Sam dreams of Mary, and wakes up drenched in sweat, tears streaking down his face. Again.
Castiel is fast asleep with his back turned to Sam. The thin blanket is bunched around their waists. Sam rolls towards him, burrowing against his side and brushing his fingers lightly across his husband's naked back. On most nights, like tonight, they sleep in the nude. It's less constrictive and when they're tangled together, the warmth from their bodies is usually reassuring.
Sam continues to gently stroke Castiel's back, but he doesn't stir. His husband is a heavy sleeper; nothing short of a zombie apocalypse could rouse him after a tiring, long day. Sam often sleeps fitfully, especially recently, regardless of how short or long his day had been. He spends his nights battling insomnia triggered by indecent thoughts for his older son, or recurring, frightfully vivid nightmares.
Sam shifts again. He lies flat on his back and stares at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity, before he pushes himself off the bed and decides to go check on Adam and Dean. He slips on a pair of boxers, tiptoes barefoot to their rooms and thankfully, they're both sleeping soundly. Sam sighs and pads down to the living room. He turns on the TV and mutes it so as not to wake any of his family up. Right now, he's partial to the isolation.
Sam just lounges there, remote control in hand, flipping to a new channel every minute or so. It's a long while before something old and familiar stops him in his tracks. I love Judie. It's an action- comedy show for tweens that he and Mary used to watch as kids. It revolved around an unabashed and untamed teen alpha girl called Judie. Sam, still a child, had not been aware that female alphas were a thing. He'd never met any at school or in their neighborhood, so he naively and very deftly thought that Mary was the only one.
Judie was Mary's idol at some point; Sam often suspected that Mary tried to mirror the way
Judie spoke and some of her flamboyant mannerisms. He had noticed that the fictional character's brashness and sass also gradually brushed off on Mary— as if Mary had needed more of either. Sam used to tease her endlessly about it. Of course, he'd end up regretting it when Mary would kick his ass and hand it back to him. The show, considered brazen back at the time for depicting a female alpha in a lead role, garnered limited viewing and was eventually taken off the air. Many parents had protested vigorously that the character was a bad influence on their daughters, and that alpha girls shouldn't be encouraged to believe they're equal to men, especially male alphas.
Naturally, Mary and Sam were bummed when the show was cancelled. Sam had developed a not- so-little crush on Judie himself, and they had both come to love Judie's vibrance, biting humor and bold adventures - it was all very refreshing.
And as if Sam's earlier dream, which now sits half-remembered in his head wasn't enough, stumbling upon I love Judie is bringing some unwanted memories back to the surface.
His 'other' life, before he and Castiel settled down and made babies together, often seemed distant, like ancient history, up until dreams of Mary kept cropping up and started gnawing at the wall Sam had erected inside his mind. As unhealthy as it was to just tuck away old trauma and torment, following years of therapy Sam had decided that forgetting was the best way to go. He tried not to scratch at that wall, standing between him and his past life, out of self preservation. Otherwise, he feared he'd be locked in his own mind for the rest of his life.
Before becoming someone's other half, Sam Winchester, née Campbell, was the youngest of two, son of Jeffrey and Gwen Campbell. His parents had dreamed a large family, of perhaps five or six kids as is the norm among traditionalists, but that dream never materialized.
His mother's side of the family is populated by many alphas, men with well-defined bones, broad shoulders, strong backs, slightly tanned complexions, none of them standing below six feet—it's where Sam got the shape of his jaw, and his long, lean, and coltish frame. But not the alpha genes. He didn't inherit those.
When his older sister Mary presented as alpha, it was unexpected. Their parents were taken aback, because it was an alpha girl. Nevertheless, they quickly recovered, and took it to mean that "we're bearers of alphas". If even their girl turned out an alpha, by default Sam would be one too, like his own father and sister, and like his uncles, and cousins before him, they thought. In their rose-tinted glasses, it was a near certainty that they relished in for a while.
There were always signs that Sam would never be, however.
The shy manner in which he carried himself, the softness beneath his sturdy exterior, and how he clung to Mary and capitulated to her dominant nature, especially after she presented, were all red
flags. The fact that he acted like this without conscious intent was more proof. His father slowly became aware of the signs; his hope tapering off and in its place, disappointment showing. Jeff's disdain creeped into day-to-day conversations, eventually coloring all his interactions with his son.
But his mother Gwen, frigidly beautiful and brutally proud, had remained in denial—that or she was adamant to influence Sam's biology, like it was an affront to her and what she stood for. Her rational mind must have known she couldn't change primal nature, but it looked like her heart could not come to terms with what Sam was.
With equal fervor, she tried to force Mary to tone down her alpha.
Traditional families warm up to the familiar: male alphas and female omegas. A disturbance of this dynamic either brings anxiety or shame, and often, especially in case of male omegas, unwanted attention from knot-heads and a depraved degree of erotic craving.
Treated as eccentrics, Mary and Sam always felt like partners in crime. Growing up in each other's pockets, they also clung to each other for comfort.
But it was Sam that had carried the "omega" tag like a chip on his shoulder for years. Mary (beautiful, fierce Mary, her dirty blonde locks always matted, and her green eyes alight with mischief) reveled in her nature. She celebrated it every day with small acts of rebellion and obstinance—her attitude a perpetual middle finger to traditionalists.
Then she died. When it happened, Sam had stayed in bed with cold chills, trembling from the shock of it for days on end. It took weeks before he could find his bearings, and go out and face the world again. Then again, Mary was more a parent to him than either of his parents ever were.
Her death is possibly the greatest tragedy of Sam's life.
