Punishment
Drive

Dean Winchester is in a filthy mood—the road has been long, the hunt a failure, and every memory he's tried to drink away keeps circling back. Castiel makes the fatal mistake of looking at him with too much patience, too much understanding in those endless blue eyes. That's all it takes. Dean snaps, shoving Castiel face-down across the grimy motel desk, not bothering with lube or prep or the careful gentleness he sometimes shows. He's raw, brutal, and deep in one brutal shove—sinking into the angel's body with a groan that's equal parts relief and punishment. Cas grunts, takes it, fingers scrabbling at the wood grain as Dean sets a punishing pace from the first thrust. Each slap of hips against the angel's ass is a confession Dean won't speak. He grips Cas's hips hard enough to bruise, to leave fingerprints in pale skin, fucking him like he's trying to exorcise his own demons. They're both trembling within minutes. Cas breaks first—comes untouched with a choked, broken cry, spilling across the motel stationery. Dean doesn't stop. He keeps driving, chasing his own release, emptying himself deep inside with a guttural sound that's almost surrender. Then he stays there, buried, panting hot and hard against Castiel's neck. Neither of them moves for a long, long time. The only sounds: harsh breathing, a ticking clock, and the distant hum of a neon Vacancy sign.