[Castiel] Thursday's child has far to go. (childofthursday) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-08-08 17:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, castiel, dean winchester |
Who: Castiel & Dean Winchester
What: Dean pushes, Castiel kindly returns the favor.
When: Tuesday 06, August
Where: Their house (not in the middle of the street)
Rating: nc-17 because sex. And it’s good.
Status: Complete
It had been very strange going back to work after having taken the week off (to get married. and then to sit in the hospital. He'd taken one more day after that just to sleep). Cas hadn't been kidding when he said people were asking over Dean and giving him strange looks. Then again, he supposed Dean must have seemed mysterious to his coworkers -- coming out of nowhere and then a month later, Cas, who they'd all worked with for well over a decade now, was stupid in love (Dean's words), married and sporting an entirely new name.
He did not blame them for continuing to call him James, and he probably never would.
He was pleased when the work day was over though -- being able to come home to Dean was… nice. Of course, he was still a little worried over his husband, but at least he could worry in his own home.
Plus there was the matter of both Shark Week and sorting out all the little new animals he'd caught in Pokemon. Really, he was certain they didn't give enough storage boxes in order to properly categorize them. It was a bit of a hassle.
Car parked and keys settled in a little bowl on the kitchen counter, Cas poked his head into the living room to see if Dean was there before looking any further.
Dean had just gotten out of the shower and was coming down the stairs in sweats and a loose t-shirt while he toweled off his hair. “Hey handsome,” he said, drawing Cas close around the waist from behind and kissing the side of his head. “How was work?”
Sure he would never quite get used to the way Dean made his heart excite a little every time they touched, Castiel gave a tiny quirk of the lips in smile, leaning in a bit closer. "Work was fine." He'd had a lot of paperwork to catch up on, but that was to be expected.
Turning, so that he was face to face with Dean, he gave his husband a scrutinizing look. "How do you feel?"
Dean kissed him slowly to distract him from words or maybe thoughts or asking about that. Though this was Cas and so he wasn’t going to let things go. “Woke up with some new ink,” he murmured. “Your angel parts know what this is?” Hey, it was an excuse to take off his shirt, right? It worked. Granted, he didn’t need one, but still.
Cas didn't really forget things once his mind was on them but he was able, for the moment, to let it slide. "Angel parts?" He asked, but was not as perplexed as he made out to be, even as ran his fingers over the tattoo. "This is an anti-possession symbol," he said rather simply, “it does exactly what it sounds like."
Dean closed his eyes, enjoying even the softest brush of touch of Cas’ fingers over his skin. Yeah, Cas could tell him anything as long as he could enjoy those fingers. “Feel better knowing I’m safe and sound?” he asked, tilting his head, smirking softly. “At least from getting possessed. Useful, right?”
"I wouldn't let you become possessed." Castiel wasn't actually sure how he could stop something like that, but he was possessive and protective enough both where he was sure he wasn't lying when he said so.
Then again, he wasn't sure there were any demons here to worry about, anyway.
"But -- it is a pleasing sort of marking, yes." Cas speak for I like your tattoo? Sure. He liked it (or Dean shirtless) so much, he pressed his lips to it.
Dean raked his fingers through Cas’ hair, then tightened his grip a little to pull him up to kiss him properly. “Wouldn’t you?”
Proper kisses were amazing. Castiel had never really known this until he'd met Dean, and then had them abruptly taken away for nearly a week. He'd missed them enough where he was concerned he might never stop now that they'd started again.
Dean tasted good -- like maybe he'd brushed his teeth in the shower, and the toothpaste was mixed a bit with whatever soap he'd used. It was so preferable to the whiskey flavor from a few weeks ago that it was nearly bewildering.
Breathing had to happen eventually, and he found an answer then. Sort of. "I don't--?"
Dean’s fingers were still tight in Castiel’s hair. “You don’t?” he asked, keeping his lips just in kissing distance, brushing Cas’ with warm air from his mouth as he spoke but refusing to let him complete the action.
Shutting his eyes for the shortest of moments, Cas gave a slight sigh that he was pleased didn't turn into anything more needy. "Know what you mean," he murmured, fingers settling on the jut of Dean's hips. The hair tug was nearly painful but in a delicious sort of way, and the thought maybe he could push it a bit further just for more kissing.
“You wouldn’t let me get possessed,” Dean said lowly. This was play. He’d never actually hurt Cas. He’d never raise a hand to anyone, but it was sometimes hard to reconcile himself with the man in his dreams. He didn’t think that Dean would do it either, but the man had been broken enough to torture souls in hell and...well maybe eventually Dean could use that particular skill set to a more pleasurable end. Maybe this was testing those waters.
He didn’t let Cas go for the kiss, but he allowed his hands to stay where they were.
Cas licked his own lower lip and was silent for a time, as if assessing this new situation -- before finding it acceptable. His eyes met Dean's and he kept that eye contact going.
"No. I wouldn't." He brushed his thumbs against hip bones.
