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The Alley Scene Didn't End Where We Think It Did

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Dean feels anything but a hunter as he lay crouched in on himself, spitting blood -- and shit, was that a tooth? -- onto his filthy jeans and the even filthier alley surface. Now Dean knows... every single one of his cells knows... what it feels like to be prey.

Cornered, defenseless fucking prey.

His heart beats hard enough to hurt his ribs. Or that could be from the drop kick Cas laid on him as if he were a human football and Cas was going for a sixty yard field goal over the fucking chain link fence.

It's dark, but that isn't the only reason it's hard as fuck to see. It feels like his left eye is about to close shut from Cas's perfectly placed right hook. But then again, Dean isn't sure he really wants to see anything right now because even though he can't see it, he knows that the obscenely dangerous angel is advancing on him, as implacable and as hot as molten lava.

It's not just the (probably) busted ribs that keeps Dean bunched over on his hands and knees in front of Cas. (And shit, he wasn't Cas when he was all bad-ass like this was he? Nope... he was Castiel, soldier of The Lord.) The dude looks like a god damn predator. And shit, that keeps him down almost as much as his constricting ribs because Dean has seen how lethal the angel could be with anything from an Angel Blade to the frickin' tips of his fingers. In those killing moments, whether it was smiting demons or tearing his former brother angels to shreds, Castiel wore this same exact "death is imminent" stare. It was enough to stop a man in his tracks when the gaze wasn't leveled on him so fuck him if that gaze froze him in place.

Anyway, it isn't like he can just waltz out of the alley. A ten foot high fence blocks his way in one direction and, oh yeah, a god damned lots of thousands of years old angel, who might as well be a brick wall, blocks the other direction.

Shit and double shit.

Dean coughs out some blood and wonders briefly if it's from internal bleeding or just the lacerations in his mouth. And he's pretty pissed at himself for making weak-ass urk noises as he tries to breathe.

Dean has no fantasies that Cas...tiel is about to do anything but send his supposed Righteous ass back down to Hell where it obviously belongs. Where Dean knew it belonged from fucking Jump Street!

Dean blinks a couple of times to try and clear his eyes from the blood, sweat, and yeah... he'll admit it (since he's about to die anyway) the tears. Castiel stands only a few paces from Dean, fists balled, and that look of such scorn and fucking Devine Wrath leveled on Dean that he feels bile clog his throat.

He can admit it (again, probably because he was about to bite it), it fucking hurt to see such contempt in Castiel's eyes. The three of them; Cas, Dean, and Sam had been through so much together in the brief time since Castiel pulled Dean from Hell. It took some time, and fucking more tears than he'd ever admit to sober, but the angel became something really close to what felt like... a friend. Really, more than that if Dean was to be honest with himself in his final moments, which, no thank you very much, he wasn't willing to be. So yeah, that look hurt. It hurt way more than the absolute positive fact that he was about to step on the down escalator to Hell.

He does wish he could've said goodbye to Sammy though. That hurt too. But he can't, so...

"Do it." Dean forces the words, too quietly he thinks, through his burning throat and bloody teeth. He stares up at Castiel, holds his hard gaze because dammit, he is not leaving this world a fucking coward!

"Just do it!" he repeats, harder this time, trying to urge the angel forward through little more than shaking will and the shared knowledge of what the predator is meant to do to its prey. God his ribs hurt. He can't help small gasps as he waits for it. Waits for that touch. He's seen it so many times -- that Angel touch -- and he thinks it's coming when he sees Cas's fists uncurl.

Dean does what he can, everything he can, to hold the angel's eyes through the pain haze. He tells himself, screams at himself, to not look away from those eyes that he knows are piercing blue in the light of day.

Castiel moves forward and Dean knows, finally, this is it. Then he thinks to himself that maybe it would have been nice if he'd thought to apologize to Cas. Though he doesn't know exactly what he'd apologize for, because he still feels like he tried to do the right fucking thing. Maybe it would have been just to say sorry that things turned out this way... between them. Maybe for Cas rebelling for nothing.

But then he feels the angel's fingers touch his shoulder and it doesn't matter anymore because now it's just too late.




Castiel's rage blazes so hot, his fury at the cowardly decision this hunter made so overwhelming that Dean's death at Castiel's own hands is but seconds away. He feels no sympathy for the man at his feet, broken, bleeding... finished. This man... this human... brought it on himself through his utterly foolish actions.

How could Dean have chosen this path? Not long ago Dean spoke about Free Will with an eloquence the angel never would have expected from the brash hunter. Castiel still wonders if it was the words or if it was the man himself that swayed Castiel from his Father's path. Castiel rebelled against Heaven... Heaven!... all for Dean. And this was how Dean repaid him? By just... giving in? Giving his body over for Michael's use as a vessel?

Death was the better course by far.

Castiel watches Dean spit blood. Nothing new. The Winchesters wear blood like a hunter's badge of honor. Only this time the blood comes courtesy of Castiel himself. Yet, it was just. Castiel holds even tighter to his rage.

But that rage is pierced through -- almost wholly annihilated -- when Dean looks up and unwittingly displays his soul -- so pure and so bright -- through his shining eyes. That glimpse of Dean's soul touches Castiel's Grace, leaving him stunned. And it causes... hesitation.

"Do it," he hears the hunter say.

For the briefest moment Castiel is so overwhelmed by Dean's soul that he doesn't comprehend Dean's statement.

"Just do it!" comes a moment later.

Ah. Now Castiel understands. Dean defiantly demands his own death. As if the man at his feet were in a position to demand anything.

And by all rights Castiel should give Dean his wish. He should end Dean Winchester's life now, should have done it long before this point; if not for Dean's traitorous course then certainly given the human's absolute insolence and inexcusable and continuous lack of respect.


That look of heated intensity in the hunter's eyes; he stares at his own death with a defiance the angel finds simply... fascinating. Even shaking, bloody, and wracked with obvious pain, Dean holds himself proud, as if even now he stands towering above Castiel, perfectly fit and as defiant as ever when nothing could be further from the truth.

What is it that keeps this man fighting, growling, resisting, even in the face of immortals? The recklessness this one human exhibits baffles Castiel almost more than the mysteries that surround his Father. And why does it affect his Grace so acutely? It feels as if Dean's soul -- his very essence -- reaches out to touch the angel's own Grace through those blazing eyes. It is... disconcerting... and completely unfamiliar.

But there it is, infiltrating his Grace like a silent but ruthless disease -- from which he should be immune! -- and he feels it cause him to sway yet again from the logical path, surely the right path! What does this human not cause him to rebel against? Why did things seem so much clearer outside of this Winchester's presence?