The pressure to shed his omega skin didn't ease with Mary's death. His mother's grief soon turned into waves of hostility that were directed towards Sam and Sam alone.
Officially presenting as an omega at 15, Sam became an even easier target for his mother's taunts and fitful outbursts of anger.
The inevitable confirmation of his gender identity further alienated him from his father who, following Mary's death, had become sullen and apathetic. Then, Jeffrey retreated to the sidelines until one morning, he simply upped and left. Sam has not seen him since.
With his father's departure from their lives, Sam's misfortunes got dialed up. His mother alternated between being impossibly cold and gratuitously aggressive. Sam believes that without her alpha, his mother must have felt she was without a lifeline. She probably felt betrayed too, by her husband, and generally, by the world.
Since then, Sam's mother always walked around like a woman who was denied divine providence —like she was being unduly punished.
But Sam could have protected her; he was and is very much a man. Omega or not, he could've been the head of the house, in lieu of his father, if only his mother had allowed herself to lean on him. If only she was a gentler soul, Sam could have easily become that lifeline on his mother's toughest days, Sam thinks retrospectively.
But all Gwen did was become more insistent on beating the omega out of Sam, which she did, figuratively ... and literally, sometimes.
"Stand straight, Sam," she would say, prodding him painfully in the shoulders. "Chin up ... man up ... Speak up," whatever it was, she was always exasperated with him. "Louder, Sam, say it like a man," she'd screech, giving him a cuff on the ear, or "Sam, don't sit with your legs closed up like a tongue-tied, shy omega, or you'll get the spanking of your life!"
But he is and always was an omega. As if by twisting him out of shape, his mother thought that she could somehow alter who he is and was. It all made him miserable; he couldn't just get himself to bite the bullet, or grin and bear it.
Years on and Sam still feels a tightness in his stomach whenever he remembers all this. It's the same sinking feeling he used to have as he waited for his mother to reprimand him, spank him, or tell him off for one crazy thing or another. In that way, the memories regress him to being a child. Every time he remembers, he feels 12 again, deprived of love and smothered by prejudice.
To add insult to injury, outside of their home, Sam was expected by society to conform to his nature; act the part of a willing or submissive omega. His manly clothing, neutral tone and androgynous mannerisms—more similar to a beta man than an omega man thanks to his mother— confused people.
Growing up, he always felt like a fraud.
The divide—suppressing his nature indoors for his mother's benefit and being bombarded by opposing expectations outdoors—had nearly brought Sam to his knees.
In reality, it's his mother that's the fraud. A beta, born to a traditional family and married to a satisfyingly traditional alpha, she had always relished the alpha-omega lifestyle and enacted it to a fault.
Sam suspects that his grandparents were ambivalent towards their daughter until her wedlock. Being born as a beta into a traditional family must have not been easy. Through her marriage into a traditional family, Sam imagines that proving she could bag an alpha and live like an omega, even if she weren't born as one, elevated Gwen's status in the family. It's probably why his mother had a solid relationship with her parents, whom they all visited every other weekend like a ritual when Sam and Mary were growing up.
It wasn't the case with his father's side. They seldom exchanged visits and socialized only during the holidays. Sam never knew why. He lost contact with most of them over the years. The reason why Jeffrey, as traditional as they come, married a beta in the first place remains a mystery to Sam. A perpetual question mark.
Perhaps his father did love his mother (though, on most days, Sam always found it hard to see her as lovable in any way), or perhaps he was bedazzled by Gwen's heritage and her parents' old money. Sam still remembers how huge his grandfather's house was; how regal. It's that money and status that had helped them keep their dignity after their household crumbled and Sam's father - the money maker in the family - had pulled a vanishing act.
Sam's emancipation finally came in the form of Castiel, the angel who snatched Sam's soul from the inner circles of hell, and from the depths of self-loathing, promising to guard him with his life and respect all his wishes.
Unlike Sam's parents, Castiel had not only accepted Sam's omega nature but also indulged it lovingly, and unlike society, he neither tried to pigeonhole Sam as an exotic cumdump for his horny alpha nor erotocized his existence.
Sam had tested Cas and his limits a lot, pushed every button but Cas, gods bless him, endured, and
took it all in stride. It was not just progressive, it was also sweet, romantic, and incredibly refreshing. And it reminded Sam, endearingly, of Mary—the only other person who never tried to change him.
Meeting Castiel and falling in love became a milestone in Sam's life. There was life before Cas, and life after.
And after becoming a couple, Sam didn't look back.
During his teens, progressive Alpha-Omega movements had been on the rise, but Sam had followed them only from a distance. He couldn't afford to align himself with them, or root for them publicly, and risk his mother's fury. After Castiel, he could breathe.
Sam remembers how when he signed up for his first peaceful omega rights march; it felt like an act of revolution. Cas was reluctant to participate at first—to declare his affinity to such movements was to part ways with his family and heritage. But he came around, mainly for Sam.
He made Sam's life better. But then, that's Cas. He makes everything he touches better, Sam muses with a smile.
Sam was surprised to find that Gwen wasn't up in arms against his marriage to Cas. In fact, it looked like she finally realized that her son was a lost cause so the prospect of separation, shifting the burden to another person, seemed to give her comfort.
Sam and Cas didn't have a wedding ceremony; they both didn't care that much for it. Money-wise, they couldn't afford to splurge on one anyway so they got married at city hall and moved into a small apartment a couple of weeks later.
The day before Sam was to move out, his mother chatted on the phone, immersed herself in a novel for an hour or so, then spent a fair amount of time in the living room, eyes glued to the TV —doing anything but spending time with Sam.