“Oh, pretty boy,” Dean said, voice a sultry smirk. “You shouldn’t promise things you can’t deliver on. Bad form.” With that, he stepped away. That was enough for now. He was just hovering on the edge of scaring himself.
Due to the sudden change of --whatever that was -- Cas had to stand still and take a breath to calm himself (and hopefully his erection) down. He was nothing if not focused, though. "I'd protect you, Dean."
Reaching out again, he pulled Dean closer. He never quite wanted to let the other man go when he was near.
Despite the drugs in him, Dean felt himself snap all teeth and anger pinning Cas against the wall by the stairs. “Protection isn’t your job, Cas. You sell insurance. I kill things. You can’t protect me any more than I can navigate all the clauses and subclauses. Not your job. Mine, and if I decide that your life is worth more than mine, then that’s my choice. You got it?”
It was unfair what Dean did to him. Castiel wasn't used to all this emotion, didn't know how to deal with it. It used to be that he'd been a man with no real fire to him, he'd never felt particularly strongly about anything. Not like this.
Now it was too much -- so obvious in the way that he couldn't seem to settle on any particular expression. He went from shocked -- a gasp of a breath fought for once all the air was knocked out of him when he was pin against the wall -- to disturbingly aroused in a few seconds flat. "Dean--"
But then, when all those words sank in, he couldn't even keep that particular feeling, and all his hungry want drained out of him as quickly as it'd appeared. He was angry. Because Dean was being so Dean. "No." His fingers curled firmly around Dean's wrists and he narrowed his eyes into a hard squint. "That isn't how it works."
“No?” Dean asked, but most of the fight had gone out of him in the face of that glare. It was real, real close to the look Cas got when he said he could throw Dean back into hell in the dreams. He wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with how much he wanted both to have Cas begging and writhing under him and to encourage that anger in his husband.
He went with the latter. He couldn’t handle giving out hurt like that in the former just yet. He wanted to. Just not yet. He sneered at Cas, setting a challenge before him, but didn’t pull his wrists away. “How do you protect me when I’m not sure you even know how to get me to behave? How the hell would you stop me?”
Sure that he'd never had quite so many retorts on the tip of his tongue at once, Cas had to let the angry silence sit between them as he sorted it all out. He wasn't big on talking, Dean knew that -- and that he did only infuriated Castiel more; he was being forced into this.
You should show me some respect. It was right there, and how desperately he wanted to say it. But even angry, he couldn't. Feeling a hurt that had nothing to do with the way he was pressed against the wall, he could only frown more deeply. "You don't think I could?" His grip tightened against Dean's wrists -- not painful, but tight. "Do you think me so weak willed that I would not stand up for or against you, Dean?" I pulled you from perdition. He didn't need to say it; the words were already there, in his too-low tone.
Dean found himself so hard, so fucking hard. This side of Cas he liked more than he wanted to admit to. “I don’t think you know how,” he said, arms flexing a little, allowing Cas his grip and giving him access to more if he wanted. He leaned in and spoke low against his angel’s ear. “I think you’ve spent so long being well-behaved, a good little boy who doesn’t get in trouble that fighting is a foreign concept to you. Tell me, Castiel, do you know how to give an order and make it obeyed or just to follow them and let anger fester quietly under your skin?”
Castiel let out a harsh noise of annoyance in a puff of breath, jaw set and molars grinding together just once. Some part of him knew that he was being goaded on, but it wasn't a part that was prevalent enough for him to take a deep breath and separate himself logically from this.
Dean's words rang too-true. Here, he'd never been in a fight at all -- he had always been well behaved, to the point of being the one who faded into the background -- his behavior had not gotten him praise or reward, it had just been expected. And in his dreams, of course he'd fought. He was a soldier, a warrior of God. But only ever on orders, free will was not something that Angels were given. Dean was exploiting this, laying his faults out bare and daring him to be more.
"Shut up." It was an order and Castiel made Dean obey in the only way he knew how -- he pulled the other man forward and pressed his lips hard against Dean's in a kiss that was nearly all bite.
Pressed tight against Castiel, there was no hiding how much of a physical effect this was having on him. The kiss was nearly savage, his lips already halfway to bruised with Cas’ intensity. Nevermind that he was still technically pinning Cas against the wall. It was more that Cas was using his wall leverage to keep Dean there anyway.
He broke free enough to pull his wrists away and then push back, almost daring Cas to come after him. This was a beast he really seemed to enjoy baiting. He walked backwards to the stairs. Upstairs and bed seemed like the best option.
Back straight against the wall, Cas had to force himself to stay still for a moment, to just watch Dean move toward the stairs. A large part of his anger drained away from him, a completely different kind of urgency and want replacing it. He was nearly dizzy with it, and had to brace himself against the wall, had to take a deep breath.
He let his eyes flutter closed for only a moment before moving to follow his husband. Dean was only person on the planet that could make him feel so much at once. He should have been angry still.