Castiel loosens his curled fists with an internal sigh -- a trait he knows he has picked up from humanity -- and walks the few paces to the fallen man and places two fingers on Dean's shoulder causing the hunter to fall into what the angel knows is instant and utter blackness.




Pain, deep and pure, greets Dean even before he opens his one good eye. The other one isn't gonna do him any good anytime soon. It's swollen shut with crunchy gunk caught between the lids. But that's nothing. He's dealt with swollen blackened eyes a couple... million times. It's the rest of his body that he mentally examines. The pain is definitely there, but it's nowhere near what he'd expect -- what he's experienced -- in Hell.

Maybe he's in some antechamber instead of Hell proper, he muses. Maybe they've got him cooling his heels until they decide what to do with him. This time.

But then Cas's gravelly voice breaks through his health accounting. "Hello, Dean."

Dean jumps (ouch!) like a scared little girl. "Cas?" What the fuck is he doing here? He pulls himself up, hand by hand, on the dirty brick wall. Funny, Dean thinks, it looks just like the fucking wall in that alley. "What," he sneers, "did you escort me down to Perdition to take me apart cell by cell... kinda like the reverse of what you did to bring me out?"

Castiel tilts his head in that confounded puppy mode, scrunching his eyebrows -- Cas-speak for confusion. Nothing changes there, not even in fucking Hell.

But Cas catches up quick. He stands straighter and furrows his brow now in that chastise-the-child way he has instead of the dumb puppy look.

"Dean, you are not in Hell."

Dean slips back down the wall scraping his hands as he goes.

"What the fuck, Cas?" Dean shakes his head to clear the cobwebs and holy shit that was a stupid move. And that would be a concussion making itself known. What does the son of a bitch mean that he's not in Hell? Jesus Christ! Did he just zap him unconscious instead of killing him?! I'm gonna fucking kill him, he thinks.

"Are you that dumb," he begins, probably suicidally (good!), "that you can't put two and two together when I say, 'Just do it'?" Dean pulls some crumbling mortar from under his fisting hand and flings it impotently at Cas as he turns and leans his back almost breathless against the grimy wall.

A surprised Cas easily dodges most of the flung mortar but he finds and picks a stray piece from his perpetually messy black hair. Slowly, almost as if he's reluctant to let it go, he drops the bit of mortar to the ground while he looks directly at Dean. No, he doesn't look at Dean. That's way too weak of an expression. More like, he bores his eyes into Dean as he says, "No one, Dean... not one individual -- human or otherwise -- in all these millennia, has ever had the nerve, the disturbing lack of respect, to speak to me in the manner you find all too easy."

"Bite me," flies out of Dean's mouth before his brain knows he even said it.

Castiel knits his eyebrows even more as he moves in on Dean throwing even the concept of personal space outside the proverbial window and clenches the front of Dean's blood stained jacket.

"You have just been beaten to within an inch of your life. Do you even know how close you were to Hell, again, Dean? Yet still you toy with me, taunt me," Castiel seethes into Dean's face. "What can it possibly take to cause you to show me even an ounce of the respect I deserve simply as a sentient being let alone as an Angel of The Lord? Obviously the threat of a return to Hell is not nearly enough. Or," Castiel adds thoughtfully, "am I to understand that Hell is actually the destination you desire?" Castiel's breath bathes Dean's face in humid heat.

He so doesn't mean for it to happen but Dean feels, and for fuck's sake, hears, his breath hitch. If he were a betting man (okay, so he is... whatever) he'd bet his cheeks were a deep shade of pink right about now too. And he knows Cas heard that hitch 'cause he's doing that puppy head tilt thing again while obviously examining the ever increasing flush crossing Dean's cheeks. And that should totally not be visible in the dark! Fucking angel's fucking perfect eyes can probably see inside a chimney inside a vault inside a cave. The fucker.

"So tell me, Dean Winchester," that raspy voice impossibly sounds even lower as the angel slowly enunciates every word while he presses in, closing any gap that remains between their bodies, "What. Is. Enough?"

He doesn't know if it's Cas's words or, Jesus, the entire length of Cas's body squeezed up tight against his own that causes Dean to (and he can't believe this) fucking whimper like some school girl. Or maybe, and this is really, REALLY fucked up, but maybe he fucking whimpered because Cas clenched Dean's jacket even tighter, pulling it tight around his neck making him strain just to breathe.


Maybe it was all of it rolled up together that caused the whimper and, fuck, his obviously messed up cock to stir.

What the ever-loving fuck!? He's getting off on pain? From a dude? (He totally says "no homo" to his cock, but it's being a bitch and ignores him.) That whole leather, BDSM blah blah scene wasn't something he even ever thought about before. And he never bumped uglies with any dude., okay? And his chick relations... yeah, he took the lead there. End of story. So this burn in the pit of his stomach and his cock making like a flag pole at the roughhouse shit... yeah... totally new territory.

Except... he realizes in a full on panic, it's only new territory here above ground.

Dean's non-swollen eye springs wide. He knows he's a professionally certified repressing son of a bitch but he's still shocked that it's taken him all this time to recall that situation from his forty years under Alis... under that prick's care.

Dean can see Cas take in Dean's "holy shit" look and he wonders if the angel knows what he's thinking. He tries to remember if angels can read minds but gives it up to other thoughts hurling through his head.

When did this... this back alley brawl switch from being about becoming an archangel's puppet to being about... about... this? Maybe it hasn't switched for Cas. But it sure as shit has for Dean! And how does he make it stop?

Okay, damn it! He knows that's just bullshit. He knows what he's really asking himself is, "how do I get even more of this?"

He thinks maybe Cas is talking to him. But the words just don't process.

What the fuck did Alistair do to him? Dean's brain flashes involuntarily to blood... so much blood and pain, and all of it was Dean's. Knives, saws, picks... strips of burnt, curled flesh rotting in dark corners. All of it nearly bearable, but made infinitely worse by the mortifying reaction Dean couldn't hide in his nakedness.

And now, with pain this deep, this... satisfying (for fuck's sake), mixed with the practically growling angel plastered against him... this was definitely causing... trouble.

God damn he was so broken.

Fuck becoming Michael's bitch and yeah, fuck dying too! It's boiling mad Cas... it's I'm-going-to-smite-you-Dean-Winchester Cas from earlier that Dean wants back... shit, that he needs back.

So utterly broken.