She, consciously or perhaps out of habit, ignored him. Sam couldn't tell. When he was done packing, he eventually joined her.
He was just freshly married off, but the impulse to lash at his mother (that had always racked him) never failed to reduce him to feeling like a moody child. His indignation still lived inside of him. That day, Sam and his mother spent about an hour in silence, sitting rigidly on opposite sides of the same couch, before Sam finally plucked up enough courage to speak.
"There's enough pain in the world, mother," Sam had said with deliberate care, hoping his words would leave an impression. "And I don't wish it upon you." He didn't meet her eyes. The silence continued to be heavy, he recalls, stretching like miles of road between them. Sam had swallowed around the lump in his throat and added somberly, "I forgive you."
It was a lie, of course. At the moment, he'd only wanted to feel somewhat morally superior. It was gratifying on some level to hold his pain over his mother's head then declare that she was pardoned, without arguments or any attempts to guilt trip her. It superficially gave Sam the air of a saint or a messiah.
In reality, it took years of therapy and self-medication for Sam to actually half forgive his mother.
But back then, during Sam's last night in his family house and despite his parting words, his mother didn't own up to anything, not to any of her toxic habits or her withered motherly feelings, none of that. If it hadn't been for how her lips pursed into a tight knot, in response to Sam's words,
it would've appeared to Sam like his mother hadn't even heard him.
But "I forgive you" was the last thing he had said to her, as far as he remembers, aside from mumbling a quick goodbye before taking off with Castiel the next day.
Sam has always been proud of his exit from his mother's life, even if what she'd done to him messed him up in ways he couldn't count or even fully account for. At least his mother had stuck around long enough to be partly forgiven, Sam thinks. It's not something that he can say of his father.
...
Sam remains camped out on the living room couch until the next morning. He ends up falling asleep watching a war flick. He only catches a few z's before he rises up once again to prepare breakfast for his family ahead of the morning rush to school and work. He prays that Castiel doesn't realize that he was missing from their bed at any point. His husband might think it's on purpose or that something is wrong with them—which there is, Sam muses, but their relationship doesn't need any additional strain, thank you very much.
A few hours after his husband and son leave the house, Sam receives a happy phone call from Castiel telling him that his promotion is now official and that naturally, it comes with a fatter paycheck and the promise of travel and some jet-setting. Cas, ecstatic, tells Sam that they should definitely celebrate tonight. It's Friday anyway, so they can stay out late, drink to their hearts' desire, and sleep it all off the next day.
Feeling wrung out from lack of sleep, Sam would rather stay inside; he really isn't in the mood to dine out but he can't say no to Cas now that the promotion he'd been slaving away for has finally happened. So of course he plays along, feigning enthusiasm.
He'll whip up a meal for the kids and ask Dean to babysit his younger brother, Sam thinks, trying to get all his ducks in a row. He can ask Ellen, next door, if she minds being on call in case of any emergencies. Sam knows she won't mind.
Cas texts again later in the day to say that Meg and Fergus should be joining them. They're the closest things to best friends to Sam and Cas, and Sam genuinely likes them both. Cas and Fergus work together, and they go on fishing trips every so often, and Meg is pretty easy going and loves a good laugh. They're both progressive and they don't intrude in any way.
Frankly, Sam would rather celebrate with Dean and Adam, but, hey, whatever Cas wants right now.
When Castiel finally walks into the house - tie loose, his jacket thrown over his arm, and arriving later than expected - he hurries over to Sam and hugs him fiercely. Sam feels sweaty and gross from spending too much time by the stove cooking something healthy for Dean and Adam to eat when he and his husband are out, but he hugs Cas back anyway.
Castiel smells a little of beer and cigarettes. Looks like someone had early drinks with his work buddies before heading home. He's positively beaming and oozing off cheer, so Sam decides not to berate him for smoking. Sam hasn't seen him cheerful like this for months maybe, and it's frankly quite beautiful to behold—smoke and mild beer breath notwithstanding.
They kiss for a minute before Cas pinches and slaps Sam's butt and orders him to clean up and get ready.
When Sam pops in the shower, he's surprised when, a moment later, Castiel jumps in there with
him—they haven't showered together in a long time, not since their first year of marriage, now that Sam thinks about it.
It turns out Sam doesn't mind being trapped in the small shower space with Cas. They spend some time lathering up each other and scrubbing themselves clean, before it turns a little sensual and they end up getting hot and bothered from all the touching, making out under the warm spray of water. Cas feels safe and familiar. The hot kissing makes the deal so much sweeter, and Sam completely relaxes, forcing all his dark thoughts to grind to a halt, and just focuses on how his body is responding to Cas. And God, is it responding. His nearing heat is making sure his cock stirs and starts filling up. His hole twitches in anticipation.
Penetrative sex under the shower is trickier than people think, and from experience, Sam feels that if they move to the bed now, they'll end up staying there for the rest of the night, so he and Cas end up jacking each other off under the spray until they both come. When they finish, they wash off some more then pad out of the bathroom and ready themselves for the night out.
Things may look up again, Sam thinks, feeling sexy, squeaky clean, and perked up following that steamy albeit brief lovemaking session. Perhaps it's just a rough patch and he'll eventually find it in himself to fall in love with Cas again - instead of reducing him to being a placeholder for Dean. Perhaps he can crave and desire his husband like he used to if he gives them both the chance. Well, right now, Sam is praying for it. He's painfully aware that Castiel deserves better than what they currently have, and it's eating up at Sam's insides.
