God, he's drowning in guilt. It weighs on him, pushing down on his shoulders, a mantle of heavy self-loathing and he wishes desperately that he'd told Cas to go. It's not worth it, a moment's pleasure followed by a whole day of horrendous, agonizing guilt.

Rolling to lay on his back and kicking off the covers, Dean watches the light dance on the ceiling. The patterns are soothing and pretty to watch, and it slowly lulls him into a sleepy halfway state between awareness and unconsciousness.

His brain actually shuts off, and it's like a warm blanket being pulled over him. He feels blank, pleasantly drugged, and when he looks to his right and finds Cas there, he's not surprised or alarmed.

Cas cups his cheek, leans in for a soft kiss. Dean responds enthusiastically, opening his mouth to let the other man's tongue in, but there's nothing frantic or urgent about the kiss. It's slow and sweet, and Dean finds himself melting into it.

He pulls away slowly, the reflected light dancing in his blue eyes, and Cas smiles at Dean. "You're so beautiful. Did you know that?"

Dean just grins at him, slightly woozy and unable to form a coherent enough thought to respond. The drugged feeling is somewhat intense, it's almost a detachment, but he thinks he kind of likes it. It reminds him of high school, that one place he went somewhere out west…Colorado, maybe? Jack Josephs, the first guy he ever messed around with, shotgunning him behind the bleachers.

The older boy had dragged him out there, told him how cute he was as he lit the joint, and when Dean told him he'd never done pot before, Jack dragged him into his lap and told Dean to open his mouth and breathe in as he exhaled.

He'd felt like his head was a balloon, floating happily over his body, and Jack had gone down on him as the pot swept him away in a wave of euphoria. It'd had been the most intense orgasm he'd ever had up to that point in his young life, and Dean had never forgotten the amazing rush of it all.

How he's feeling now is something very much like that, as Cas's hands begin to wander, the press of lips against his becoming more insistent. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it occurs to him that it's happening again, that he's cheating on Sam yet again, because he isn't asleep this time- at least he doesn't think he's asleep- and he's fully aware of what he's doing, he's aware that he's kissing back and that Cas's hand is cupping him now, and he knows he should tell him to stop, but it just feels so damn good…

A noise startles him, and he jumps, eyes wide. "Sssh," Cas soothes, "it's ok. It's just Sam."

Dean blanches, panicked, tries to get out of the bed and out of Cas's grasp, but the other man is oddly strong, and doesn't allow him to leave the bed.

"I don't know why you're upset," Cas purrs, as he noses along Dean's neck, "you've nothing to be ashamed of."

"Cas," Dean whimpers, but the other man shuts him up with a kiss, hand on his dick more insistent now. It occurs to him that he doesn't remember Cas coming into the room, laying down on the bed with him, none of it. It's like the other man just poofed into existence, and it's a bit unsettling…not to mention creepy.

"Cas, I shouldn't…" Dean whines, as Castiel yanks at his shorts, "not-fair-to-Sammy!" he groans as Cas swallows him down. "Oh fuck, oh fuck! Nngh, what are you doin' to me, Cas?" he mutters pathetically.

"Mmm, you like it," Cas smiles, pulling off, his fist replacing his mouth.

"But…but Sammy…" Dean whimpers.

"Sam," Cas smiles, a little chuckle trailing his brother's name, "Sam would like this. Sam wants to be a part of it."

Dean's getting closer to orgasm, his legs trembling, and he gasps out a confused "what?"

"Sam would like this. He knows, Dean. He wants to be part of this. Imagine it, the three of us together." Cas slides closer, the rhythmic pumping of his hand never ceasing, and he flicks his tongue over Dean's nipple. "Think about it, Sam fucking you, while I go down on you? Or maybe I'll fuck Sam while he fucks your mouth…or maybe you can fuck Sam while I fuck you. The possibilities are endless."

He's so close it hurts, and the images Castiel's filling his head with…it's so strange, the way he can picture everything Cas is describing, like Cas has actually planted pictures in his head.

"You've…you've –nngghh- talked about this?"

"Oh, Dean," Cas smirks, "yesterday, when you woke up, restrained, with my mouth on you?" Dean nods, he's right there, any second…"that was all Sam's idea."

And that's it folks, a homerun, that ball's outta the park, and Dean's hips arch hard off the bed, come spurting out over his chest, coming so hard a bit splatters on his chin.

Cas leans forward and licks at his chin, cleaning him off with his tongue. "So beautiful," he murmurs softly. "You're both…just so beautiful. I could stay like this forever, with you two, out here on this boat. Forever," he repeats, a wistful softness in his voice.

"Cas?" Dean asks confusedly. Blue eyes twinkle at him in the dimness of the cabin.

"Sleep, Dean, sleep." It's not a suggestion, it's something more, and Dean wants to focus on it, take it apart and examine all of its fragments, organize it until it makes sense to him. It's such a strange feeling, the idea that Cas is something…more. And it sticks in his craw and pokes at something in the back of his brain, but it's so serene and warm and he's drifting, drifting like their boat on the ocean, and Dean drifts right off, into peaceful sleep.


