Sam keeps his eyes trained on the spreadsheet in front of him, even as a cold hand slithers across his neck, over his shoulder and down his chest. As the hand begins to pry at the button of his pants, Sam catches it in one of his own. "I'm going to need at least another couple of hours."

"That's what you said a couple of hours ago," Castiel hisses into his ear and nibbles on the lobe.

Sam stretches his head away from the teeth. "It's a big project. You shouldn't wait up."

"Then you should put me to bed."

Sam sighs and swivels his chair around. Castiel pushes Sam's glasses up onto his head and crawls into his lap. Sam turns his nose up at the stench of booze. He turns to avoid a kiss. Castiel pinches his chin viciously between his thumb and forefinger and forces Sam to look at him. "Fuck me and I'll leave you alone."

Sam sighs at the ceiling. 'He is never going to leave me alone.'

Sam turns to stack his papers aside carefully. In one easy motion, he lifts a giggling Cas from his lap onto the edge of the desk.

"My tiger." Castiel wraps his jean-clad legs around Sam's waist. His hips buck up as Sam opens his zipper.

He lifts himself off the desktop to allow Sam to pull his pants off. Sam locks his gaze with dull blue eyes and grabs a fistful of Castiel's cock. Cas shoves him away. The lust on his face is instantly replaced by unmistakable rage. His voice breaks as he spits, "You fucker."

Sam takes a deep breath and purses his lips. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not." Castiel wipes messily at the wet trail of mascara already soiling his cheek. "Why would you do that?"

"I told you, I'm sorry. I got … carried away."

"You did it on purpose." He tucks his chin into his chest and sobs like a child.

Sam runs a hand through his own hair, knocking his glasses to the floor. "Cas, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to touch you there. I just … thought you might like it."

The sobs become a growl, "You know I don't like it. You know how much I hate it. I hate it. I hate it." Castiel punctuates his anger with punches to his own crotch. He gasps with the pain and begins to cry again, this time silently, with his head bowed.

Sam is paralyzed. As much as he wants to comfort Castiel, the only thing he ever seems to want is Sam's cock up his ass. That is entirely contrary to what Sam wants, which is for Castiel to leave.

So, he watches the breakdown from halfway across the room with one arm wrapped around his own body and one covering his mouth. For a moment, he doesn't recognize the electronic melody; it's not one he hears often. It sounds like light cascading down a gentle slope. It's a pleasant, relaxing sound that is at perfect odds with the ferocious look on Castiel's face when he glares over at Sam's phone. " Who is Dean?"

"I don't know."

"Dean Smith."

"Oh." Sam winces. He does know. "He's a kid."

"What does he want with you?"

"I don't know." That's not entirely true. It was plain as day on the kid's face.

"Are you fucking him?" Saliva sprays from Cas' mouth along with the accusation.

"Castiel."

"I will murder that bitch. I will gut him and hang him from the fucking balcony." He blinks violently, but he sounds like he's planning what to have for breakfast.

"Cas, calm down."

"WHY DON'T YOU FUCKING CALM DOWN? Huh?" With one sweep of his arm, all of Sam's work papers and the phone fly onto the floor.

Sam glances down at the mess, but doesn't dare to move. It's like facing down a rattlesnake.

Castiel stalks down from the desk and shuffles his feet over the papers, scattering and ripping them. "Is he pretty? Hm? Is he prettier than me? Is he younger? How old is he, Sam? HOW OLD?"

Sam is shocked into answering. "I don't know. Young. High school, probably."

He says 'probably,' although he already knows. Dean is his father's new golden boy. John Winchester is decent to, but doesn't chum up with, the kids who can't even throw straight. He is attracted to talent just like his son is addicted to misery.

'I must be. Why else would I put up with this?'

In unison with Sam's silent self-condemnation, Castiel snorts, "Jesus. You fucking pedophile."

"It's not like that."

"Is that what you want? Some hairless little pussy you can push around and make do whatever you want? Am I too old for you, Sam? Is that why you don't love me anymore?" Cas' face is streaked black with tears and makeup, like something from a horror film.

"Cas."

Castiel drops himself cross-legged onto the scraps of papers. Then, he hurls the phone. "Answer him."

Sam nearly fumbles, but manages to catch it. He stares down at the screen.

"Does he call you Daddy? Huh? Sit on your face with his tight, little, pink pussy?" Castiel crawls through the mess and wipes his polluted tears onto Sam's pants leg.

It's safe to assume that the stain will never come out. His hand hovers as if to stroke Castiel's hair, but he drops it again by his own side.

"I want to watch you sexting with your little baby boy." He gropes at Sam's crotch.

Sam brushes his hand away. "It's not like that, Castiel."

"No? Then, what's it like? Answer him, and I'll see for myself what it's like." He clings fast with his arms wrapped around Sam's leg.

Sam tries to push him away, but Castiel sinks his teeth into the meat of Sam's thigh. "Ouch. Stop it. I just met this kid. I don't know why he's writing me. I don't even know how he got my number, okay?"

Castiel tugs hard on his slacks. "Met him where, Sam? You go to work, you come home."

That is only because Castiel pitches a fit any time Sam tries to do anything other than go to work and come home. He isn't allowed to have friends or go out or engage in any kind of activity that doesn't include Castiel. And, frankly, Castiel is too unpredictable to take out. That always only backfires into some horrendous scene. So, Sam goes to work and comes home.

Sam finally sighs and kneels down next to him. "He was at my father's party."

"Oh. A sweet little kicker. I'll make you watch me slit his throat." His hands crawl like spiders over Sam's face.

"Would you stop it with that? I'm not sleeping with this kid, Cas."

"ANSWER HIM!"

"FINE!" Sam's phone lights up when he taps the screen.

UNKNOWN: Hey Sam. Dean Smith

Sam holds his breath and types back.

SW: Hello, Dean.

It takes less than a minute for him to answer.

UNKNOWN: HIG

He frowns over at Castiel. "I don't know what that means."

SW: ?

UNKNOWN: Hows it going

"Oh."

SW: Going ok. Not a good time, buddy

"Tell him to send a picture of his hairless…"

"Castiel, I swear to God." Sam grinds his teeth. He would never hit Cas, ever, in a million years. But sometimes he thinks about it.

UNKNOWN: K.

UNKNOWN: TTYL

Sam exhales and turns the phone to show Castiel all the harmless and perfectly appropriate messages.

Cas tosses it away and caresses Sam's face. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. I'm so stupid. I know you don't want any baby pussy. Let me make it up to you."

"Forget it." Sam stands up and tries to help Castiel do the same.

He refuses to stand. He chooses to remain on his knees in front of Sam so that he can claw at the button of his pants.

"Cas, no. Just get up."

"Let me. Sammy. Let me. Please. I'm so stupid. I just want to make you feel good. Please, let me. Don't be angry. Let me take care of you."

Sam closes his eyes as Castiel noisily slurps and slathers. Five minutes later, he gazes up with his ink-streaked face and spits out the still flaccid penis. "Don't you still love me anymore, baby?"

Sam looks down at the darkness clouding around those pitiful, bloodshot, storm-blue eyes. He can't stop himself from stroking chasm-black hair and murmuring, "Of course, I do."