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Sam could feel the metal of the handcuffs biting into his skin as he pulled against them, desperate to touch his cock now that Dean had settled into a steady rhythm of thrusting. He wrapped his legs around Dean's hips instead, thrusting up against his dick with all the leverage he could muster.

"God, Sammy," gasped Dean, the hand on Sam's hip tightening hard enough to leave bruises. The bed was shaking and they were both breathing in desperate gasps, but the blood was pumping in Sam's ears so loudly he could barely hear it.

He heard the bang as the door burst open though, and the shout that followed. "FBI! Nobody move!"

Dean swore and pulled away, and Sam couldn't prevent a small groan at that, his body slow to catch up with what his ears and eyes were telling him. The room was filled with uniforms, all pointing guns at them, but after the first shout they seemed to have been struck strangely dumb.

"Holy crap," someone muttered.

"Christ," said Dean, "You couldn't have waited five minutes?" He sounded irritated, but Sam saw from the tense line of his shoulders that he knew exactly how much shit they were in. Sam pulled at the handcuffs again, but there was no more give than there had been a moment before, when all he'd wanted was to put a hand on his cock.

"Dean Winchester," said Agent Henriksen, looking annoyingly gleeful and smug. "You're even more of a sick bastard than I'd thought. I didn't think that was possible."

Dean didn't seem to have noticed that he was completely naked, or that several of the officers were blatantly ogling him, but Sam felt extremely uncomfortable about being handcuffed naked to the bed in front of so many strangers. He wondered if there was some way he could pull the sheets up with his feet to cover himself.

"Henriksen," acknowledged Dean. "Fancy meeting you here. Unfortunately, we're a bit tied up right now, so if you could just come back later? Maybe next year?"

The agent snorted. "Nice try. On your knees, hands behind your head."

"That's a little kinky, even for me," Dean joked, but when Henriksen cocked his gun with a click, he obeyed. "Can I at least put some pants on before you drag me into the street?" he asked. There was some prevarication and a quiet protest from some of the female officers, but he was grudgingly allowed to pull on his jeans, after they'd been checked for weapons and paperclips.

"You're not getting away this time, Winchester," said Henriksen. "I'm going to make sure of that personally."

Sam cleared his throat. "Could someone uncuff me?" He resisted adding 'please' on the basis that they were probably going to spend the rest of their natural lives in jail, and he wasn't going to need to be polite for that.

The two police officers nearest him shifted slightly and looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes, but neither of them made a move. Sam sighed. "Dean, where's the key?"

Dean, now at least partially dressed and kneeling on the floor again, blinked at him. "Key?" he asked, sounding puzzled.

"To the cuffs," Sam prompted him impatiently.

"Uh," said Dean. "I think there's a paper clip in my jacket."

Sam banged his head back against the bed. "I hate you," he said bitterly.

In the end, after all the assembled FBI agents and police officers had admitted they didn't know how to pick a lock with a paper clip, they uncuffed Dean again and let him open Sam's cuffs, by which time Sam was fuming, humiliated, and getting chilly. Henriksen kept his gun trained carefully on Dean while he worked, as if a paper clip could somehow be transformed in his hands into a weapon capable of taking out a dozen fully-armed officers of the law.

The moment the cuffs clicked open, Dean was pulled away, re-cuffed and hauled out the door, followed by half the team. Sam was slightly peeved to notice that those left looked to be the rookies, as if he was less of a danger than Dean. He felt like pointing out that he was the one that had escaped the jail in Milwaukee, but instead he kept his mouth shut and sat up slightly gingerly.

A female police officer handed his jeans and said, "It's okay, he won't be able to hurt you anymore," as if Sam was a frightened child.

Sam blinked at her twice. "Um," he said and caught the eye of the guy standing behind her, who was grimacing slightly as if he couldn't believe the naivety he was surrounded by. "It's okay," he said, pulling on his jeans, "He only hurts me when I beg." The woman reacted even better than he'd hoped - after a couple of seconds of 'huh?' she started back - actually jumped back a couple of paces in surprise - and then blushed a furious red.

She wasn't able to meet his eye after that, even as they dragged him out of the room and bundled him into a police car. Dean had already disappeared, presumably in a different police car, and Sam resigned himself to several long days of interrogations and mind games before he saw him again. If he ever saw him again.

That thought chilled him to the bone, so he blocked it out as hard as he could, staring out of the window at the nowhere town passing by instead. They'd get out of this, somehow, manage to escape again, and then he'd finally get off. He just had to hold on to that certainty, no matter what happened.