Sam was on his back, spread open, with Castiel on top of him, his husband's engorged, leaky cock ramming into him. If Castiel's thrusts weren't stimulating his sweet spot, sending the occassional electric jolt to Sam's cock, the latter wouldn't have taken interest at all, Sam realizes bitterly.
He's barely half-hard, despite the forced foreplay (in which Sam was hardly reciprocating) and the stroking of his prostate with every push.
And if Sam's hips are undulating, falling into a pulsing rhythm from time to time, it's a purely physical response. His head isn't in it.
In a first, Sam feels like sex with Cas is a temporal affair; not sensual, not spiritual, not even loving at the moment, at least as far as he's concerned. Because, above him, Castiel is going at it like there's no tomorrow. At least one of us is enjoying this, Sam thinks. Their marriage bed is protesting with regular creaks and it feels like it's going to give under their weight. Castiel's moans are muffled with his face buried in Sam's neck, his chin resting on Sam's right shoulder.
It's dark, save for a few feeble rays of warm street light creeping into the room through the window's half-pulled curtains. And Sam is thankful for that, because otherwise, Castiel will easily see the tears rolling silently across his wife's face, some pouring to the side, and pooling on his pillow, on opposite sides.
After the day was done, and the kids went to bed, Sam and Cas retired to their rooms, with Castiel beaming and with Sam barely able to contain the weight of the warring feelings inside his chest. The anger, disappointment, confusion and distress manifested in a knot, that wedged itself between his throat and collarbone and stayed there, making it hard to breathe or speak and harder to act like nothing is wrong.
When Cas asked Sam how come he never knew about Rhonda, a part of Sam - on autopilot - wanted to immediately defend Dean, make up excuses for him. But at that moment, he just couldn't.
"Because your son's a dick," Sam spat, surprising himself.
"Woah, touchy," commented Cas, and started going on about how at Dean's age, he too was surprised at his own feelings when he started crushing heavily on Sam, about how it's hard to interpret these new feelings sometimes and how Dean must have needed time considering it's his first "real" relationship.
Practically, Cas was a heartbeat away from planning Dean's wedding to this Rhonda, who would've been faceless to Sam if he hadn't made his own revelation around two weeks earlier.
It began with Dean's phone experiencing unprecedented activity; texts and phone calls around the clock. Sometimes, Dean would ignore the calls, which Sam was sure were returned later when his mommy wasn't in earshot, and other times he'd spend an hour or two texting back and forth with a mysterious someone. First, Sam brushed it aside, chalked it up to Dean widening his circle of friends. Dean always had buddies, sure, but he's always been more on the introverted side. He was never quite busy with those friends. But hey, a little surge of activity doesn't warrant suspicion.
But then, the texting sessions became more frequent, and when Sam asked, Dean would say it's Benny or Ash, or find a way to wriggle out of giving a proper answer, like giving Sam a name for instance. Because Sam knew in his heart that it was neither Benny nor Ash, but he could never explain, if asked, where this certainty came from. Sam found himself uncomfortable with the idea of his son keeping something from him - he didn't have proof per se that he was keeping secrets to begin with, but Sam had already been sensing that something has changed in his son, something that he quite couldn't put a finger on, something that only a mother, connected to his son in heart and soul, can sense.
The eerie feeling had lingered for months, but finally two weeks earlier, Sam decided to do something that's very unlike him: check Dean's phone behind his back.
It was compulsive, wrong, and Sam felt dirty doing it, but he did it anyway. He chose a moment when Dean was in the shower.
Once he heard the water running, Sam sneaked into his son's room and popped open his phone. Damn it, it was password protected. But in a moment of inspiration, Sam keyed in Adam's year of birth, and when it didn't work, his own year of birth, and Dean's phone unlocked. Too easy, De, Sam thought satisfied and feeling lucky, and proceeded to check Dean's messaging apps. Before he had a chance to do it, a picture message popped onto the screen with a beep that made Sam jump. He knew he was transgressing but he just had to see. The picture was of a blonde girl, a teen. She was buck naked and striking a sexy pose. Sam felt his chest close up, his cheeks burn and before he knew it, he was checking all the pictures saved on Dean's phone, and several were of the same blonde girl, including a selfie with the very pretty teenager lying topless in Dean's arms - free, uninhibited, her breasts womanly, round and her nipples puffy, perky and perfect, her blemish-free skin milky, and her look wanton and filled with want. She's everything Sam - in his early thirties, body exhausted by childbirth and mind burdened by insecurities and memories - will never be.
Sam felt like crashing the phone, trashing his son's entire room actually, then emptying his stomach in the nearest bin.
Since then, things haven't been the same. Sam hasn't been the same, and the realization that Dean is not only sleeping with someone but hiding her, like she's precious, felt like a hundred razors cutting Sam from the inside. The revelation left him with a lump in his throat, that stayed with him for days. What does this mean for them? Will Dean now start drifting away? Will he give up on their afternoons together in favor of spending time with his new flame? Will he leave Sam behind now that he's found someone to shower his affections on? What becomes of Sam if these two fall in love or get together? Will the girl be OK with how close Sam is to his son? Or will she try to break them apart?