He can't speak. Shit, he can hardly breathe. But Cas is so close, and the angel's legs are slightly spread. And, he can't believe he's thinking this, but that gives him one very obvious, but extremely hazardous, option to get raving mad Cas back.

Swiftly, so he can't think himself out of it, Dean slams his right (least hurt) knee directly into Cas's crotch eliciting a howl from the angel so unholy Dean thinks his ears might be bleeding. He hears glass break and jagged pops of electricity sounding in the distance. Somewhere transformers are blowing up and windows are shattered from Cas's pain. Or was it his fury?

Oh shit. Did he overreach? Too late to take that shit back now though. Dean moves as fast as his bum leg will carry him taking advantage of his freedom as Cas staggers back, tripping over rotting trash and discarded crates as the angel cradles his balls. (Apparently angels did have junk, or at least their vessels did.)

Instead of running for his fucking life like a smart little human would do -- 'cause that wasn't the point of this now, was it? -- Dean pounces on the angel, hits him for all he's worth, uses every dirty move he ever learned to get a few licks in to make up, at least in part, for the thrashing Cas gave him earlier. But he isn't stupid (well, that may be debatable given his current actions), he knows Cas is going to turn the tables on him spectacularly fucking soon. He just hopes he can get even just a taste of what he so fucking desperately needs before Cas does kill him. Because, oh yeah, Cas would be stupid not to kill him after this.




The kick feels like the flat side of an Angel Blade slamming up and into him, reverberating throughout his body, and slicing through his Grace. It surprises Castiel, sending him backwards, crumpled in pain, though he knows the pain would be much worse had he not been an angel.

He feels the white light of his Grace build behind his eyes but quickly he pushes it back. He has no wish to endanger the innocent humans nearby. After all, the pain is... tolerable.

That Dean could do this to him is not.

He feels Dean's punches to his kidneys as little more than stinging insects and he swats back shouting, "Are you insane?" as he catches Dean at hip level and sends him crashing to the wall.

Dean's head lolls to the side, half slumped, as he does little more than wait for Castiel's approach. Castiel is unsure because Dean's words are garbled by blood, but he thinks Dean says, "Absolutely."

"You must be!" he growls. "You should have run when you had the chance!" He reaches Dean and slams his fist into his stomach, once, twice, doubling him over so he has to grab Dean's neck to push him back up again.

Castiel grits out, "I believe you are familiar with the Bible's verse, 'An eye for an eye,' Dean?" The angel brings his knee slowly towards Dean's center intending to provide a foreshadowing of what was to come.

But what he feels between Dean's legs, and the moan he hears from Dean's lips, startles him backwards.

Dean is... erect.

The angel squints his eyes almost shut as he tilts his head in wonder and in utter confusion. The renewed rage is extinguished and something else blooms in its place as he thinks back to the words they had hurled at each other, and Dean's reactions, only moments earlier.

Castiel watches Dean's one good eye open wide as the angel moves towards the man struggling to remain upright. Dean reaches out with bloodied hands... grasping for purchase on Castiel's coat as he stares wildly.

He thinks he may know what lies behind Dean's reaction, but he's unwilling to wait for Dean to heal enough to explain himself. Castiel needs to know, and he needs to know now.

Dean's breath stops short and he jumps slightly, most certainly involuntarily, as Castiel presses his fingers to Dean's temple.




Between one blink and the next Dean can see clearly again, and his mouth doesn't feel like it's full of cotton and nails. Cas obviously mojo'd him better. He moves to stand straighter against the gritty brick wall but pulls up short, barely holding in a gasp at the last moment. Okay... so Cas mostly mojo'd him better. Seems like he left some lingering love taps that are sure to bruise by tomorrow. Dean does an internal eye roll at his cock giving a quick twitch at that thought. Jesus, what is he now, Subby McSub?

This time Dean moves much slower as he straightens himself to look Cas in the eyes.

Cas's stare was always intense but now, here, it's... thrilling. And Dean never thought he'd say that about a dude, ever.

Broken. Broken. Broken.

Castiel gently, but oh yeah, firmly, reinserts his knee between Dean's legs, pressing up as he goes. "What is this, Dean?" Castiel asks simply.

It takes every single last bit of control for Dean not to respond, "It's a penis, Cas." He can't hide behind his smart ass mouth now. This is too important. Too... needful.

And it feels too fucking good.

That raspy voice, overflowing with authority says, "Answer me Dean," while the angel grabs Dean's wrists and slams them against the bricks high above his head.

Dean groans out loud. He thinks he could possibly come just from being held like that, but he puts his pieces back together and looks the angel in his eyes.

"It's a present from Hell," he says finally.

Cas's whole forehead knits together seemingly trying to decipher Dean's statement, so Dean continues, "It didn't start out that way. When I first got there, I mean. I could handle the pain... all of it... and it didn't cause any," he hesitates slightly, "reaction." He sighs, feels Cas's knee just resting where he left it, and the angel's hands holding his wrists tight enough to bruise and that somehow helps him continue.

"But little by little... year by year... the pain started to bring on this infuriating, disgusting... side effect. I'd get hard," Dean grits out, "almost as soon as that fucker wheeled out his tools." Dean looks away from Cas's eyes and he immediately feels Cas release the pressure on Dean's wrists. Instantly Dean looks back at the angel and the pressure is back. Dean wonders why relief slides through him with that return of pressure but he doesn't dwell on it because, yeah... broken.

"As much as I tried, as much as I fucking prayed to your prick of a Father, I couldn't stop myself. I was like fucking Pavlov's dog; my dick perking up when the tool cart appeared.

"But you know what?" Dean felt tears build, but thankfully, not fall. "Not once in all those years did Alistair let me come. Not. Fucking. Once. Oh, he brought me to the brink... laughing, berating, taunting me each and every time... but he always backed off just before...."

Time for a little levity Dean thought, so he can get through the next part. "I mean I know it was Hell and all, but shit, that bastard just didn't have it in him to give a guy a break." He snorts derisively.

Don't stop Winchester, Dean tells himself, or you'll never start back up again...

"And those other times... those times Alistair walked -- nah, prowled -- behind me, making sure I heard that zipper open... So. Fucking. Slowly." Dean thinks he can hear some more transformers blow a couple of streets over. "Every time that monster... did... that," Dean just can't bring himself to say the "R" word, "it was never when I was aroused. Alistair made fucking sure to never let his little play dates cause even an ounce of pleasure."

Yeah, Alistair was a god damned pro. It's gets to be too much so Dean pusses his way out by closing his eyes.




Castiel feels savage rage build again, but this time aimed at Alistair rather than the man in front of him. He has no idea what Dean experienced in Hell. It was the Winchester boys' unspoken rule not to discuss those events.