Before they leave the house, Sam goes to check on their boys. They're both in the living room, Adam splayed out on the couch, and Dean sitting cross-legged on the floor texting someone. Dean is holding his phone at an angle and Sam can't see the screen from where he's standing. His radar involuntarily goes up. Perhaps he's chatting up the blonde, Rhonda, Sam thinks. It makes Sam feel funny, but he culls his curiosity, and instead asks Dean if he'd like Jo, or Benny and Ash, to come over and keep him and his brother company.
Dean shrugs. "It's alright, not in the mood for people," he says, nonchalantly. Dean is still lukewarm and withdrawn, and Sam feels sorry for that.
When Castiel walks in, the boy forces a small smile and huffs a "Congratulations, dad. You deserve it" at his father that just feels awkward. Cas thanks him, ruffling his hair. The gesture clearly annoys Dean but he doesn't speak up.
Sam can see that Adam is already getting tired and sleepy, but he's not worried. He knows his big brother will take care of him and, when it's sleep time, tuck him in. Tonight, Sam won't sweat the small stuff or overthink. Tonight is for Cas and Cas alone, he decides.
On his way out, Sam kisses Adam's cheek tenderly, then leans in to place a soft kiss on Dean's forehead. His older son doesn't pull away and Sam counts it a win.
...
At such a short notice, they couldn't make advance reservations in any of their favorite restaurants, so they decided to play it by ear; start the evening at a cocktail bar then take it from there.
With the other three downing one drink after another, giggling their way through the evening, Sam highly doubts that they're presentable enough for any sort of fine dining. The bar has a good menu, and they can just eat there. But Castiel insists on changing the venue, tells Sam to look up the nearest steakhouse on his phone. Well, the nearest one is an hour away but it's his night, so Sam is willing to indulge him.
Castiel swigs more drinks than everyone else, already starting to slur his words. Meg and Fergus are a little tipsy. Sam holds back in an effort to remain the more sober person between them.
Leaving the bar, they all walk aimlessly for a few blocks before deciding it's time they request an uber or hail a cab.
They stop and while Fergus fiddles with his phone to request a driver, Cas and Meg
chat laughingly about the antics of Fergus' junior secretary. Sam had never met her so he just stays on the sidelines and looks on.
So much for Sam's promise to focus only on Cas tonight, and think of no one else (or one- particular-person-else), he still couldn't help how he got a little riled up noticing that they
are standing near a window for a lingerie shop that catered to both women and male omegas.
Sam eyes the numbers on the mannequins, depicting male and female figures, and gulps. Cas is still engaged in light-hearted conversation and is completely oblivious to how the heat is rising up in his wife's face, coloring it red, unaware of the thoughts that the lace bras, satin panties, and see- through night gowns are conjuring in Sam's mind.
One specific item on display—a black, sheer babydoll with a flirty bow under the breasts and matching thongs—catches Sam's eye, and he looks at it brazenly, almost too long. He imagines himself donning it, all dolled up for Dean, his own masculinity standing in contrast to the delicate lace that would barely cover his skin, accentuate his round pecs and the soft curve of his belly, leaving little to the imagination. Sam could picture the look on Dean's face if he ever sees him dressed like this, features transitioning from young and innocent to fierce and lustful, body responding beautifully to his own mother, and Sam's cock stirs.
Despite his protests, he still craves being wanted by Dean; he's secretly addicted to seeing the effect he has on his son. He wants him. And he wants Dean to covet him. He wants to morph into that wanton omega than Dean obviously desires, and he wants his son to fuck him senseless. Sam's mouth waters at the images in his head, and he feels a little dizzy with it, a little wet between his ass cheeks. His nipples tingle and harden beneath his shirt.
Realizing he's still with company, and not in his bed at night fantasizing away, he quickly looks away from the store window and tries to get his breathing, and his filthy mind, under control.
The guilt soon follows; here he is, pretending to be there for Castiel, telling himself he could fix things, when inside his head, he's cheating. Still tethered to their son.
"Earth to Sam," Meg hollers at him and he jumps slightly at the intrusion. He realizes she was already talking to him before. He forces himself back to the moment, and smiles at her. "Sorry, drifted off a little."
"For a moment there, you had a lights-on-but-no-one-home expression on your face," she says. Cas is giving him this strange look and for a fleeting moment, it almost feels like his husband is sober again and can see right through him.
"How's our driver doing?" Sam quickly asks, if only to flee Castiel's gaze.
"Two minutes away," Fergus responds.
When the car finally pulls up in front of them, they pile in - still without a destination in mind.
"We're looking for the very best steakhouse in all of Stonehill," Cas begins. The driver probably thinks they're tourists or something. He smiles, then, after some thinking, politely makes some
suggestions.
"Just choose one and take us there?" Cas says and Sam cracks up.
Sam spares the poor driver and randomly makes the pick for them.
"Do we need to book a table in advance?" he double checks. Apparently not.
The four of them end up in this swanky restaurant on the other side of town. The prices on the menu are over the top but the margaritas are very potent, and the service is great. They wolf down their steaks, juicy and quite delicious and well worth their price tag, then Cas orders a round of shots. "Here's to Cas and his awesome, hard-earned promotion," says Meg, and the four of them raise and clink glasses. "To Cas," they speak in chorus.
Cas drinks his shot then shakes his glass. "More shots?"
Sam is slightly worried; his husband is pounding back a few and Sam doesn't know whether Cas is still celebrating or trying to drown down something. Worries, fears, sorrow or all of the above. Something feels off.