"Go," he said, and only for half a second considered not following at all. It would have served Dean right -- but it wouldn't have done either of them any lasting good.
“Or what?” Dean challenged, brow arching as he stood halfway up the stairs. “What do you think you can do to me? You’ll get your feathers ruffled and then what? Back down because you don’t want me to see the side you never let out?”
"Stop." It was as much pleading as it was another order, as if Castiel no longer was sure where he was in terms of emotion. He was turned on -- that much was obvious considering how uncomfortable his slacks currently were. But he was still a little mad, a little hurt and a lot confused. Why Dean had to push at every single thing just to see how far he could get before it broke or pushed back, he didn't know. But he was aware that was what was going on, now. "Dean. Stop."
Dean scrutinized the situation for a long moment and then simply nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He turned and went up the stairs, grabbing his shirt and pulling it back on while he did. A drive would do him some good, and maybe when he got back, Cas wouldn’t realize that Dean was a complete shit show and it wasn’t too late to get their marriage annulled. Or maybe he would. Whatever the consequences, Dean would deal with them when they happened.
Sinking down to sit on the stairs, Cas let out a breath that was embarrassingly shaky. Too many nerves had been uncovered at once, and now he had to add concern on top of it. Had he done wrong? He certainly hadn't made a passing grade if this was a test, because he'd done just as Dean predicted he might -- ruffled hypothetical feathers and then backed down immediately. It had been too much, though. Too fast.
"Where are you going?" Cas was sort of blocking any and all exits just by sitting in the middle of the stairs.
Dean had since put on jeans and grabbed his wallet. “Somewhere where I can’t fuck things up.” The only way around Cas in the middle of the stairs was simply to go around, and so Dean did the most logical thing and jumped the railing, making his way to both his shoes and the keys to his car.
“I’ll be back.”
There it was again, annoyance practically stinging the back of his throat like it was something he wished he could swallow back down. On a good day, watching Dean hop over a stairway railing would be close to unforgivable. Today, it was completely -- that his husband did it to avoid even touching him was so hurtful, Castiel was almost sure that the feeling was palpable in the air.
It was a little amazing how fast his erection had subsided.
"No." Cas' tone was steely, despite the fact that he was warring with all these feelings. He was certain that if nothing else, Dean wasn't leaving. There would be no avoiding this. He stood, easily making his way toward Dean before the door could be open. "Stay. You're staying."
Even in the dreams, Dean hadn’t heard that tone from Cas. That was an order. That was exactly what he’d wanted from Cas in the first place. And now he was in a place where listening to orders was something he could actually do.
“Cas...” he said, backing up. He could make it to the back door if he wanted, could actually run and outpace Cas, he was sure of it. The problem was right now it was really damn hard to say Cas instead of Sir, because that was what that tone commanded, it wanted his heels struck hard together, his spine straight and his shoulders back. It was effort to keep standing there like a normal human being and not the good little soldier he was.
"Stay," Cas repeated, tone more gentle this time, but no less assertive. Dean had to stay, because this wasn't something that either should let sit and Cas half feared Dean might be tempted to go find something to drink if he let him go. He settled his hand on Dean's arm -- the sleeve of his shirt between his fingers and the mark they both knew was there. He didn't grip tight, or really even hold Dean -- just let his fingers sit there; it was just as gentle a touch as it was possessive. That was his mark.
"Please. Don't go. I can't--" He paused, eyes flickering away and toward the ceiling and then back just as quickly. "Just stay. With me." Even with a please added in, it was clear he wasn't taking no as any kind of response.
I don't want me. Why the hell do you? Dean thought but didn't say. It was right up there with Cas deserving better. Truth was, he couldn't either. "I need you," he said roughly.
"And I don't need you too be gentle or kind or understanding. I need you to be firm and demanding because I've gotten too many passes for my shit lately.” Dean wasn’t a good person, and maybe a night of paying for it would do him some good.
Cas licked his own lips, looking lost and thoughtful for a moment too long. There was a lot he wanted to say here, but wasn't sure how. Didn't Dean know that he was just naturally gentle? Kind? Understanding? It wasn't just a face he gave to the world because he thought everyone else might like it. It was just how he was -- even if he didn't show it, he had always had too much heart.
But if Dean needed him to be something else, because Dean had asked him to be something else with such heartbreaking honesty, Castiel decided he could be. He could turn all his natural inclinations into something else. Dean wouldn't have to know that this was him being kind, understanding.
He glanced back at Dean, dropped his hand away from the other man and gave one tiny tilt of his head in a nod. "Go upstairs, take your clothes off and get into bed." He glanced at an oversized clock on the far wall of the living room. "You have three minutes." Three minutes that he would need every second of to get into a completely different, foreign frame of mind. He'd do it. But only because Dean had asked.