"You need this," he rasps in Dean's ear, not a question. Castiel is certain now...

The angel drags the back of Dean's hands down, hard, across the crumbling brick face. A strangled "Ahhh" escapes Dean's throat as he bucks up onto Cas's leg.

Dean opens his eyes and watches the angel fit the last of the Dean puzzle pieces together.

"You need this," the angel repeats. "That's why you kicked me." Castiel tilts his head and parts his lips in wonder. "I had calmed significantly from when I first entered the alley and you wanted..."

"Needed," corrects Dean.

"...needed," Cas agrees, "the pain to continue. And in your weakened state you saw only one option."

Dean hangs his head. "I didn't want to hurt you Cas. I never wanted... want to hurt you."

Cas takes both of Dean's wrists into one hand and lifts Dean's chin gently with the other. "Dean, there was another way," his rumbling voice causes goosebumps along Dean's arms and neck.

"Look, dude, I don't know what else I..."

Dean doesn't have a chance to finish the sentence because Castiel fits his lips completely over Dean's own as he slowly licks Dean's mouth open.

It is true that Castiel has never experienced the pleasure of human flesh first hand but as much as the Winchesters may chide him otherwise, he is far from naïve. A creature could not be alive for as long as he has roamed the Earth, and Heaven, without watching... seeing....

He feels little need to pull on that knowledge now as instincts long dormant drive his mouth onto Dean's while causing not only his vessel's body to physically respond, but also causing an elation as yet unmatched in his long centuries to cascade through his Grace.

Dean's lips part to allow Castiel's tongue to explore another's mouth for the first time. It feels soft, wet, silky... until Dean responds in kind, then tongues cross like blades, teeth inexpertly knock together before heads tilt to find just the right angle, just the right depth.

Dean pulls back and breathes heavily searching Castiel's eyes. Castiel returns the gaze knowing it will look hungry... even predatory. But he will only take what is willingly given. He is not an abomination. He is not Alistair.

And he will give. He will give Dean everything he needs. Because now he knows.






Dean fervently hopes the stinging scrapes across the backs of his hands are just a prelude of things to um... come. He's achingly hard in his jeans now and if Cas continues to lick his tongue and the roof of his mouth like this he's going to be poking a hole through them really fucking soon.

Dean pulls back to grab a breath and sees heat in the angel's eyes... sees a fierce confidence he only ever sees when Cas takes on the bad guys. And doesn't that just send shivers up his spine. This angel... this superhuman being with unimaginable power holds Dean, literally in the palms of his hands. It's supernova hot, and exciting -- and scary (not that he'd ever admit that to anyone, ever) -- beyond anything Dean has experienced, because fuck his time in Hell... that doesn't count.

"Dean," says the angel, and the hunter closes his eyes, just for a moment, at the rawness in Cas's voice. "I see now... what you need. There is no need to provoke me to give it to you but I need you to to have absolute faith in me. I need you to know I will never irreparably harm you. Do you trust me on this?"

Trust Cas? Jesus. The angel was only seconds away from killing him not even twenty minutes ago, so does he trust him? Truthfully, Dean's not sure if he can trust Cas in everything. But in this? In knowing... really knowing what Dean needs... yeah... he trusts him completely.

"I trust you Cas, one hundred percent."

The angel's eyes soften when Cas says, "Okay, but before anything begins... I require you to have a safe word," his voice rising as he says each word as if he blocks out whatever Dean is about to say before he says it. So, okay, first... how the hell does Cas know what as safe word is? And second, so maybe he was gonna say he didn't need a crummy safe word. Dean Winchester doesn't need no sa... "And Dean," the angel breaks through his thoughts, "if I determine you were in need of using a safe word but in fact did not use it, this -- whatever this is -- will never occur again. Do I make myself clear?"

Dean's eyes feel scratchy. He thinks that maybe he forgot to blink these last few moments. He starts to answer Cas but his voice sounds tiny... weak. He tries again. "Impala... my safe word is Impala."

Cas nods his acknowledgement and caresses Dean's cheek with his knuckles for maybe thirty seconds, maybe a bit more. Dean leans into the touch as if this were some rom-com Sammy's dragged him to. But then out of nowhere the angel throws Dean bodily onto the pile of crates lining the chain link fence.

Dean lands heavily on his back which jostles his (still very sore) ribs. "Damn it Cas! What the fuck?"

Cas loosens the knot in his perpetual tie as he stalks towards Dean's semi-prone body. Before he can even react Dean feels a crackling sting bloom across his left cheek, exactly where Cas's knuckles rubbed him only seconds ago. Almost instantly he feels the same sting on his right cheek. Then another. And another. Cas is slapping the shit out of him.

Before he can make sense of what's happening Cas yanks him fucking hard by the hair and drags him off the crates and onto his knees. Shit, if his jeans weren't ruined before, they sure are now.

Dean is about to go ballistic before he gets it. Okay... so maybe he's a little slow on the uptake here but it has been kind of stressful day for chrissake. Dean takes a breath or seven and calms himself. Then he takes quick stock of himself again. Nothing broken (eh, maybe a rib), several new soon-to-be bruises, and a cock about to pound nails. Okay, so everything's good.

The angel must have waited for Dean to catch up to what's going on (and isn't that a switch!) because he'd just been standing there, watching. He must've seen whatever he needed to see though because now the angel moves to Dean, puts his tie around Dean's neck, cinching it up nice and (holy shit) tight and says, "Dean, you have five seconds to remove your jacket before I destroy it."

Dean channels his inner Flash and sheds his favorite jacket before flinging it to the side. The pain in his ribs and ankle provide a throbbingly delicious backdrop to his growing excitement. And to know that it was Cas who caused this pain... well. For once Dean is at a loss for words. He just continues to stare at Cas, the angel standing stock still, and ramrod straight, like he really did have a pole up his ass. Absolutely no pun intended.

Suddenly Cas raises his arm and twists his wrist as if he were opening a door knob and Dean's AC/DC t-shirt disappears. Just... fucking disappears. Dammit! He loved that shirt!

"Maybe, Dean, if you are deserving of it, your clothing will be returned to you," says the angel in a smoldering tone. "Sit up higher on your knees," he adds, and Dean obviously has some kind of brain-to-mouth defect because he mumbles, "Suck it," like some sort of verbal muscle reflex that's too engrained to stop.

Of course the angel hears him. "No, Dean. Not quite."

Cas's fists clench, like back when they first entered this alley... like Cas is preparing for another fight.

Maybe he is.