Their seemingly-perfect marriage has been on the rocks recently, Sam thinks gloomily, and in a first, he's secretly wondering if they'll ever make it to "till death do us part". Cas doesn't exactly know about Sam's doubts, but he might have instinctively realized that they're struggling.
Suddenly anxious and not knowing what else to do, Sam takes one of Castiel's hands in his and squeezes firmly. Castiel squeezes back, and leans in to give Sam a quick peck on the lips.
Soon enough, the giggles and silliness taper off and give way to quiet conversation. Fergus and Meg, who're childless by choice, say they've been thinking of expanding their family. "Fucking finally," says Cas. "This is big, you guys," Sam adds. Kids are a grand responsibility and both Fergus and Meg are employed full-time, both fearlessly ambitious and very career-oriented. Someone will have to pull the brakes a little, and make time for the kids if, or when, they come. Sam guesses it will probably be Meg. They're not an alpha and omega couple, but their dynamics are sometimes similar to one. And Meg knows how to make Fergus feel he's boss.
"I'll tell you this. Having children? It's a decision we never regretted," Cas says, still slurring from all the liquor. "We have such a sweet time," he continues to ramble. "Sam and I are a team, and we do things as a team."
Sam smiles and agrees, swinging his arms around his husband's shoulders.
It's all good and civilized until the couple in the table next to them start becoming a little loud. Obviously drunk, the man and woman are suddenly all over each other. Kissing turning to flat-out making out. Things escalate quickly and they end up frenching like a couple of teens, making slurping sounds and moaning, in a seated restaurant, in front of God and everyone. Sam realizes he's staring so he looks away quickly, exchanging amused smiles with Cas and the rest. It's not long before the man shrugs off his jacket and pulls the woman into his lap, quite aggressively. Alpha and omega: their scents are permeating strongly, and instead of amused, everyone at
Sam's table now look a little embarrassed. Fergus and Meg, for all their open-mindedness,
don't seem too enthralled with the display. It's not that kind of restaurant, not one catering to traditionalists, but most restaurants, even the classy ones, allow for many liberties for alphas and omegas in the throes of their heat, which these two obviously are. "Oh my God," exclaims Meg, as the exhibitionist couple start dry humping. The entire table laughs.
Sam's laugh is a little nervous though, because unlike the rest, all this is really affecting him. He's
warm and soft down there, and a part of him wishes Cas would move his hand under the table and start stroking him through his clothes until he's hard. Then perhaps he could get him off, as they try and make polite conversation with friends. Sam thinks he might let it happen.
His mind skitters off to Dean again, and again, he wonders if this is something that Dean would do. If his alpha son would shamelessly devour him in a public place, as everyone watches, careless of their surroundings. Not unlike this couple.
Sam is also curious about how far the man and woman would go in a place like this.
His curiosity is not satisfied, however. Fergus orders the check, and they're out of the
restaurant before Sam gets to see if the couple will end up having sex right there on the table next to them, may be even knot, and whether the restaurant would allow it. Each venue's tolerance to these displays is different. What some consider scandalous, others think is business as usual.
Once outside, Meg barks out laughing. "That was something," she says. "It was," her husband agrees.
"Don't get me wrong, but couples like these two got no shame! Alphas and omegas, man, they're unstoppable," Meg says. "No offense, you guys."
"None taken," says Cas, reassuring.
They breathe in some fresh air. Then request two different cabs, say their goodbyes and all head home.
...
Back at home, Cas is out like a light moments after they move up to their bedroom. Sam, who's now tipsy himself, succeeds in keeping him awake just long enough to toe off his shoes and
pull his shirt and pants off. Castiel will have the mother of all hangovers tomorrow, Sam predicts. He'll have to brace himself for it. Cas is not cute when he's feeling sour or pissed.
Sam takes a quick shower, puts a pair of briefs on and slides into bed next to Castiel. He looks at his sleeping husband, and a pang of guilt rises up in his chest. How can you make yourself love a person again, he thinks. He still loves Cas, like a partner and the father of their children, but it's not that burning hot, crazy love they used to have. He leans over and plants a chaste kiss on Castiel's cheek, then pulls back and closes his eyes. Tomorrow. Perhaps tomorrow will bring a resolution to the rut they're in.
...
Sam is lured out of sleep by a strange sensation: featherlike touches across his abs, and below his navel, and a warm breath hitting his nether region. At first he thinks he's dreaming; it does feel good, and his body is heating up slightly in response to the barely-there touches.
He's having a wet dream, he thinks as his brain teeters on the edge of consciousness.
The pressure on his genitals becomes more pronounced, though, the heat rising quickly. Still drowsy and half-asleep, it takes Sam a moment to realize he's not actually dreaming. He manages to pry open his eyes as the touches become more insistent. His surroundings are dimly illuminated by lights leaking from the hallway and streaming out from the street through their uncurtained bedroom windows.
As Sam rubs the sleep out of his eyes, and as they slowly adjust to the low light, he can't believe what he's seeing.
"Dean?" He croaks.
His son has apparently pulled down the covers, sat himself between Sam's slightly parted legs and is now brazenly staring at Sam's naked groin, without an ounce of shame or inhibition, while Castiel is sound asleep next to him. Sam doesn't even know how Dean has managed to get his briefs down his hips and his thighs without waking him up. He can barely suppress a groan at how depraved and dirty it feels.
"Dean," he says again, and his voice is still hoarse. "What are you doing?"
Sam still feels dizzy, can't make himself move.