Sam is singing along to Jimmy Buffet, completely off key and wiggling his perfect ass when Castiel comes up on deck from the cabin.

The wind has picked up in the last hour, and his chestnut locks are dancing on the breeze. There are black clouds to the south of them, Cas knows a storm is coming, but he's not worried. The boys are safe as long as he's with them.

He's an Angel of the Lord after all.

Sam gives him a sweet little grin, his face lighting up. He holds out an arm for Cas, and they stand together, each with a hand on the wheel, watching the waves. It's just after noon, and there's nothing between them and Miami but water.

Cas stands on his tip toes, and kisses Sam on the cheek, then moves out from under his arm to check the sails. Everything looks good, hell, it looks perfect, and he stands at the prow, turning back to watch Sam, who looks completely in his element, wearing nothing but a low slung pair of swim trunks, his skin gloriously sun-kissed, even some lighter streaks in his hair.

The Winchester brothers. He's gone on both of them. He's never felt so utterly taken in by a human, let alone two, before. There's just something about them.

"You got things under control, Sam?"

The younger man grins, "Yup. Just keep on this heading, right?"

"Yes. I'm going to meditate."

"You do that," Sam replies with a hot little wink. Cas nods, and sits on the roof of the cabin, legs carefully folded into the lotus position. He closes his eyes and thinks.

Below him, Dean's sleeping off the last of his hangover. He rather likes the sort of drugged stated he pushed Dean into earlier to shut off the man's stressed out guilt trip. He's peaceful now, Cas having released him from the sexy dreams. He's dreaming of fishing, of sitting on the end of a pier on a peaceful lake, fishing rod in hand and beer in a cooler at his side.

It's very pretty. The water is a deep green color, and surrounded by trees in the middle of their autumn transition. Oranges, reds, and yellows dance in the reflections on the water.

Dean sighs happily, leaning back in the chair. Cas smiles at him, unseen, and leaves the man to his dreams.

Behind him, he can feel Sam's contentment radiating across the boat. He's happy, at peace, he's thinking about how grateful he is to Bobby, leaving them this boat. It's been years since Dean slowed down, allowing them to stop for a while, to not hunt, to just be.

This right here? This is heaven to Sam. He's with Dean, which is generally the only thing he worries about, and they're not in danger, they're not eating crappy diner food and sleeping in shitty motels at night. They're actually having fun, they're actually relaxing, and Sam lets a wistful thought slip, a wish that they might be able to do this more often.

Cas smiles up at the sky, with his eyes closed and the sun on his face.

He'd laughed at Gabriel, when his brother announced he was leaving Heaven for humanity, couldn't understand the appeal, what Gabe could possibly see in, as Lucifer and Uriel often called them, the little hairless apes.

But after Cas himself spent some time on Earth, watching humans eat, grow, change, fornicate, go about their business, make decisions, conquer their fears and doubts, he found it harder and harder to return to Heaven, to follow orders, to be the good little soldier. He stayed on Earth a little longer each time.

He realized there was nothing left for him.

He couldn't just obey. He couldn't just be that perfect little soldier anymore.

And after he discovered things like alcohol, incredible food, and sex…well, making the decision was easy.

Castiel hadn't so much fallen as sauntered vaguely downward.

Earth is his home now. And as long as he doesn't cause problems, Heaven leaves him alone.


As the afternoon rolls into evening, Dean finally deigns to emerge from the cabin, blinking in the grey light, gratefully taking the aviators Sam hands him.

There's a sulky little look on his face, and he's a bit green. There's definitely a storm rolling in, and Dean is already starting to pay the price of the increased movement. He settles onto the roof of the cabin, leaning back against Sam and clutching his arms around his midsection.

Sam kisses his temple and wraps his arms around him.

"Not feeling good?"

"Would be if the boat would hold still, dammit."

"I'm sorry. I'm making chicken and rice for dinner. You should be able to keep that down. And no more alcohol tonight, if this storm is going to get worse, that's the last thing you need."

Dean nods, snuggling back into him. The only good thing about Dean not feeling well is that he becomes an absolute cuddle slut. And Sam is all about that. He so rarely gets this at all.

It's getting a bit chilly on the deck, the wind is picking up, and he smiles up at Cas when he drops a fleece blanket off on his way back to the wheel. Sam unfolds it and wraps it around Dean, who's leaning around him, staring at Cas.

The look on his face is strange. It's not hostile, or suspicious, it's more…contemplative.

"What?" Sam asks him quietly. Dean startles, seems alarmed that Sam caught him looking.

"Nothing."

"Hmm". Oh no, Sam thinks, you're not getting away with this Dean-o. "Cas is pretty hot, huh?"

Dean looks up at him, green eyes wide. "Uh. I um, I guess."