Before Dean can react Cas kicks him square in the chest lighting a new fire under Dean's ribs. Dean lands back on the same crates he's landed on about three times now and before he can scramble away the angel pulls him by his pant legs onto the gritty alleyway, straddles Dean's hips and pulls his arms over his head, cinching them there under one fist.

For a moment both of them just breathe hard -- Dean because of the pain, and Castiel... he doesn't even have to breathe so he's doing it probably just to be a bitch -- as they stare hard at each other.

Dean's eyes fly open wide as he sees Cas raise the Angel Blade over Dean's bare chest.




Castiel can feel the look of consternation marring his vessel's face. Hurting Dean is not...easy. However, he cannot deny that having this particular human at his mercy is...disturbingly pleasurable.

And the hard bulge in Dean's pants, pressing up against his own erection makes it clear that Dean is also experiencing pleasure from the treatment. However, he knows that throwing the hunter around and landing a few punches and kicks is not going to be enough. Not nearly so. Alistair had made sure of that.

Dean needs a roughness, a cruelty, so complete that few others would be willing to rise (or maybe the word here is "lower") to the level that Dean so desperately requires. Castiel feels some solace that Dean accepted a safe word, but again, as much as Dean might think otherwise, the angel was not naïve. Castiel is far from certain Dean will be strong enough to use the word. He recognizes this; that he needs to be Dean's savior as well as his punisher. He can do that. Nevertheless, he wants Dean's explicit approval before moving forward.

Ever so slowly Castiel skims the blade's point across the hollow of Dean's throat -- just below Cas's cinched up tie -- with just enough force to cause first a white and then a red line to appear. Bloodless. Dean's Adam's apple bobs as Castiel draws the blade tip further down, across Dean's chest to circle his left nipple. Castiel looks up then, looking to Dean's eyes while drawing lazily with the blade.

"Fuuuuuuck... Caaaasss..." Dean moans. "I need you to do it... please, Cas...."

"Tell me what you need, Dean... tell me." Castiel slides the blade across Dean's almost hairless chest to the other nipple and runs the tip across the nub diagonally. Dean lets out a sob that the angel knows Dean would not own up to if confronted with the fact.

"I need to feel that blade Cas... need to... just need it Cas. Damn it! Please!... Cut... me."

No human would have heard Dean's last two words. For a moment Castiel thinks that Dean thought those words rather than spoke them aloud. Nevertheless, it is those words that the angel needs in order to continue.

Castiel leans into Dean's ear and adds as much steel to his words as he can muster. "I am going to release your hands Dean, and when I do you will not so much as move a finger. Do I make myself clear?"

Castiel hears Dean gasp slightly as he rasps out a cracked, "Yes."

Castiel makes sure he slides himself down along Dean's erection as he releases the man's hands and sits back up. He places the blade on the ground, out of Dean's reach should the man be tempted to move, and unbuckles the belt around his own waist. Being an angel he has no need to deal with hygiene and sleep and other human necessities, therefore he is not used to undressing, which leads to some frustration with the buckle, but he manages. He takes the belt and wraps it roughly around Dean's wrists while at the same time dragging the man to the far brick wall. A hook in the wall the angel spotted earlier is now the perfect tool to hold the hunter's arms out of the way, while also causing Dean to remain mostly spread horizontal on the alley surface.

Dean looks this way, then that down the alley. "Don't you think this is kind of a public place for this kind of thing?" he says, true to form, as mockingly as possible.

Leave it to Dean to think about incidentals at such a time... and to provoke. Castiel has ensured that no one will even notice this alley let alone the actions within it. But Dean, of course, wouldn't know that. Dean is utterly alone with Castiel. That thought sends an unnerving and unfamiliar shudder of pleasure down Castiel's spine.

By way of answer Castiel says, "You are not here to think right now, Dean Winchester... you are here to feel." He cups Dean's crotch firmly while at the same time he takes the blade and slices a thin line from one side of Dean's chest to the other, just inches above his nipples.

Dean howls as a line of blood first beads, then trickles down to the man's tight, heaving stomach.

"Is this what you need, Dean?" Castiel's feverish eyes seek Dean's own.

Dean moans but, no, that is far from answer enough. Castiel twirls the knife hilt into a stabbing grasp and places the point just below Dean's left ear, dragging slowly down and hinting at moving across his neck, his pulse point.

"Answer me, Dean!" The angel punctuates his command with a deeper cut and a drag towards Dean's throat while thrusting his own erection up against Dean's.

"Yes! God damn it, Castiel! Yes!" Dean tries to pump his hips up against Castiel's to gain some advantage of friction but the angel is too strong, by unimaginable degrees, and he easily holds the man still. Castiel ignores Dean's blasphemy and instead leans slightly to the side so he can drag the blade vertically down the planes of Dean's hard stomach. He pushes the point just enough for pain, and blood, but not enough to cause permanent damage.

Castiel alternates looking into Dean's eyes with gazes at his knife work. Dean's eyes shine with pain but also with clarity and... anticipation.

Concentrating once more on his work, Castiel uses the blade edge to meticulously cut through Dean's fly, exposing boxer briefs with a telling wet patch above a twitching rod of flesh. The angel drags his free hand over the wet spot eliciting a groan from the man on the ground. Slowly he lifts the boxers and jeans away from Dean's skin and slices through the fabric so it falls away to either side of the man's hips.

"You are so very hard Dean. Is that for me...," Castiel, not looking for blood here, ever so lightly drags the blade through the light trail of hair towards Dean's shaft, then onto it and up to the leaking tip before he finishes, "...or my Angel Blade?"




Dean whines. There is no other word for it. But he doesn't even care if he sounds like the whiniest of all things to ever have whined. There is a knife on his cock! And Jesus, he might just come from the thought. But he knows Cas asked him a question and for the life of him he can't think of what it was.

"It's the blade, isn't it Dean?" Castiel asks.

Now he remembers! Why does he have a raging, twitching, leaking hard on? Is it only the blade? Is it what Cas is so good at doing with the blade? Or is it more than that?

"It's so good, Cas." The angel drags a hand across the cuts and blood welling in the pit of his stomach and it drags a strangled gasp from Dean. "So fucking good... you are so good," Dean rasps.

Every one of Dean's nerve endings feel that blade travel the length of his dick, up, then down, then across until the blade tip dips to Dean's balls, then below. He holds his breath not daring to move and then he feels...

...immediate panic! And godforsaken unwanted memories to surface. Not the knife, not there, he pleads through his eyes to Castiel. The angel catches on and immediately moves the knife away and moves up to lie flat on Dean, dragging his dirty trench coat through Dean's blood as he goes.

