Broken
Silence

After weeks on the road, Dean Winchester is a raw nerve wrapped in leather and fury — road grit, cheap whiskey, and the kind of tension that only violence can cut. When Castiel appears in his motel room, quiet as ever, Dean doesn't waste a single word. He slams the angel against the wall, drags his jeans down his thighs, and takes what he needs — his hand locked around Cas's throat, his grip bruising on Cas's hip as he fucks him hard, deep, punishing. Castiel's broken, desperate sounds are the only answer. His wings tremble under his skin, visible in the human form. Dean doesn't slow, doesn't soften — he uses Cas like a claim, pushing into him until Cas is shaking and dripping with it. When he finally comes, he forces Castiel to his knees, one hand fisted in his dark hair, and makes him swallow every drop. Not a word passes between them after. Just the hum of the flickering motel sign, the smell of salt and angel, and Dean's chest heaving in the dark.