"I missed you," Dean whispers, bending over his body, his lips now mere inches away from Sam's dick. Dean starts to kiss along the length of Sam's cock. His right hand comes up, and follows the thin trail of hair on Sam's belly, creeping down into the thicker, coarser thatch of crotch hair around his cock. His hand bypasses Sam's penis, however, and keeps moving down until it reaches the hem of his briefs, still caught around his knees. His left hand comes up and Dean uses both hands to slip Sam's briefs off completely and throw them on the floor. Sam lets him.
Dean moves up again, and starts planting kisses on Sam's stomach. When his tongue dips into
his belly button, Sam groans again. Inches away, Castiel rolls over; now he's facing them, snoring lightly next to Sam as Dean touches and fondles him.
Sam is holding his breath, terrified, and his eyes are slowly welling up with tears. He whispers urgently, "Dean, stop." But it falls flat, even on his own ears. "Stop this," he hisses and he knows he doesn't really mean it. Whether it's heat, or lust that's taking control now—whatever this is— Sam feels powerless against it.
Like a man on a mission, his son is unstoppable. He's not taking Sam's protests seriously, because he knows. Sam can't hide his desire, not now; no part of him is hidden from view and Dean can see how Sam's dick is filling up for him, that he's at least half hard now. His eyes flicker up to Sam, defiantly, challenging him to stop him, as he tongues the trail of hairs on Sam's belly until he reaches his dick.
Dean rubs his face on Sam's cock then carefully takes it in this mouth, and Sam feels like shooting his load right then and there. Dean stills, keeps it popped in his mouth, tucked between his plump lips, like he's savoring the taste before he starts sucking on the head lightly until the pressure
on Sam's dick becomes almost unbearable.
Sam is about to speak but Dean chooses this moment to go down on his dick, wetting the length of it. Sam bites his tongue and starts leaking in abandon. He can feel his cockhead tickling the roof of Dean's mouth. Dean slurps down the beads of precum as they come and Sam feels like he'll lose his mind.
It's so wrong, so fucking wrong, but he still doesn't move; doesn't dare to either stir or raise his voice. If Cas opens his eyes, right now, he'll see everything. He'll see Dean blowing him; using his tongue to get Sam off in his marital bed. He'll know that Sam has popped a boner the moment Dean took him in his mouth. And he'll see Sam letting out breathy moans as he watches Dean take his dick, lick around the head, and the underside of it, pushing his tongue into the slit like he wants to fuck it. It isn't long before Sam groans like a dying man and rewards his son with a mouthful of cum.
Dean drinks it down like it's wine, swallowing the sweet and salty hot rush, without spilling a
drop. As his orgasm barrels through him, Sam rests his head back on the pillow and cries hot tears. His son continues to drink him down as he shoots his full load, as his asshole squirts and leaks into the bedspread beneath him, his shame making him burn up.
"So fucking hot," Dean whispers. "How are you this hot?"
He then moves up the bed, and lines his body with Sam's and then settles over him. He's still clothed, donning a pair of white boxer briefs and a thin shirt. Sam can feel how hard his son is, how heavy his balls are, as Dean embraces him. Dean must feel how quickly Sam's heart is pounding in his chest - part-arousal, part-fear.
"Dean," he huffs. "Shhh," Dean whispers, as he starts kissing his lips, slowly at first, one brief touch of lips after another, until they lose count of how many times their lips meet. Then Dean starts drawing out the kisses.
Dean kisses passionately, fiercely, like a thirsty man. Sam can taste himself inside Dean's mouth and he can't help but open up more to the kisses.
He should be sick to his stomach, doing this so close to Cas, his husband's breath hitting his shoulders. But he's too distracted by the thrill of kissing Dean again to try and stop this. The tears keep on coming, but Sam still shivers and trembles with need and want as Dean starts rubbing their cocks together.
Sam's hands come up, as if without his volition, and wrap around Dean's waist. They fumble beneath the waistband of Dean's boxers, blindly grabbing at naked flesh.
Itching, and feverish with want, Sam pulls down his son's underwear in one swift move. He's aching to feel him, skin-on-skin. Dean lifts his hips up for a second to help his mom peel his boxers off. When their naked lower bodies touch again, his son's groin feels scorching hot and it's heaven and hell, all at once.
The bed creaks as they move, grinding, soaking each other's dicks, balls and pubic hair in precum. But they're both too far gone to care.
They kiss some more. Sam, blinded with need, moans loudly as Dean mauls his mouth, mashing their lips together, sucking on his tongue, and biting his bottom lip, pushing and pulling, drinking him up like an elixir. Dean has insanely hot lips, and oh, dear God, they're gonna be the death of him, Sam thinks.
One of Dean's hands creeps up between them and his son's fingers tug on the hard nubs of his nipples and Sam, still a nursing mother, starts leaking there too. He's sloppy and wet everywhere now.
Cas huffs, and rolls on the bed again. Dean and Sam hold still, breathing into each other
mouths, their kiss-bruised lips almost glued together. When Cas settles down and his breaths even out, Dean pulls back an inch and whispers "I wanna eat you" into the damp air between their wet mouths.
Sam should shake his head, he should push his son off and make it stop here. His rational mind knows he should draw a line somewhere. He should fight this. But he doesn't. A moment later, Dean is sitting between his legs again, and Sam willingly parts them for his son - all his willpower long gone.
Sam feels like a slut, spreading his legs like this so his son could go down on him, put his mouth at his most base part, kiss him, and touch him in a forbidden place that only his lawfully wedded
husband should be allowed to touch. But he does it anyway. Because the way Dean looks down at him makes his flesh burn. The way his son's eyes is now raking over him, while his palms are stroking up his thighs, it's an absorbing, mesmerizing thing. The way Dean neglects his own engorged dick, pleasuring Sam instead, makes Sam's insides tingle.