Sam started wondering if Dean kisses the girl like he kisses Sam. Recently, Sam's and Dean's kisses have become hotter, deeper, frenzied - was Sam imagining it? Are his son's wires just crossed? Are Sam's?
Did I selfishly use my son's need for intimacy to get something I shouldn't have? Sam wondered, a shiver running through his body. Does Dean realize this on some level? Is it why he felt ashamed to tell me about the girl?
Sam couldn't think straight for a while. When Dean would hug him, or kiss his lips, something inside of him would recoil. He felt robbed of something big. He walked around, feeling like he should be mourning for something.
He thought about confronting his son, but he was too afraid of what he might find out, not just about Dean, but also about himself, in the process of doing so. So he drowned his feelings in house work and the occasional drink. Dean was always around, but Sam felt like he's miles away; he'd look at him and it's like he was seeing him for the first time, like someone swapped his son, who he knows inside out, like the back of his hand, his son whose love and smiles and kisses are for him, with some other teen, who now spends a long time sexting and exchanging pictures of private parts with a stranger, a girl than can never love him, and appreciate him like Sam does, but who can also give him everything that Sam can't.
Until a few hours earlier, it was almost bearable, until the ugly truth reared its head. It turns out it's not just a random girl, it's not a teenage sexapade, apparently Dean is dating the girl. Apparently, his son is serious enough that all his friends know about her, and according to Benny, she's it, she's his longest relationship.
"They're all over each other, sir."
Benny's words ring inside Sam's head as he's being fucked into the mattress by Castiel, transporting him back to the present moment, and Sam's eyes flood with a fresh outpouring of tears. He feels like hiding away, in a dark alcove, crying until his tears dry out, but right now, he's trapped in the hollow of Castiel's arms, being at once emotionally and physically engulfed by his husband's passionate display of love and lust, and suffocated by the smothering, oppressive closeness. He's being drenched in his husband's Alpha scent, and in a first, he hates it.
The thoughts, and the depth of his sadness, cause Sam's half-erection to finally completely wilt; at least now, his outside reflects his inside, because he's in no mood for sex, least of all this frantic pounding, but being Sam, he allowed it anyway, to please Cas. Always wanting to please Cas, or Adam, or ... Dean.
Dean. He almost whispers it, like he's supplicating to a saint or a deity, but catches himself in time. It's not something that he can explain, or wants to. Then again how can he tell Cas, or anyone else, that the moment he realized there was a contender for Dean's affections, that someone could steal his son away, something feral awoke inside of him; a desire to protect not just Dean, but himself, from this threatening predator.
And then how can he explain the consuming guilt? It's eating him up.
Why can't I be like other mothers? Be a little mad that my son has been hiding this from me. Instead of brooding, just get worried that he was having underage sex, ask him if he used protection, ground him for a weekend or something then sweep it under the carpet, and be friends again. Where is this scorching fire in my chest coming from? Am I jealous? He thinks darkly, and muffles a sob, or tries to. It's this moment that Cas's knot decides to swell, and lodge itself inside Sam's stretched, slick asshole.
Sam has been dreading this bit: the intimacy that follows the knotting. He doesn't want it right now, not from Cas.
Cas, who was just a moment ago, covering his neck, collarbone, and shoulders with kisses, biting and dragging his teeth across flesh, looks up, and of course, he can see the old tear tracks, and the fresh weeping.
He doesn't immediately ask, just searches Sam's face for a few moments. Their eyes meet, and for a second, Sam is filled with terror; the terror that creeps up in anyone when they feel the other person might be staring right into their soul; that they might figure them out after all. And right now, Sam isn't even sure what his soul would give away. He doesn't know himself, and he doesn't want to see any unwanted, disturbing truths reflected in Castiel's eyes, so he closes his eyelids, still sensing Castiel's face mere inches away from his, his breath blowing on his own lips, caressing it.
"What is it, darling? Tell me," Castiel says, very softly, his voice like butterfly kisses against Sam's sweat-damp skin.
More tears soak Sam's eyes. Then he lets go.
It's almost liberating that he's ceased control completely like this, that he's letting his body express its pain; letting the tears fall, thoughts swimming through his head uninhibited, letting his fears get the best of him, and finally laying himself open like this, right under Castiel's scrutiny.
He wants to tell Castiel that it's nothing, that it's the stress of house work, and taking care of Adam, and it's the brunt of his long hours away from home. He wants to tell him that he just misses him, or that he's lonely and wants him, more of him, every day. He wants to give him something that sounds reasonable and proper, and reassuring and loving. But instead, Sam starts sobbing loudly.
Shocked and confused, Castiel hugs him impossibly closer, carding his fingers through his hair, speaking softly to him, until Sam lets it all out. Until Sam calms, and until he can breathe evenly again.
When Cas finally pulls out, his knot deflated, Sam is spent, emotionally and mentally, and he barely feels it as Castiel leaves for a minute then slips back into the bed after he cleans up, and spoons him.
Sam sinks into a restless sleep.