Cursed Intentions

Chapter 7

Sam slowly opens the motel door. The lights are off, and Dean is under his blanket. Castiel nowhere to be seen. As silently as he can, he makes his way into the room, careful not to disturb Dean, who appears to be asleep. Listening to Dean's heavy breathing, his brother sounds like he's in the middle of a nightmare, and Sam knows better than to get involved.

Hearing Sam move around the room, Dean tries to calm his breathing as sweat beads over his heaving chest and brow as he watches Sam's shadow. He tugs at the restraint a bit more, arching his hips up, inhaling at the pressure against the sensitive skin. After two attempts, Dean's successful in freeing his wrist. He slips a hand over himself, feeling his damp, aching erection still resting against his stomach. Quietly sitting up, Dean leans against the headboard, grabbing the pillow next to him and sets it over his lap. Reaching over, he clicks on the lamp on the nightstand. "Hiya, Sam," he says darkly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Startled, Sam stops mid-stride and looks at his brother. His brow knots, taking in the scene of Dean, shirtless and covered in sweat. His hair plastered against his face and a pillow in his lap. "Uh... Dean, is everything okay? I thought you were sleeping. Ummmm, do I need to leave for other reasons?" Sam coughs a bit, trying not to be awkward and failing terribly.

"Unless you want an eyeful, I suggest you take a lap," Dean says calmly with a smirk. Running a hand over his damp hair, he eyes Sam, amused with his awkwardness. Setting his hands on the pillow in his lap, he sees the beginnings of light bruises on his wrist. Dean curses Castiel silently under his breath, trying to wrap his mind around what's going on between them.

"I uhhhh... how long are we talking?" Sam turns around, looking at the books on the table. Walking over to them, he places a paper bag on the surface. He struggles to navigate the space with his brother.

Dean sighs, feeling himself growing more irritated. He rubs his face with his hands. "Just give me five minutes to throw some clothes on," he says, cooly, as he feels the heat rise to his face.

"Yeah, okay... can do." Sam disappears out the door, going towards the vending machines to grab a drink, or whatever.

Once Sam exits the room, Dean moves to the edge of the bed. He grabs the belt that had been digging into him and studies it intently, running a thumb over the soft, worn leather. Rubbing the back of his neck, Dean makes his way over to his duffel bag and begins digging through it. He slips on his boxer briefs and reaches for some jeans. Dean pulls them out; these pants destroyed too. His brow furrows before opting for a pair of pajama pants. Grabbing at a T-shirt, he finds that it also is in shreds. "Goddammit," he mumbles to himself as he grabs another T-shirt, pulling it on over his head. Dean stuffs the shirt, jeans, and belt in his duffel before walking over to the table. Sitting down, he grabs the nearby bottle of whiskey and takes a sizable gulp.

Sam returns to see his brother dressed and at the table. "Dean, it's midnight, you sure you want to start drinking now?" Walking over to the kitchenette, he opens the bag on the table and hands Dean a burger and a bag of fries. "I did manage to get us a little dinner," Sam says, hoping the food will suffice as an apology. Right as Sam is placing his food on the table, the sound of feathers fills the room revealing Castiel, who is standing at the door.

Castiel appears, slightly disheveled, his clothes haphazardly put on and his hair a mess, to put it lightly. Articles of his attire, like his belt, are missing, but he doesn't seem to care about it, as he stares at Dean. "Hello," he manages to address the brothers, straining for control.

Dean sighs and glares at Sam while he reaches for the food until Castiel draws his attention. He narrows his eyes as he takes in the angel's appearance, causing Dean's breath to hitch slightly. Ignoring Castiel's greeting, Dean reaches for the bottle again and takes another large drink. Pushing up from the table, he makes his way to the bathroom, wanting to put some distance between him and Castiel, angrily slamming the door behind him. Stepping in front of the mirror, he grips the sides of the sink tightly before turning the faucet on and splashing his face with cold water.