Dean hooks his strong hands behind Sam's knees and pushes his legs up. Sam feels vulnerable and exposed, almost bent in half like this with his thighs open wide. Dean's eyes lock between the obscenely open V of his legs, staring freely at his flushed prick and lewdly-spread butt.
Sam closes his eyes and jumps a little when he finally feels the pressure of Dean's tongue against his asshole, shamelessly twitching, refusing to close up completely and continuously slicking itself for the alpha.
Dean pushes his tongue into the moist and warmth of Sam's hole, and it opens up to him like a flower. The tight heat sucks the tip of his tongue in.
Sam can't stop leaking, drizzling slick from both his dick hole and his asshole. He buries the side of his face in his pillow, his hands fisting the sheets beneath him. His toes curl from the stimulation.
Dean continues to rim him, alternating between licking around his fluttering, hungry hole, and fucking it with his tongue. Sam's hips are jerking off the bed, riding the waves of pleasure as they come.
When his orgasm hits, too soon, he can't hold back. He tries to but fails. His dick begins shooting untouched and his cum lands on his chest, and face. Seconds later, he squirts into Dean's open mouth, feeding his slick to his son.
Dean nurses at his asshole, laps up everything Sam gives him, sucking it out of him and drinking it up until Sam's gushing well completely dries up.
Sam doesn't think he ever came so strongly in his life. He feels at once satiated and drained and so bone tired, he could pass out.
Dean is still holding his legs open and out. He sniffs his ass, scenting him down there, then
he brushes his lips lightly against Sam's pucker, and the overstimulation sends an electric buzz through Sam's body. Dean kisses along his taint. He kisses his hole, then whispers softly into it, "God, you're perfect. I love you so much." Sam feels the heat of the words on his skin, his warm breath hitting his asshole and it twitches. His cheeks burn with the humiliation of allowing his son to be this intimate with him, this close. He's a perverted parent, and he'll go to hell for it, Sam thinks.
"Sammy," Dean whispers. Sam dares to meet his son's eyes. "Keep your legs up, and hold your ass open for me," he says it so simply, entitlement lacing his tone, like he owns Sam's body. Like Castiel, his father, the Alpha of this house, is not trapped in a drunken stupor just one feet away.
"Sammy, I'm still hard. I need to come," he urges. Sam squeezes his eyes shut and does what he's told. Obeying, he puts his own hands behind his knees, and spreads his legs wide, his cheeks parting and revealing his wanton hole for Dean. He can hear his son's heavy breaths, coming faster, as he strips his own dick furiously looking down at Sam's nakedness, using it to relieve his horny wolf. Dean jacks himself off with one hand. With the other, he thumbs at Sam's entrance, circling the rim of his quivering pucker.
"Such a pretty hole. So hot, goddamn," Dean whispers, lightly biting his bottom lip. "Fucking perfect."
Sam moans as his asshole is nudged, as Dean thrusts his hot, pulsating cockhead against it. Rubbing, playing with his rim, but not breaching. Sam, against all reason, wishes Dean would just push inside. He bears down, willing his ass to open up more, silently begging to be invaded. The wet tip of Dean's cock kissing his entrance like this is an awful tease.
Dean had once called Sam a whore. It was in anger and Sam, indignant and mad, had slapped his son. But now he thinks, maybe Dean was right. Perhaps he really is a whore, and Dean just saw through his bullshit. After all, he's allowing this to happen, isn't he? And for all its wrongness, it's not even enough. Sam wants more. He wants Dean inside of him so much he can barely breathe.
Sam endures the slow torture, however, without revealing his sick needs.
Moments later, he feels a hot wetness against his hole as his son drenches it in cum. Some of it gets inside of him, mixing with his own fresh slick. Dean groans deeply, like a wounded animal, as he shoots his release.
Castiel stirs again, and this time, Sam finds his voice. "Dean, just go," he whispers, his own chest still punching out fast, short breaths. "Please," he adds and his voice is shot to hell.
Dean waits for a few moments until he can breathe steadily again before he pushes himself off the bed, his boxers still bunched up around his ankles. Before covering himself, he attacks Sam's mouth and kisses him deeply. His tongue darts out to taste his tears, and softly lick the drying cum off his face. He prods and licks his nipples clean too. Then he goes back to kissing his mouth some more.
The smooching sound of their wet kisses, as their soft lips catch and part repeatedly, feels obscene in the otherwise deadly quiet room.
His son finally pulls back before they lose themselves again, looking almost as wracked and worn out by his orgasm as Sam is (by his several ones in a row).
"I love you," Dean whispers breathlessly against his lips one last time tonight. Then he stands up straight, pulls up his boxers, and walks out of the room.
Sam can feel his son's cum seeping out of him and wetting the bed as he watches him leave and close the door behind him. He feels at once whole and destroyed, and he can't begin to imagine what this means for all of them.
...
The morning after ...
Sam flings open the curtains in Dean's bedroom while Dean is fast asleep. It's a little past 6 am so the light is still faint outside. Dean stirs, looking feverish, and he groans. "What the hell, mom?"
"Oh, so you still remember I'm mom."
"What the—what's that supposed to mean?" Dean slurs, still fending off sleep.
"Nothing, get up, and start packing. You're moving to Bobby's today. If your dad won't drive you there, I will."
"Come again?" Dean feels like an ice bucket has been emptied straight over his head.
"My heat's coming on strong," Sam says, as he opens Dean's closet and grabs a duffel bag.
