The Eye Burns Brighter

Over on teh tumblr, outofmymindbebackshortly requested “Sam/Castiel Space Pirates.”

Space pirates, ya’ll. Sassy fucking space pirates. 

I hope it goes without saying, but this was a goddamn blast to write.

The Eye Burns Brighter

When things went to shit, Cas was the first to notice.

He was burrowed into Sam’s lap, knees tucked into hips, his hand tangled in dark hair, his mouth open and willing and wide. Sam’s nails were in the small of his back, his growl curled around Cas’ tongue, the pilot’s seat tipped so far back that the floor seemed closer than the stars.

He had Sam’s cock in his fist, that lovely living thing shuddering in his palm, right on the edge of breaking. Sam was kicking his hips up, digging his mouth into Cas’ neck and moaning, the sound slinking under Cas’ collar and painting his chest with want.

Yes. They were busy.

But Cas could feel the shift in the plates, hear the whine of the engine go a little bit dark. It broke through the haze that Sam always twisted around him, the one that made his choices, however foolish, never quite seem like mistakes.

He cocked his head, tugged his mouth away, and sat up. Listening.

Sam chased him, swung his weight up so fast the chair almost snapped from its moorings. That sweet howl in his throat:

“Cas. Baby. Don’t leave me–”

“Shhh,” Cas whispered. “Don’t you hear it?”
Sam’s hands stopped on Cas’ hips and he arched, pressed their chests together. Let his heart pound into Cas’ ribs.

And listened.

The sound came again, louder this time. It shook the seat, the floor, the port, and send the viewscreens shuddering into snow.

“Shit,” Sam hissed.

They moved together, Cas uncoiling like a spring, Sam throwing himself at the nearest board, still cursing, shoving his dick into place.

“Goddamn it!” he managed, his fingers moving over the lights, the switches, in search of something he could push or punch or fix. “Cas!”

But Cas was already gone, his boots skidding down the ladder, his mind already moving towards the engine. That delicate balance of energy and good fortune that had gotten them this far, somehow. Surely she wasn’t going to give up now. Not when they were close. So close.

He went to her side, she like a big cat grumbling and spitting, throwing alarms in his face and the ship into a steady yaw that took too fucking long to come back, as far as Cas was concerned.

It’d been bad before. The ship itself was ancient, the engine just a little bit younger, and the whole mess was held together by the force of Sam’s will and the patience of Cas’ hands.

She’d been built and coddled by another, one who was long gone, and neither of them knew her moods like he had.

Like Dean had.

Cas knew they were fucked if he was thinking of Dean as anything but a pain in the ass.

She pitched back, brought herself out of the yaw–with some help from Sam, maybe–and Cas let his eye fly over the readouts, his fingers skating over the panels. Hoping he could feel something, see something that would explain why she was–

Then the first blast struck.

It was a glancing blow, Cas figured, because he was still in one piece, after. Could hear Sam reaching the limits of his profane vocabulary and moving on to Enochian and Swaddow and Pfri, this steady spit of fury that wasn’t doing a damn thing to help them, as far as Cas could see.

Which, admittedly, wasn’t all that far on a good day, even less when his whole world was flying all over the goddamn place, when all he could do was hang on.

There was a blast of static from the bridge, so loud it drowned out Sam’s curses and made the metal shake over Cas’ head.

Then a voice cut through the feedback, a sound that was worse than any siren, scarier than any freak-the-fuck-out alarm.

“Sam,” the voice boomed, a smokey grit that Cas would know anywhere, even when it was dressed up in the accent of the RP, all the edges that had made it Dean sloughed away and replaced by somebody’s idea of sophistication. Poise. Control.

“Stay your engines,” the voice–Dean–ordered. Daring them to disobey.

Cas went for the ladder, made it up just in time to hear Sam snarl: “Fuck off!”

Dean laughed, sitting somewhere out beyond the static. It wasn’t the sound that Cas remembered, the one he’d once elicited accidentally with a ill-placed word, an off gesture, a raised eyebrow. That he learned to solicit after a time, to draw out of Dean’s chest with a wink, a dry joke, a smile. That he’d listened to late at night as it wormed its way across the corridor and into his cabin, shifting from amusement to a sigh to a groan under Sam’s weight, giving way to grunts and moans and noises that Cas didn’t recognize then. That he knew now from the slam of Sam’s hips against his ass, the sounds that only Sam could jerk out of him and spill over the sheets, the deck, the wall.