“Yes, Castiel,” Dean said. And he stood looking at him for a moment, making sure that this was a thing that was alright, that Cas was okay. He didn’t waste any more time down there though. He stepped out of his shoes and went up stairs. Taking his clothes off wasn’t a thing that ever took more than a minute, much less three. Still, he did it, and made sure they all went in the hamper so that Cas wouldn’t have anything to be upset about. Anything more to be upset about.
He hadn’t asked how Cas wanted him in bed, though in retrospect, he maybe should have. Instead of thinking too hard about it, he sat at the end of the bed and waited, breathing, letting the anticipation drive his arousal back up to where it had been before.
While he'd said three minutes, Cas decided to give himself a full five. He was aware Dean was never slow with undressing, and decided that waiting would probably do his husband some good.
Cas was punctual to the point of early, he had to force himself to slow down and breathe. He removed his shoes, socks and suit coat, putting everything in a proper place; he kept his belt on.
After a few more minutes of staring at the clock, he went upstairs, too -- shirt untucked and unbuttoned, but not really off. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame until his cheek was pressed up against the cool wood, and watched Dean for a moment. "You can talk if you need to. Ask any question you need to. No arguing, no attitude."
“Yes, Castiel,” Dean said, forcing himself to say the other man’s name instead of ‘sir.’ Sir had been used in too many different ways for him and he needed Cas to know that this was fully him, that what Dean was giving to Cas was for him alone and how much he appreciated that he was getting it in return.
He lifted his head and looked at his husband, straightening and setting his shoulders back, hands still on his thighs. He didn’t know what else to do. “How would you like me?”
Cas hadn't really promised to give any answers to questions though -- it was nearly a relief, because he felt like he'd run out of words right around the point where this had all started and just needed to be silent. At least for a moment.
Moving further into the room, the angel crawled onto the bed and pulled Dean back with little touches until he was sitting in the middle of the mattress and Cas had enough room to straddle either side of his lap and then ground himself down against his husband until he was mostly sitting. Even with his nerves as they were, this was -- well. Pretty arousing. That made it easier, made it feel a little less like he was playing at something.
"No touching," he murmured, leaning close until his lips brushed against Dean's jawline and slight stubble. "Understand?"
Dean actually whimpered. The only reason he knew what that sound was fully was because he was so used to it coming from Cas. His hands held tight to the blanket beneath him and he nodded. “Yes, Cas.” This was difficult already. He wanted to touch him, to manhandle him until he was on his back and then grab his hair and drive into him all teeth on his neck and fierce possessiveness. But this was what Dean wanted and damnit, he was going to let himself have it.
"Good." Cas tilted Dean's head back by pressing the tip of his nose against his chin and bumping upward, kisses were not given but the brunet did see fit to suck and lick a weal into Dean's throat -- on the exact spot where his pulse was the most obvious. He ran well manicured, but a little too short nails down Dean's sides -- not hard, but definitely a scratch.
Castiel had designs to make this a very, very slow burn for Dean.
For a moment when Cas started sucking, when his fingers dragged down his sides, Dean’s hips arched upwards before he could stop himself. His biceps tensed, and Cas was rewarded with a soft, slightly desperate whine.
“Castiel,” he said, and found that the name suited the tone on his lips quite nicely.
Cas rather liked the way it sounded, himself. He pointedly ignored the way his pants had gone uncomfortable, particularly in this positioning, because he could wait. Because tonight was about Dean, whether he knew it or not.
He offered Dean's neck another little bite, settled his hands firmly on his hips -- nails digging into the jut of bone just a little -- and leaned back a little to look Dean in the eye. Eye contact was never a bad thing. "Yes, Dean?"
Dean’s eyes fluttered open. “You feel good,” was all he could manage, lost in that gaze. It was so, so hard not to touch him, but Cas had never said anything about not touching himself and so Dean did. It wasn’t so much to get himself off, but more an effort to keep himself under control, trying to grip the base of his cock tightly without touching his husband.
"Thank you." Hey, being in control didn't mean he couldn't be polite at the same time -- Castiel was always just on this side of pleasant, anyway. Something had to make up for all that awkwardly weird.
"Don't," he said, of the touching."You don't get anything until I give it to you. Until I tell you you can have it." He bit the curve between Dean's neck and shoulder between sentences. "Can you do that? Or do I need to show you that I'm fully capable of tying knots?"
Dean whined. He actually fucking whined. He did, however, move his hand away of his own accord. It was on the list of most difficult things he’d had to do ever, or at least in that moment it felt like it.
“I-” He gasped. Fuck, Cas’ perfect little teeth were amazing. Did he know that? He needed to know that. “I don’t think I can, Cas.” It was honest, and it would do him some serious good to have something else to pull at with his hands. “Please.”
Cas considered that for a purposefully long moment before giving the barest hint of a nod and removing himself from Dean's lap. The fabric of his slacks was utter hell against his erection, but he kept a straight face. "Move back. Against the headboard." Good thing that Castiel had been so diligent in picking out a proper bed, decorative but sturdy wrought iron designs making up the headboard. He had never considered before that it was perfect for tying a man to.