The angel whispers intently, "Do you remember your safe word, Dean?"

Dean feels like a pussy because his breaths come out hitched as he tries to calm down. He answers Castiel with a shaky yes as he notices his dick has wilted. God damned fucking Alistair.

Castiel moves so that he is right up in Dean's space, eye to eye, and he looks superiorly pissed off. "Then why wouldn't you have used it when I approached you in a way that causes you to panic?"

It feels like Dean has to choke down acid. "It wasn't panic, Cas." He finally feels calm enough to talk, and to recognize he is lying through his teeth to this freakin' ridiculously dangerous being. "I mean, yeah... it caused some memories of fun times with Alistair but I don't think you'd... I wouldn't..." He thinks to himself -- you're not Alistair! -- before continuing, "I just freaked for a second but I didn't want all this to stop!"

The angel stares at Dean with such intensity Dean has to look away.

"Dean, look at me." God that raspy sex voice will be the death of me, thinks Dean. He looks back up at Castiel. "We don't have to end things when we come upon a... dark time. But we do need to slow down and talk about it." Now Dean feels like he's talking to Sammy all of a sudden with the "let's talk" spiel -- and shit, did he just think of Sammy during sex? Gahh! -- but he knows what the angel is getting at. He definitely doesn't want to stop, so talking... yeah, he can do that.

"Okay, Cas. I gotcha. And I understand." Dean thinks for a second and says, "How about we just say 'yellow' if either of us needs to slow down?"

The angel nods and says, "Yes. Yellow is good," seemingly totally missing the point of the color. "I take it that this is another... present from Hell, Dean?"

Wow. This talking about things sounds so much easier when it's theoretical. Dean sighs, takes a deep breath and lays it out for the angel in Dean Language. "Alistair loved his knives. He loved that taking it up the ass was...against my macho personality or whatever. And he was a master at combining his loves and my... unspoken fears, all right? End of story."

Dean holds back a flinch as glass shatters, raining down into the alley all around them. Cas's eyes whiten momentarily before returning to their penetrating blue and before he asks, almost solemnly, "Do you still have those unspoken fears, Dean, of anal pene-"

"Damn it, Cas! No! Okay? You are so fucking clinical! I've lost my wood here and I really want to get back to where it was good. Do you think you can do that?" Snark is in his DNA.

The angel freezes for a moment before he pulls his trademark brow crease, mixed with a determined... badass-ery look. Oh shit, Dean thinks as Cas leans into Dean's face, rubs his polyester pant leg across Dean's cock, resurrecting its interest in proceedings and says, "You are pressing what little luck you have left, Dean Winchester."

Dean groans at the return of kick-ass Cas as the angel sits back down on top of Dean, this time on his chest. Dean squirms slightly under the shocks of pain from those slices above his nipples. The bleeding has stopped but Cas's shimmying into place reopens the cuts. It stings like a bitch... so fucking good.

Cas leans into Dean and lays a flat out dirty kiss on him -- sucking his tongue, licking his teeth, the roof of his mouth -- all pure fucking filth. Then he sucks on Dean's bottom lip as if it were a pacifier... or a nipple. Ah, so good! And his cock is fully back on board with the angel action.

"Your mouth is such a pleasure when you don't use it for words." Cas's words sound serious but the angel's blue eyes betray maybe a reluctant fondness. Dean is about to say something incredibly stupid/smart back at the angel when Cas grips Dean's jaw and tilts his head upwards, hard, bringing the Angel Blade up to Dean's lower lip.

Cas's eyes sear into Dean's as Cas teases the blade tip across Dean's lower lip causing it to tingle. Dean tenses slightly, not sure what's running through the angel's mind. Then he bites back a gasp as he feels the blade bite deeper into his lower lip. He instinctively flinches backwards, chest heaving, as he listens to the angel's rasping half whispered words.

"So beautiful like this Dean... giving me your pain... opening your soul for me." He grips Dean's jaw tight enough to cause bruising and continues the deep cut horizontally across Dean's lip so it bleeds freely, down Dean's chin and into his mouth. "You have no idea the pleasure my Grace, and this vessel, receives from this, Dean. Indeed...," Cas pauses, "I had no idea pleasure could... come from this."

Those words take Dean to another erotic level he didn't even know existed. He can feel his own pre-come liberally painting his stomach and he's totally going to write off his heightened excitement to Cas's words and totally not to the sting lancing across his lip as if a hundred bees have all simultaneously attacked.

Cas kneels up then, knees on either side of Dean's chest. "In most cases Dean, I find your vernacular quite vulgar. But I have to admit, there are times when it is most fitting. Now is one example."

The angel unzips his fly and pulls out his supremely hard, supremely red cock from blue boxers that are nowhere near as enthralling in color as Cas's eyes, and says in a voice made for porn, "Suck my cock, Dean."




Blood seeps down the corners of Dean's mouth and onto Castiel's hands, staining them, as he guides his aching cock towards Dean's mouth. The cut is deep but not dangerously so, most likely causing a fairly severe stinging sensation as the blood vessels and nerve endings are severed.

Castiel knows he has no inherent like or dislike of blood. What does hold him in his current thrall is the sense of vulnerability the leaking life force adds to Dean's current position. Prone, bound, naked, in pain, unknowing, dripping blood... and other bodily fluids.

And that knowledge, combined with the sudden wet heat of Dean's mouth on his cock creates a surge of aggressive passion to shoot through him. Every instinct yells at him to thrust! Now! But he holds on, taking in Dean's eyes; looking for unmanageable distress. He sees none. Only pain, surprise, determination, and... lust.

Castiel pulls out slightly while also tugging on the tie still wrapped around Dean's neck. He pushes back in, steadily, luxuriating in the overwhelming heat. His voice sounds ragged in his own ears as he asks Dean questions he knows are dirty... obscene.

"Do you like the taste of me? The feel of me dragging over your tongue and down your throat?" Dean's whimper and suction, and his unwavering, fevered eye contact are answer enough.

"Are your whimpers from lust, Dean? Or are they from the pain coursing through your bloody lip and chest? My guess is that they are due to both... ah...ah...." For a moment he can't speak as he feels Dean's tongue curl just under the glans. "You don't make it an easy thing... staying coherent."

Dean is taking him apart.

"It would be likening you to a whore if I said your lips were made for this, wouldn't it Dean? I may have to say so anyway. Your lips... your mouth... I cannot imagine anything better, anywhere." Dean's eyes harden at the words but he doesn't stop his ministrations. If anything, Dean redoubles his efforts, suctioning hard on Castiel's outward glides and swallowing deep when Castiel drives home.

