Castiel's eyes are wide as saucers as he looks up at Sam from the bed, taking in the huge wings that Sam so badly wants to tuck out of sight. He knows he's blushing, torn between embarrassment and an odd sort of satisfaction, because it feels oddly intimate baring his new wings for Castiel like this.

"They're beautiful," Castiel assures him, tone wistful as he gets up from the bed, moving toward Sam as if he's in a trance. "Can I…?" His hand is stretched out as if to touch, but he hesitates, waiting for Sam's permission, and there's something so sad and desperate in his expression.

"Yeah," Sam agrees, because he can't deny Cas anything, and truthfully he's wanted Castiel's hands on him ever since he'd seen the fallen angel's rapt gaze.

Castiel's touch is light, his fingers sweeping over the tip of one wing – just a fleeting touch, but "Oh f-fuck," Sam gasps, shuddering as the sensation makes its way all through his body, nerve ends tingling all over the place. "Do that again."

A smile quirks at the corner of Castiel's mouth, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he brings his hand back up to Sam's wing – which is stretching itself out beyond Sam's control, arching up into Castiel's touch – and ruffles a section of the feathers before smoothing them back out. Sam goes weak in the knees.

"I gotta, sit down," He gets out somehow, because Cas is going to kill him. How is it even possible to be so sensitive? Sam's brain shut off the second Castiel touched him, and he's lightheaded as he staggers over to the bed, his jeans suddenly much too tight to allow much movement. "Is it," He starts, meaning to ask Castiel if this is normal or something, but he's cut off by a mouthful of angel.

Castiel shoves him back down onto the bed, climbing up to straddle him as he fucks into Sam's mouth with his tongue. It's unexpected, to say the least, but then Castiel's dragging his fingers through the soft feathers on the insides of his wings, and Sam is past caring.

He arches up into the touch, wings fluffing up as he makes some sound that's half desperation half ecstasy. He'd be embarrassed, but then Castiel's wiggling his fingers in amongst his fluffy down, huffing into his mouth with his own pleasure, and it's all Sam can do to squirm under him, rubbing their jean-clad erections together urgently.

He's desperate in an instant, so fucking turned on it's like he doesn't even know what to do with himself. Luckily, Cas seems to have that all under control. "Want you," The fallen angel whispers against his lips, and yeah, okay, it's heady and amazing, and Castiel's hands are everywhere – touching and pulling and stroking through his feathers.

"Not gonna, Cas," Sam moans, because he's seriously not going to last like this, not with Castiel rubbing up against him like a cat in heat, his clever fingers burrowing themselves between feathered shafts to drive him absolutely fucking crazy.

He grips Castiel's damn trenchcoat just for something to hang onto, panting for air when Castiel finally releases his mouth. "Come for me," Castiel commands, threading his fingers through Sam's wings yet again, and honestly, it's the best idea he's heard all day. One little thrust up, back arching up with his wings, and Sam loses it.

"Cas," he moans, flopping back against the bed weak with tingly aftershocks, because his wings have apparently decided to take a more active role, stroking his lover's sides for a sensation so much like sex…

Castiel rolls off of him to snuggle up into his side instead, fingers still wandering over the base of his wing. He smiles up at Sam in a contented way as Sam tugs at his jeans, uncomfortably sticky against his skin. Damnit. "D' your wings – do they do that too?" He mumbles, because he's already starting to get hard again from Castiel's casual touches. This can't be normal, right?

"They did," Castiel responds quietly, and this time Sam knows he's not imagining the sadness there.

"What? Why not anymore?" Somehow he manages to stir enough to prop himself up on his side to look at his angel, gorgeous blue eyes shining with moisture.

"I fell, Sam. My wings rotted with my grace."

"Oh."

It's all he can do to wrap Castiel up in his arms, and his wings apparently decide that they're good for that too, because they surround them both, lying together on the motel bed. "If I could give you these," Sam offers, knowing there's no way, yet wishing he could anyway.

"I know." Castiel blinks the tears away, offering up his own weak smile in return. "Thank you Sam." He reaches up again, strokes one of his wings, and Sam shudders from where he's wrapped around Castiel. "Your brother will probably break the curse any minute now. I'm going to miss this."

"Me too," Sam agrees, cupping Castiel's chin in his hand to force his angel to look up at him. There's no trace of the sadness in his eyes anymore. Instead, Castiel's got a wicked looking smirk – one that's decidedly not angelic. "Umm, Cas?"

"Why not bang a few gongs?" Castiel suggests, grabbing Sam's wings in both fists to swing himself back up, toppling Sam against the bed again. For his part, Sam never realized how hot it could be to have Castiel manhandle him like this.

"What?" He checks, though it's really kind of obvious what Castiel's intention is. At least, it is when Castiel starts trying to rip his jeans off with one hand, the other still firmly fisted in his feathers.

"Round two," Castiel demands, apparently not set back a bit by having to take Sam's clothes off the human way. "And three if we have time."

"Wow, okay." And really – who is Sam to argue with that?