He picked his least favorite ties from the closet, ones that he would not mind wrinkling, and then moved to perch on the side of the bed.
Dean figured that if he was still sitting up, actually tying him to the headboard wasn’t going to be the easiest of tasks, so he stretched out on his back and put both his hands above his head by what he thought was the best place to put them. If Cas wanted him moved, he’d just move him, right?
He took a steadying breath and moved his gaze away from his own body to focus solely on his husband. I love you, he thought as hard as he could, but didn’t say. It didn’t seem to be the time for soppy declarations of love. He let his actions show his trust and therefore his love instead.
Cas knew anyway. He knew that this wasn't something Dean would have asked just anyone for -- and that it hadn't been easy for him to ask in the first place. No, he'd just tried bullying and goading to make this happen, the angel saw that now for what it was.
He leaned over, taking one of Dean's wrists into his hands and pressing his lips in a soft kiss against his palm. And then he set to work tying knots. The kind that he'd learned from books about sailing when he'd been younger and eager to study anything that seemed a little different. He wasn't looking to make Dean uncomfortable or unsafe, and so worked with a silent diligence. Once he'd finished on one hand, he crawled over Dean (brushing against his erection almost teasingly) to work on the next.
Dean’s hand was very definitely not going anywhere, and wiggling his fingers once Cas was done with his work on both told him that his circulation was going to be just fine. Later, he’d ask where Cas learned how to do that.
He tested his bonds, and then looked up at Castiel, for once in his life actually wanting to be told he looked beautiful. He felt like art. It was a very strange, very arousing feeling. “Do I please you?” he asked instead of all that. He very much wanted to please Cas, even if (especially if) this was the only time they did this.
Cas leaned back until he was sitting on his own heels, and just stared at Dean for a time, before offering a gentle smile. He knew Dean had asked for him not to be, but it was in his nature and he couldn't pretend completely that it wasn't.
"Of course you do, Dean." His tone was as honest as ever, because he was being as honest as ever. "You're being very good. And you look perfect like this. Do you know that?" As complimentary as he was being, he did not touch.
Dean wasn’t sure he had any blood to spare to blush, but he was also pretty sure that he was managing it. “Thank you, Castiel,” he said. He didn’t know he looked perfect like this, but he knew he liked Cas looking at him like that.
Dean shifted a bit to get slightly more comfortable, to maybe arrange himself in a more pleasing, inviting way for Cas. His gaze dropped down to the very obvious line in Cas’ slacks. Unconsciously, he licked his lips, wondering if maybe Cas fucked his face, came all the way down his throat, he might be able to focus more on making Dean as erotically miserable (and delighted) for as long as possible. If Dean was having such a hard time focusing, Cas had to be too. It only made sense.
Cas was having a hard time focusing. At this point, he was fairly sure if he took his pants off a slight breeze might do him in. But he still had something to say, and then he'd worry about dealing with that. Or making Dean deal with it.
"You are welcome, Dean." He licked his lower lip again, and watched his husband for a bit longer, very much enjoying the way he squirmed. "Dean?" But he didn't know why he'd made that a question, because he certainly wasn't waiting for his husband to answer. "The next time you want -- need -- something from me like this, you need only ask." It was a weird time to say it, but also kind of the best. Dean sure as hell wasn't going anywhere.
That cut right to Dean’s heart, maybe even deeper, like it was a hot blade that traced the path that Cas’ handprint seared onto his soul. If he weren’t so much himself, he might’ve let the guilt make him cry. He didn’t, but part of him wanted to. He closed his eyes.
“I didn’t know how,” he said softly. “Everyone seems to expect me to be the strong one, to handle my shit and...” Dean didn’t think he was allowed to ask to be weak, to let go and allow someone else to take care of him, to protect him and use him like this, to make him feel like he could let down his guard and trust someone.
He opened his eyes and looked up at Cas again. “I will.”
"I know," Cas murmured, lowering his eyes and tracing a finger slow and sure down the inside of Dean's thigh. "Thank you." He knew Dean got what he was saying, knew that even with so few words on the subject, his husband had been warned about being so carelessly hurtful and was guilty for it. No more needed to be said on the matter -- he'd said just enough, and that was that.
"Now." Castiel moved deliberately to undo his belt and then the button to his slacks. "You're going to do something for me."
Dean spread his legs further for Cas, needing him. “Anything,” he said, and it felt like a promise that meant far more than what was going on right in that moment. Nothing meant more to him.
“Always.” Up to and including his life, his very damn soul. He didn’t know how he survived in the world before Cas came into it. Dean was pretty sure he wasn’t counting what he did as surviving at all.
What Dean probably did not realize was that Castiel would very much prefer if Dean didn't think self sacrifice was something that needed to happen. But really, at the moment, it wasn't something he was going to dwell on. His erection was literally painful at this point, and Dean was so terribly eager, he could think of nothing else. He shimmied out of his slacks and boxers, for once in his life ignored the fact that they were in a pile on the floor, and then crept over Dean until he was nicely positioned in front of him.