He wondered if Dean remembered that language, if his body would still know how to sing at his brother’s behest.

The second shot hit below, sent them both into the bulkhead, and brought them to a grinding halt.

“Now you know that I can’t let you all just sail on by without at least a ‘how are you,'” Dean chided, his voice sharper through the speaker. Closer. “You’ve just been plain rude, is all. Not to mention that I happen to know that it was you who picked off that RP freighter last week.”

Sam sat up and Cas watched him flick the blood from his face. Stumble back to his feet.

“You’re full of shit,” he barked, glaring at the damn speaker as if he could see Dean’s face. “You don’t have a damn thing on us and you know it.”

Dean laughed again, and it was dark this time. Full of promise, the kind that Cas didn’t really want to see fulfilled.

“Well, little brother,” Dean breathed, and it was like he was standing there, his voice was so clear. So close. “I don’t think you’re in a position to be asserting your rights as citizen now, are you? All the way out here. All alone with just the little mutt at your side. How is he, by the way? Still taking you up the ass at every chance?”

“Better than you ever did,” Sam hissed, his face twisted in a way that made Cas’ heart ache.

He was a fool and he knew it. Here he was with one eye, not a lick of sense, and parsecs of devotion to man who still fucked him to spite his brother, even after all these years.

His choices never quite felt like mistakes. Not until they were up against the gun like this, helpless and wounded and completely and utterly fucked.

Then he questioned his life choices, sure. Marveled at how he’d managed to drift from the monastery on Philologia out to the edge of the solar system with a beautiful, half-wild pirate who harbored occasional delusions of grandeur.

It was a miracle he was still alive, some days.

“Sam,” Dean said, drawing the word out over his tongue. “Let’s make this easy, ok? On both of us.”

Sam clenched his fists and leaned over until his lips caught the speaker.

“Fuck. You.”

Dean sighed, and in his mind, Cas could see that leonine stretch, barely confined, he was sure, even by the lines of an RP uniform.

“Sammy,” Dean drawled. “You never could follow orders, could you.”

The grappling hook appeared over their heads, its teeth digging through the bulkhead, the flash of a bijou tube right behind.

Dean wouldn’t kill them, Cas knew. That’d be too easy, too neat. He’d had five years to wait, to sketch out whatever horrors he’d put his brother through when he had the chance, and Cas was sure he’d thought of a few to send Cas’ way, too. If only because it’d piss off Sam.

He felt long fingers around his wrist. Tugged his eye away from the gleam of the hooks and let it catch on Sam’s beautiful face.

“Cas,” Sam breathed. His body was hot, a furnace barely contained by his long coat, by the tight curve of his pants. His mouth–

God. His mouth was slicker and sweeter, more open, more demanding, even that it had been the first time they’d kissed. He’d driven Cas against the bulkhead, in the tight corner next to the ladder, two weeks after Dean had left, and tongue fucked him until Cas couldn’t stand, until his body went slack under Sam’s hands, until he came like a shot when Sam had touched him, drawn his cock out into the air and whispered into his ear.

And if Sam had said Dean’s name, then, instead of Cas’. Well. That’s the way it was, then.

But now, in this last moment, Sam didn’t speak. Just opened his mouth and let Cas drive in. Wound his hands into the waist of Cas’ trousers and hung on, rocking his hips forward, driving his cock into Cas’ thigh. Promising.

“Now boys,” Dean said, right in Cas’ ear. And he really was there, then, starched and beautiful and cruel, two guards at his side. “I think that’s enough of that.”

“I love you,” Sam said in Cas’ ear.

And Cas was sure, suddenly, that no matter what terrors were hidden behind the genteel glint of Dean’s smile, that wicked sharp thing–they’d make it out ok. He and Sam.

They always found a way out.

Even as the guards snagged him, lifted him up into the bijou, he knew.

This wasn’t the end.

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