Castiel knows he's losing his battle to last and he wants to bring Dean with him. Wants so very much for Dean to have what Alastair so vilely denied him.

The angel tightens the tie's knot even further, watching Dean's eyes as he does. Slowly he slides over Dean's twisting, wicked tongue to lodge the tip of his cock in Dean's throat. He holds there for long seconds. "Does the inability to breathe as I stuff my hard, pulsing length down your throat scare you Dean? Does it excite you?" Even to Castiel's own ears his voice sounds like he's dragging his words through charred coal.

Dean gasps for air when Castiel pulls back and he loosens the tie's knot slightly. The angel takes himself at the root and rubs the tip of his cock across Dean's lips, applying the leaking fluid as if it were lipstick. The blood and pre-come mix to a pinkish shade.

Before Dean can answer, the angel says calmly, "Take a deep breath for me Dean," as he pushes back in, slowly, until he's slotted once again in Dean's throat. "Can you come from this, Dean? Can you come untouched, just from me fucking your throat?" Dean swallows around Castiel's cock, and Castiel thinks he hears a strangled sob.

He pulls back, lets Dean gasp in new air, and with his final bits of coherence he pushes all the way back in while pulling the short hair on top of Dean's scalp until Dean's neck is fully exposed. The angel leans down and growls hotly, letting his teeth scrape Dean's neck as he does. "You do know that I can smell you, don't you, Dean? Smell the arousal pulsing from you as you lay open for me here, absolutely at my mercy as I fuck your mouth? Fuck your mouth like I have desired since I held your soul in the palm of my hand."

Dean bucks off the ground and Castiel pulls completely out of Dean's mouth, overcome by the spasms that accompany his orgasm. Distantly he hears Dean's wrecked moans as the angel tugs hard and fast on his pulsing length, spewing line after line of white liquid to mix with Dean's own.




Dean is pretty sure he's just had one of the best orgasms of his life, and it was without a hand, or anything else, on his cock.

Dean licks his lips, totally because they're parched, even under the blood, and not at all because he wants the last drop of Cas's flavor.

He thinks he might've even blacked out for a minute. Holy shit, and that just does not happen to Dean fucking Winchester. And wow... Cas has wanted him since Hell? Since he held Dean's soul? Jesus! That was... well shit, that was all kinds of fucking awesome, actually.

The angel had almost face planted into the wall when he came but he must've pulled himself back together, because now he's loosening the belt from Dean's wrists and slowly lowering Dean's arms, rubbing them to get circulation moving. Dean's glad Cas does this the normal way, without using mojo. He really likes Cas's hands all over him. Like, really likes it.

But there's no way that Dean wants this to get awkward. He knows it's going to be bad enough the next time Cas flits back around so he figures he might as well try to limit any fallout now through his normal time-honored methods; ignoring what happened and repressing shit back up. "So, hey, thanks for that... Cas... buddy. That was, uh, pretty fucking awesome." He leans up, on his way to standing. "So, you know... I'll uh, call ya, yeah? We can just, you know, not mention this again. Like, ever. Um... can you mojo my shirt back, and maybe un-break my ribcage?" Yeah, so much for not being awkward.

Dean is stunned when Cas pulls him up by his wrist and that fucking tie. Those blue eyes bore into him, cutting him almost as surely as that godforsaken knife, as the angel says, "Oh, no Dean. I am far from done with you."


If he could, Dean would come all over himself, again, at those words.

Cas grabs him by the hair and marches him past those fucking crates, thankfully not on them for once, and throws him face-first against the chain-link fence. His remaining clothes disappear as the metal reaches out and grabs Dean's wrists -- creepy angel mojo! -- and pulls them up above his shoulders before wrapping around each wrist like God damned handcuffs. Dean's breath hitches at the ridiculous power Cas not only has, but obviously holds back so that Dean doesn't end up becoming accidental human hamburger.

And of course his fucking cock twitches with all kinds of interest at that raw inhuman power currently advancing at Dean's back.




Castiel knows that a few knife lines, even given Dean's earlier...excitement, is not enough for the hunter. Nor, he admits, is it enough for the angel. Castiel's vessel is ready again... and now his Grace knows the sheer bliss of orgasm. It takes almost more will than Castiel can muster to hold himself in check... to keep himself from diving onto... diving into the struggling, naked human only paces away.

He pulls his patience back from the cliff as he walks as ominously as possible to the frustrating man in front of him. He leans in, intimidation his goal, but he is almost overpowered by Dean's scent. Underneath the stagnant smell of the grimy alley Dean smells of leather, motor oil, wood, blood, and ejaculate. He also smells slightly of... unease. Maybe the reckless hunter is beginning to learn respect.

"Seriously, Cas? Turning metal into snakes? Isn't that more your creepy Father's territory?" Castiel sighs. Of course he hasn't learned.

Castiel knows what Dean needs... and he knows that in order to get what he needs Dean tries to use his insolence to provoke the angel. Oh, and it works. Castiel is nothing if not provoked... still powerfully angry... furious even. However, that fury is now tempered by the complexities that make up Dean Winchester... and the acute passion -- and lust -- the man incites.

The angel leans up against Dean's back and nips at his short hairs while reaching around to stroke Dean's flaccid cock. "Dean...," he closes his eyes in pleasure as he hears, and feels, the hunter moan. He tries to put authoritative weight behind his words but he hears them break slightly under his furious arousal. "Do you really think you are in a position right now to blaspheme... to disrespect my Father so utterly?" He pulls once more on Dean's length, not overly hard, but enough to cause a gasp, as he steps back. He removes his trench and suit coats while listening to Dean's heaving breaths before adding, "I assure you, you are not." 

He rolls up his shirt sleeves thinking in passing that this is the first time he has undressed his vessel to this extent. Then it is just a small thing to pull a multi-tailed whip -- a Cat o' Nine Tails -- from the firmament. It is also a small thing, a matter of .09 seconds, to learn its complete usage so as not to irrevocably harm the man in front of him.

"You display an unhealthy zeal for provoking me, Dean." Castiel drags the many tails along Dean's exposed sides, from his knees, across his hip, under his arms, and finally to his neck. At the whip's first touch Dean gasps and turns to look into the angel's eyes. Dean's own eyes are fevered, glassy, and trails of sweat fall from his brow. Castiel feels his own brow crease as he concentrates fully on Dean's eyes while also ghosting the tendrils down to his nipples (which yields a lustful moan) and further to drape over Dean's cock. A full body shiver shakes Dean and resonates through the fence.