Cas didn't even tell Dean what he wanted, just offered a look that said he ought already know, and probably he should just get to it.
It took Dean a little shifting to manage to get at an angle where he could do it properly, but once he was, he’d never taken a cock in his mouth so fast and intensely in his life. True, he’d only ever taken Cas’ cock in his mouth, but it still counted. Sucking without his hands to stabilize himself was a challenge as was not shifting his hips so that he could try to get off too, but he managed both no matter how tight his balls were and how desperately he needed attention too. This was about being a good boy for Cas and hoping that good boys got rewards for once. Even if that reward was just making Castiel feel good.
Cas couldn't help the groan that escaped him; Dean's enthusiasm made up for the fact that he had no hands to use, no leverage because of it. "Yes," he murmured out, encouraging, because really it was good. "Perfect." Never mind the fact that he was taking a page out of Dean's own book -- tiny encouragements for something different and new.
Threading his fingers behind Dean's head, Cas held it still and saw absolutely no reason not to move his hips a bit, slow at first but rather promising to build that speed up and soon.
One of Dean’s legs bent while he tried to contain himself. His toes curled against the bed spread, and he did his best to relax his jaw, his throat and encourage Cas to take everything he wanted from him. He moaned. He couldn’t do anything but. Need. That was the only word he had for it. Just pure, unadulterated need so intense that he couldn’t keep his eyes open for it. Dean didn’t think he was allowed to come yet, and if he looked at Cas he might do just that.
True to his own assumption, it didn't take long for Cas to come -- Dean's name being hissed out the only warning given a second before hand and hands firmly keeping Dean's head in place. Castiel was not a cruel man by nature, and even now he was oddly careful to make sure that Dean could take it -- could swallow properly without choking or coughing. He realized that this was an act of complete trust, and even if Dean wanted him to be demanding he would not force more than the other man could take.
Dean kept his eyes closed as he swallowed, was grateful that Cas let him manage everything at a pace where he could still breathe through his nose when he finally, finally, looked up at him. There was something permanently ethereal about Castiel, something that seemed to perpetually draw Dean to him, made him want to be the best man he could.
Dean needed to give him everything, and then somehow scrape around his bits of soul to see if there was even more he could offer up to Cas. Who needed God when there was Castiel?
Castiel would likely beg to differ, but then he'd always been a religious man. But sometimes, like now, God was the last thing on his mind. He should have felt guilty for that -- there was a time when he might have. But he didn't.
"Good?" He murmured it out, feeling amazingly debauched and a little on the side of too good, but also more able to focus now. He backed up a little leaning down hold Dean's chin in a hand and kiss him. Somewhere in this month of actually having sex on a fairly regular basis, Cas had found things he liked better than others -- he definitely knew he liked tasting himself on Dean.
Dean kissed him back, slow and grateful and loving the taste of Cas’ lips even if he was still too wound up to think properly.
“Yes,” he managed hoarsely when the kiss broke. He wasn’t sure if he was technically good, given the sizable distraction going on between his legs, but they would get there together. He couldn’t resist trying to nip just a little at Cas’ lower lip so long as he was just there in reach. It was, he was pretty sure, technically breaking the rules to go for a thing he wanted for himself and not permission that had been explicitly granted, but Dean was also sure that he’d enjoy the consequences.
"Dean." It was a warning tone, and Castiel let some disappointment seep into it as best he could. "Nothing unless it's given to you." He scooted himself back and away from his husband, sitting on next to him and not touching at all again. It didn't occur to Cas that he probably looked a little silly wearing only an opened button up shirt.
Slowly, too slowly, he grazed his nails up Dean's thigh, digging in enough to leave marks and then pausing before he got anywhere important. "You don't get passes, remember?"
Dean let his bent leg straighten out again, his back arching while he tried to both get more and offer himself up to Cas. “Yes, Castiel,” he said, eyes shutting tightly. His head tipped back. It was almost, almost too much.
Cas was fairly sure he could make it worse, if he really tried. As it was, he was beginning to feel a little bad for just how hard this must be for Dean. He really was beautiful like this though, and although it was not exactly Cas' usual want in terms of a position of power during sex, he could see himself doing this again if Dean wanted. It wasn't distasteful by any means.
He leaned down, offering tiny kisses and nibbles to Dean's waist and hip bone, and finally (finally) let his fingers slide around the base of Dean's cock -- just holding it, nothing more yet. "Are you sorry, Dean?"
Dean lifted his head to look at Cas and he had to pull at his bindings just to distract himself. “No, Castiel,” he said. It was the only way he could think of to communicate to Cas that he could take more, that Cas could drag this out a while longer and that Dean wanted to get to the incoherent point of begging before Cas was even close to done. He wanted his husband hard again and fucking into him, wanted more marks on his skin, proof in a way that was different to the ring on his finger and the handprint on his shoulder that he belonged to the angel Castiel.