You don't say, Dean thinks sarcastically. Sam is reeking from his heat. Dean practically tasted it in his slick last night as he went to town on his ass. But it looks like his mom is pretending last night didn't happen. He's refusing to look Dean in the eye either.
"Mom, is this some kind of a joke?"
"Your dad and I have been planning on it anyway, 'cause it's hitting early. And—"
"And what?"
"Things can get out of control, you know the deal, shielding yourself from my heat can drain you," Sam says, as he starts fishing out clothes from the closet and some of Dean's drawers.
"You gotta be kidding me," Dean says. His mom sidesteps his comment and he still wouldn't look at him. "By the way, I can pack on my own."
"Happy to help Dean, speed it all up," Sam says, deadpanning, as he continues to fill the bag. "Come on, do we really have to do this? It's not as bad as it used to be when I first—"
"It's bad in other ways," Sam hisses. "Or don't you remember last night? The heat is—" "Last night wasn't about the heat. Don't blame-"
"I am, and I will. 'Cause last night, we were out of our minds. I wasn't in control."
"Is that how you wanna play it? Animal attraction, heats and ruts, mom? Take free will out of it?" "Dean—"
"I mean whatever makes you sleep at night, mom. I don't give a rats what story you wanna tell yourself. But I told you. I want you and not because of friggin' biology. Sure, maybe that plays a part. In the old days, they used to believe alphas and omegas are born mated, that it's fate. Maybe that's part of it too. But it's not just that for me. I love you. I'm in love with you, dammit."
"Stop saying that."
"At least I have the guts to admit it."
"You don't know what you're saying, Dean."
"This is where you're wrong, mom. You still have one foot out of the door, but I'm all in and I know how I feel."
"Then you're gonna have to find a way to unlove me or to cope, Dean. 'Cause I'm not gonna cheat—"
"Keep up, mom. You already have, and the way I see it? When you're with him, you're cheating on me—you're mine!"
"No, I'm not. Never going to. Not that way. Are you so delusional you can't see what's happening here?"
"Are you?"
"Dean, this is an illness. This isn't right," Sam says and plops down on the bed next to Dean. God, he doesn't know how to look at his son any more without recalling what happened between them
in the dead of night. But he tries. "Sweetheart, look at me, we can deal with this. Remember when we were close, real close, best friends, soulmates even, but still mom and son. Still clean. We can still go back to that, 'cause this is what it needs to be." Sam pleads. And Dean wants to tell him, it was never like that. It's always been like this, only Sam didn't realize it.
"You know, we won't be the first alpha and omega mom and son to fall in love, Sammy," Dean begins. "It happened before and it will happen again. I know history, I've read the lore. Some even get married—"
"Great, you wanna march over to Cas and tell him I'm leaving him for you? Or shall I? You want me to abandon everything, and everyone, and be branded as a cheater and an omega whore for life? That what you want, Dean? 'Cause I'm telling you now that's not gonna happen!"
"Why not?"
"Why not?! Have you lost your mind? How can you even ask that? ... If we follow through—" Sam cuts himself mid sentence because he can't even fathom it. He begins again, "What becomes of your brother? Your dad, Dean? Have you thought of Cas? Have you thought how filthy and dirty I felt this morning? After last night? What we've done, what you've made me do—"
"I didn't make you do anything—"
"I was forced to—" Sam wants to say submit, but it feels too primitive and it only reminds him of how perverted he is, how he can't seem to keep his legs closed when his son is around. His cheeks flare up.
"Are you saying you didn't want it?" The question, laid bare like this, has a cruel bite to it. Dean already knows the answer, but he still pushes. "Because from what I remember, you were moaning in pleasure. You orgasmed twice. Or was it three times, mom? Wanna refresh my memory?"
"Dean, stop it!"
"Unless you're saying I raped you. Is that what you're saying?" "God, no," Sam whispers.
"'Cause I could have thrown everything out of the window and taken what I really wanted last night. I didn't. I let you set the pace, like I always do. But you're right in this with me. So don't you dare pretend you didn't want what I gave. The blow job, the kisses, my tongue down there, everything—"
"Shhh, stop," Sam covers his ears.
Dean sighs. "I may be pushy, mom, I can play rough but we both know I didn't force myself on you. Won't ever. It's just ... not in me."
"You're right. This is on me too ... and it's going to get worse as long as you're around," Sam says it, and for the first time, it hits him, the truth of it lands. Dean doesn't just need to go to Bobby's temporarily; he needs to move out altogether. But Sam doesn't broach this now. He's too scared, and too shaken up. He'll bring it up later. But it looks like it will come down to that. Cas is right. He's always been right.
Sam's heart breaks again, if that's even possible.
"Mom, can't you see? I'm hurting. I can't think. I can't sleep," Dean says, hoping to pull on
Sam's heartstrings, draw him in using a combination of worry and guilt like he used to do when he was younger. He's aware he's being manipulative, but he can't help it; he's very much in love. And he's not lying; he can't live like this. "Sammy, I don't know what to do."
Calling him by this nickname again is a mistake, Dean realizes, because Sam's face shifts and darkens when he hears it.
"Here's what you'll do, now." Sam says, with finality, getting off the bed and away from Dean. "Start packing. We're moving in an hour. Bobby's an early riser, I'll call him." He pauses, then adds, "And for the last time, I'm not your boyfriend or your husband, Dean, so it's mom, not Sammy. Mom's the only thing you get to call me."
When Dean stares daggers at him and doesn't respond, Sam decides to one-up his son in the pissed-off department and he throws the half-packed duffle violently at him. "Move!" Sam spits, and leaves the room.