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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-05
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770
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1/1
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5
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Magic Fingers

Summary:

A massage after a Hunt gone wrong is just what the doctor ordered.

Work Text:

Magic Fingers
by Sam-Tony

 
He didn’t bother to do more than throw his gear on the floor, empty sawed-off falling with a dull thud on the already stained carpet before his body followed suit on the bed, leaving Castiel to close the door behind them.  He knew the angel, trusted him to close and lock the door; to lay down the lines of salt and other things to ward the room for the night.  
 
Right now Dean was one long bruise and didn’t want to move; didn’t think he could if he wanted to.  The tepid spray that passed for hot water around here certainly held little in the way of tempting him off the bed; especially since this motel had Magic Fingers…
 
The metallic sound of a quarter slipping into that very slot made him smile, his lips stretching as he turned his head just enough to see Castiel settle on the corner of the other bed, the angel’s borrowed lips turned up in something that might have been a commiserating smile if Dean hadn’t known better.
 
“Does that really help?”  the angel asked, curiosity coloring the mild tone.
 
“Mmmmyeah,”  Dean mumbled, mouth pressed into the bedspread, too tired to do more than lie there and shake with the bed.  Next quarter he would turn over and let the bed do his back, if he could.  Right now though, not moving was just awesome.
 
Who knew ghosts could throw freakin’ dressers?  Or that the guy targeted by the thing would be more interested in seeing his dead girlfriend up and walking than saving his own skin?  When Dean had told him to run, the dick had just asked why - it wasn’t like she could do anything, she was dead.  Which, of course, pissed the bitch off and sent Dean diving for the dumbass so the guy would hopefully live to see just how very dangerous a woman scorned could become; especially one pissed enough to come back from the grave to haunt his dumb…well, ass.  Should have just left him there to deal with her…should have -
 
Castiel’s hands on his shoulders took him by surprise he was so out of it; the fingers digging in through two layers of shirts to the muscles abused by his subsequent crash into the living room wall much better than the bed rocking under him.  Dean groaned into the added touch and did his best not to disgrace himself by begging.  
 
“You have forever to stop doing that.”
 
He thought he managed the not begging thing pretty well, all things considered.
 
Castiel chuckled above him, the bed dipping so that the angel could get a better angle on his back.  “I’ll be sure to stop before then.”
 
Dean just snorted.  “Smartass.”
 
“I believe the proper response is that I learned from the best.”
 
“Humor!”  Dean gasped, and then grunted as he hit a particularly bad spot. Grousing, he groaned as the fingers dug in gently, working over the muscle and chasing the tension away with gentle repetition.  “Careful or they’ll revoke your angel card.  And by the way, you’re killing me, here.”
 
“Not today.  And that one is most likely going to bruise,”  he warned.
 
“Yeah I figured.  What did I land on anyway?”
 
“Coat rack.”  Castiel answered automatically, as if it had been in his nature to notice everything about the battle he hadn’t actually participated in.  Hell, for all Dean knew, maybe it was.  “It looked painful.”
 
“Ah.  Yeah, more than looked.  And who the hell uses coat racks anymore?”  
 
Still, between the bed and Cas’s magic fingers, Dean was slowly becoming something less than the one big knot he had been just a few minutes ago.  The angel knew just were to dig and were to knead and if he didn’t stop any time tonight Dean would be quite happy to fall asleep this way, clothes and all.  Cas could just let himself out…
 
He was just about to suggest that when Castiel shifted to straddle his ass, the better to reach his other shoulder, and so, of course Dean being Dean, his mind went completely to the wrong place.  Thank god all that came out was a strangled groan that he hoped could be chalked up to the fingers now digging little furrows of alternating pain and bliss in his other shoulder.
 
And still Dean being Dean, the little part of his traitorous mind not locked up safe and sound couldn’t help but wish if only he were naked and those fingers would work down to dig in a little lower…
 
“That - can be arranged.“  The voice that rumbled close and warm in his ear sent him jumping about a foot off the bedspread.
 

End