"No?" Cas pulled away completely at that, settling hands into his own lap and just looking at Dean for a long moment -- really, staring as if he could take apart every molecule of the man and spread it wide open until he understood completely everything he ought to.
Castiel was not good at reading people. But he was good at reading Dean.
"You need more." It wasn't a question. He dragged his tongue over his bottom lip and cocked his head to the side in that way that was uniquely his. "Tell me."
Dean licked his lips. Thinking was hard enough as it was, sending those thoughts to his mouth seemed nearly impossible. “Unmake me,” he said, eyes on Cas’. “Rebuild me into the man you see.” And not the man he was, or the man he thought he was.
Cas' expression softened at that, and he offered something that probably wouldn't pass as a smile for most, but certainly went above and beyond for him. "You're already beautiful, Dean."
But it wasn't an argument, or anything contrary. It was just what he believed to be so. Still, he could try. He could. Because Dean has asked.
He gave another nod, done with speaking for the time being, even as he moved closer and pressed an easy, nearly chaste kiss to Dean's lips. And then, abruptly, he tilted Dean's head up to bare his neck again, and his kisses there were no longer gentle or easy, just abrasive with teeth, intent and perpetual five o'clock shadow.
“Then make it hurt outside to ease the hurt in,” Dean managed, and he was rather impressed with himself for all those words when suddenly Cas was kissing him and his throat was bared and vulnerable, teeth leaving behind bruises he could feel forming before Cas was even done with him. He needed this from Cas, and he was too far gone to hate himself for needing it.
Dean was not given any kind of verbal response, Cas didn't think it necessary. He worked his way down Dean -- slow and with more bite than kiss -- bruising a line down Dean's throat that he couldn't imagine wouldn't hurt still in the morning. He straddled his husband, brushing against his cock with the curve of his ass, but only hovering over him, a keen balancing act on his own part.
Dean's hair wasn't very long -- but it was just enough to get a handful of-- to grip and tug much like he'd done to Cas earlier. His free hand trailed over Dean's arm, until his fingers curled around it at the strange angle that had to be managed due to the ties. There he found his mark, laid his fingers across it in that familiar way, and then gripped tightly enough where his own fingers nearly hurt.
"I have already rebuilt you," he said, mouth brushing across Dean's collar bone, teeth scraping harsh angry lines into the thin skin there. "I pulled you from perdition and left my own mark. I left pieces of myself inside of you, and you are mine. Do you understand?" Sometimes, it was impossible to separate himself from his dream self, and right now he wasn't sure he wanted to anyway.
Dean was certain he was going to come, and that he managed not to had to be some sort of testament to how deeply he had devoted himself to the idea of Cas calling all of the shots. “Yes, Castiel,” he managed, voice completely shot and desperate, muscles trembling.
“Will you fuck me?” he asked, still shuddering for all the want and power Castiel seemed to be pushing through him. “Please, Castiel.” Dean felt like his soul was being flayed all over again, only having Cas do it was a far, far different experience than having it done in Hell. This was something closer to moulding a righteous man rather than tearing him apart for the fun of it.
He could. Cas was mostly hard again, although it really hadn't been so long since he'd made Dean suck him off -- he blamed that mark, blamed Dean for being beautiful and perfect and just nearly undone. His husband's needly, half broken tone had gone straight to his groin.
Cas leaned back, hand still on Dean's arm as he reached over with his free one to rummage through the drawer in the nightstand next to the bed. Yes. In the drawer. Where things like these belonged.
"Ask me again," he said, although it clearly wasn't necessary as he'd already retrieved the lube. But Dean seemed to enjoy it best when he was being demanding, and so he'd keep it up.
“Please, Castiel,” Dean gasped, working so hard to keep from rocking his hips and rubbing himself off on Cas’ perfect ass. That wasn’t what he wanted. It would be good, but it wasn’t what he wanted.
“Please, fuck me. I need you.” His need was very rapidly becoming overwhelming, taking his ability to think of anything but Cas in him, their mouths together and wanting so badly to be able to touch him everywhere. “Please.”
Scooting back until he was between Dean's legs, Cas went with his usual method of not bothering to reply as he slicked his fingers with what was probably too much lube. Systematically, he returned the bottle to where it belonged and then turned his too blue gaze on Dean and traced his fingers - steady, calming - around his entrance. "I will," he said after a moment, and then slowly pressed a finger into his husband. "Don't move," he warned, because he knew very well if it were him laying there, he wouldn't be able to stop himself.
Dean tensed around Cas’ finger. Holding his muscles firmly was the only way he could keep himself from moving at first. Eventually, he managed to relax, but only at the cost of tensing up his shoulders and digging his nails into his palms while he angled his wrists so that the ties pressed harder against him.