"I think he's pretty hot."

"Yeah." Dean says sadly. "I guess you do." He squirms a bit, but Sam wraps his arms tighter.

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you think he's hot?"

"Yeah I guess. He's not bad."

"Mmm, liar," Sam whispers in his ear. "You'd like to hit that. Admit it." Dean's jaw drops in shock and Sam bites his tongue to keep from laughing. "I'd like to hit that with you."

The noise his brother makes is indescribable, but after that, it's silence. And it stays that way for the rest of the night. Through dinner, through beers on the deck as the storm picks up, through changing for the night and crawling into bed, Dean is silent.

He spends a lot of time staring at both him and Castiel, the looks on his face fluctuating from disbelieving to pensive, from slight discomfort to outright arousal. He can only imagine the turmoil of thought running through Dean's head, and so many times over the course of the evening, Sam finds himself having to choke down a laugh.

He and Cas agreed, they'd let Dean come to them, they'd let Dean initiate anything that might happen, but watching him rattle himself apart with nerves is almost too much.

Nothing happens that night, and it's a very restless Dean that crawls into bed with him, tossing and turning and shifting around, and Sam stares up at the ceiling, frustrated and annoyed, a feeling that persists until he finally passes out.


They wake up to rain and wind and the boat rocking harder than normal, which sets Dean off on another round of seasickness. Sam finds him at the toilet again that morning, painful dry heaves wracking his brother's body.

"Please kill me now," Dean mumbles, before turning his head back to the toilet, another round of dry heaves shaking his frame.

"Shit. You're a mess. C'mon, let's get you back in bed, it's not like you're gonna bring anything else up at this point."

Dean groans as Sam pulls him to his feet, his arm wrapped tight around his midsection. Sam drops him onto the bed, and reaches down and pulls the trashcan closer. His brother groans again as Sam covers him with the blanket.

"Tell the boat to stay still," Dean whines, pulling the covers over his head.

"Wish I could. I'm gonna go talk to Cas, find out what's going on." Sam pats Dean's blanket covered ass. "Rest up, ok?"

Dean grunts an affirmative, and Sam pulls a yellow rain slicker off a hook. It doesn't really fit, and he knows he probably looks ridiculous. As he steps out onto the deck, the boat lurches slightly, and he almost loses his footing on the slick wood.

"Cas?" he calls, squinting into the rain. The captain is standing at the wheel, trenchcoat buttoned and soaked with rain, absurd yellow slicker hat smashed down over his dreadlocks.

"Sam. Running into some bad weather," Cas shouts over the sound of the sails snapping.

"No kidding." Sam yells back, his words mostly lost in the wind.

"If it gets any worse, we're going to have to reef the sails."

"What does that mean again?"

"It means we're going to reduce the sail area by rolling surplus material on the forestay." Cas's voice is steady despite his dead man's grip on the wheel, and Sam feels reassured by the man's confidence.

"I didn't know they were calling for storms."

"It's not a storm, Sam, it's a hurricane." Cas says calmly, like he's discussing a grocery list.

"What?! A hurricane? In December? Seriously?"

"Yes. It's late season, but here just the same. We'll be fine. It's just some wind and rain."

Sam stares at him in disbelief. "It's a motherfucking hurricane!" Cas looks at him blandly.

"We're in the middle of the Atlantic fuckin' Ocean, my brother's sick as shit from the waves, and you're just like 'it's just a hurricane', I mean seriously, what the hell, how are you so fucking calm about this? We could die!"

"We're not going to die," Cas states calmly. "I know what I'm doing."

"Well, I'm damn glad you do, because I don't, and Dean's pretty much useless right now."

"Sam. Trust me. We will be ok."

A waves washes up over the deck, and Sam loses his footing, going down hard and sliding across the deck on his ass. "Fuck!"

Cas reaches down with one arm, and with a movement that seems stronger than a man his size and build should be able to produce, yanks Sam back to his feet. "Maybe the storm's a little stronger than I thought."

Sam just stares at him in disbelief. "Ya think?" he grumbles sarcastically.

"Let's go ahead and reef the sails, just to be safe. Then we'll secure everything below."

"What's going on?" A weak voice yells across the noise. Dean's pulled himself from the cabin and is clinging to the rail running along the roof.

"Dean, go back down below, we've got this!" Sam yells, heading for the forestay to help Cas reef the sails. His brother nods, really too sick to be of much help, and as he's turning to make his way back down below, a mighty wave sweeps across the deck.

Sam grabs the forestay and clings with all his might, desperately trying to keep his footing. The water is cold, and strong, and it takes every ounce of strength Sam has to hold on. It seems like a lifetime before the water recedes, but when it does, his worst fears are realized.

Cas is gone.

Dean is gone.

He calls out for both of them, frantic, but it's to no avail. The furiously tossing waves mock him, fear settling like a rock in the pit of his stomach.

Oh god. They're gone. They're both gone.

He's alone.