“Yes, Castiel,” he said, and those two words were the moment that Dean was utterly wrecked. Broken and bare, keeping himself still so that Cas could see every raw nerve in him somehow as if Cas currently had that power.
Nearly, he felt like he did. Cas had to lower his own eyelids for a moment in a long blink to keep from being overwhelmed himself. "So good," he whispered, running his free hand gently over the scrape marks he'd made against Dean's thigh earlier.
He moved his hand slowly -- that one finger sliding carefully further and then back again until it wasn't too tight anymore, until Dean relaxed a little more (Castiel did not suspect he would be able to fully relax, not not, not like this). "One more," he explained, because it seemed fair to warn before doing.
“Thank you,” Dean said, because it seemed appropriate, both for the compliment and the warning. The second finger had him arching, and while he knew he should probably ask for a third, Dean also knew he couldn’t wait for it. “Please,” he rasped. He could take the slight edge of pain. He just needed Cas in him, needed it it now.
Cas let out a huff of air as he slipped his fingers free and added all that extra slickness to his own dick, Dean would probably need it at this point, and he wasn't interested in actually hurting his husband. It didn't take much to reposition himself properly, balancing himself with a hand firmly gripping the blankets.
He kissed Dean first, because he simply couldn't help himself, he ran his tongue over Dean's lips, and then his own before backing up and lining himself up properly. "If you like, Dean." It was his version of I love you, and it seemed fitting he said it with a slight gasp on his lips when he pushed his hips forward and into Dean. Sometimes, he really wished he swore because now would be a time he would like to.
Dean lifted his hips up to press up with Cas, wanting more of those kisses but just as much of the pull of cock inside him as he was getting. It wasn’t the smoothest thing, and he knew he was too tight around Cas, but it was what he wanted. It hurt just enough.
“You are the best,” he managed. He needed Cas to know he felt that way, that he appreciated him even though he was crap at showing it.
"Yes," Castiel was in utter agreement, even if his short reply sounded like it had stuck in his throat half way out. He couldn't help it, Dean was tight to the point of more distracting and he had to find a pacing that was good to start with. A little too slow, but he was pretty new at this. Luckily for Dean, Castiel was a very fast learner in some regard.
Settling one of his hands on the back of Dean's thigh, he pulled it a bit closer to him for a more accessible angle. His next thrust was harder, deeper -- hopefully exactly what Dean was looking for.
“Fuck!” Dean cried out, head thrown back again while he thrust back against Cas as much as he could manage. He was too far gone to think about being in any kind of trouble for it. He just needed more of his husband, all of him. “Fuck, Cas.” He was close, so close. All Cas needed to do was either stick his hand on the print or, hell, maybe even just touch his cock and Dean was sure he’d be gone. “Please.”
Cas wouldn't call him out for disobeying right now anyway -- that part was over with, and now it was just -- just this. Even Cas had to make a little whimpering noise, and he knew if it was too much for him than Dean was having a hell of a time. "Yes," he repeated, and was proud of himself for sounding almost calm, for getting the word out. "Yes."
He didn't stop moving, but he did find a better balance, one where he could wrap firm fingers around Dean's cock and give it a pull of a stroke. "Let go," he murmured, knowing Dean needed it, and the permission probably wasn't necessary, but maybe helpful.
Letting go was an understatement, but those words were exactly what Dean needed. He came hard and messy all over Cas’ hand and his own stomach. He didn’t have voice left to cry out, but the way his body pitched and held Cas as close as he could get him was hopefully enough to praise his angel regardless.
It was enough. More than, really. It only took him a few more thrusts of his own hips to get off again, and that was good because he was honestly starting to feel a little too exhausted to go on much longer anyway. He felt good about it though, oddly complete and put together instead of thoroughly undone.
A bit lightheaded with everything, Cas didn't mind the fact that when he pulled out (a bit abruptly) and settled down on top of Dean it was in a sticky mess. He didn't even have any words to offer, just settled his sweaty forehead on Dean's chest and breathed for a moment, thinking about untying his husband's wrist, about the shower that they both needed. About how he was going to sleep like the dead tonight.
“Cas,” Dean whined softly once his brain started to work again. “Wanna touch you.”
"Oh," said Cas, and although he'd just been thinking about that, he sounded nearly absent. The brunet angel lifted himself up and pulled at a section of the knot at Dean's wrist and the entire binding came loose just like that. He repeated the motion with the other hand and then leaned back looking self satisfied over his own simple handiwork. Sometimes it was the little things.
When Dean’s hands were free, they went around Cas almost immediately. He pulled him close for the deepest kiss he could manage. “Thank you,” he said once he’d had his fill of his husband’s mouth for the time being. This was what love was. Had to be.
Practically melting into Dean's arms, Cas couldn't really put to words how happy he was to just be held on to right now, like it put all of the rest of the evening into place and everything was okay and good.
He brushed his nose and lips against Dean's neck, puffing out a happy little breath before resting his head on the nearest available shoulder. "You're welcome, Dean."