Castiel steps back, winds up, and lands a powerful crack on Dean's naked ass. If he had wanted to he could have put enough power into the thrash to rip the man's internal organs out of his body. But no... he thinks this most recent episode in the alley makes it obvious... he will not be the cause of Dean's death. Not now. Not ever.

The force of the stroke isn't even enough to pull more than a grunt out of Dean.

Castiel swings the whip once more, this time with slightly more force and in a mirror image of the first hit. It draws a broken groan from the human chained before him and Castiel cannot pull his eyes from the rising color he's creating on Dean's ass.




"How many of these can you take, Dean?"

Dean feels Cas's whip land high on his back, then again, closer to the left... closer to the mark Cas left on his shoulder when he raised him from Hell.

"How many more of these lashes can you take," Cas continues, "before your pain-filled groans turn instead into lust-filled moans?"

Not many more if you keep up that kind of talk you son of a bitch, Dean thinks.

The next thing he knows, the angel is tucked up against his back again and breathing into Dean's neck. Oh yeah... that mind reading thing. He still can't remember if Cas can read his mind. Since the bastard held his fucking soul in his hand it's probably a good bet.

But then all thought stops as he sees, and oh God, feels, Cas brush his fingertips lightly over the hand-shaped scar on his shoulder. He touches it all over, tenderly, like he's stroking a kitten. Dean feels air catch in his chest as he watches Cas's hand move slowly over the mark.

"I thought briefly, Dean, about striking you on this mark I left on your body." Dean stops breathing altogether until Cas continues, "But I changed my mind. I am unsure if you, or I for that matter, could handle that."

Dean flat out moans when he feels the whip's tendrils drag softly over the mark, a parting caress, as the angel retakes his position behind Dean.

'Even in this dark alley, Dean, I can see the heat from my new marks warm your skin. It is quite beautiful you know." Dean scoffs at that but Cas ignores him and continues talking as he walks the lashes up and across his back and ass, steadily increasing the power behind his swings. "But what is even more... mesmerizing, Dean, is how your muscles ripple from one place to the next under your skin. Such exquisite beauty and strength."

Dean shivers again and tells himself it's from the lashes, not Cas's words. The angel's swings continue to fall, and in no pattern Dean can discern. Harder, definitely, but sometimes in quick succession, others with gaps in time and placement.

"Relax, Dean." Cas continues to lay stripe upon stripe up and down his body. "Relax yourself. Do not think upon the strokes themselves. Do not anticipate them, or the pain. You cannot control what I do to you, or when I do it. Give in to it, Dean."

Dean takes a deep breath. It doesn't feel like Cas has broken any skin but the overlapping lashes sting like a bitch and it's starting to be fucking difficult to keep his trap shut from the yips of pain that fly out. It's nowhere near going beyond what he can handle. Again, thanks to Alistair. But give in? Just let it happen? Oh, yeah. He'll get right on that. 'Cause he's so good at letting others take control.

Dean feels his dick bob heavily as he sways with the blows. He gasps as a particularly hard shot lands under his right shoulder blade. "You cannot control this, Dean," Castiel repeats. "Do you understand there is nothing you can do to stop me from doing anything... taking anything... everything I've ever wanted from you?"

Thank God Dean's wrists are trapped up against the fence otherwise he'd have fallen flat on his face since his knees gave right the hell out at those words. "Cas, please," he says, but for what he has no fucking idea. His cock is like a bolt of steel spewing molten metal at the tip.

"It's okay, Dean." The angel increases the strength behind his swings, welts rising now on Dean's sweat-soaked back. "It's okay... I am not him." Dean shakes his head, but doesn't know at what.

Each of the angel's next words are punctuated by heavy-handed blows. "I. Am. NOT. ALISTAIR!"

Dean bites out through deep groans, "I know, Cas!"

"If you know, then stop fighting this! Give it to me, Dean. Surrender this to me. This, Dean. Not all of you."

Lashes rain down and Dean hears a scream. He's startled as he realizes it's from his own mouth.

"Only this, Dean," the angel's whip slams into him.

God he needs this. So damn much. "Please." Dean gives it all up for the angel. He knows he's a pitiful, leaking mess and he just doesn't... he just can't care. "I need it... need you, Cas. Please... just please... want you." The last two words come out as a broken sobbing moan.

He knows he just surrendered himself... but somehow he also knows, this time, it's okay.




Castiel speaks every language known to man, and angelkind, but he cannot put into words what that moan does to him. Literally in less time it takes to blink he discards the whip and plasters himself back against Dean. His cock, even restrained behind fabric, jumps against Dean's crack, apparently quite aware of its location and clear in its desires. Castiel slips a hand between their bodies, dragging his index finger exceedingly slowly down Dean's crease. He wants Dean. So very badly.

"Dean," he ventures, voice full of desperation and transparent longing. He slips his finger up and down Dean's crack, not quite reaching that most illicit place, letting the man know his intentions.

Dean pushes his hips back and up, trying to direct Castiel's hand directly over his opening and he rasps, "Yes," when Castiel's finger reaches it.

He pulls a small portion of lubricant to his fingers, from where he cannot begin to care. He steps back slightly to lick Dean's abused shoulders as he eases in a finger to open a place he has never been... has never even considered in his almost boundless existence. The emotions and desires this man draws forth are almost incomprehensible in the power they have over the angel.

Dean gasps at the first breach but Castiel is assured of the man's desire when Dean pushes back onto Castiel's hand. The angel twists his finger experimentally, opening the soft, hot channel. He slips back out only to add a second finger, eliciting what can only be described as a lustful whine from the man.

Castiel scissors his fingers, moving in and out, pushing lubricant deeper while searching for that--

"Caaaaaaasssss!" Dean yells.

Ah, there it is. Castiel puts brief pressure on Dean's prostate before continuing to work Dean open.

"Cas... please. Need you. Now."

Castiel's own member feels exceedingly hard and uncomfortably bound under his restrictive clothing and he doesn't know how much longer he can hold off his own climax. But he won't rush this. "Won't chance hurting you, Dean. Not like this."

"'s okay... won't hurt... need... now. Castiel... please!"

Castiel groans and pulls his fingers out causing Dean to choke out a sob. He lubricates and lines himself up with angelic speed, pushing in, brutally slow, until he's fully sheathed in astonishing heat and pressure. He holds desperately still, not wanting to hurt Dean nor wanting to lose himself too quickly. He cannot believe the pulsing glorious pleasure that engulfs his vessel and even more-so, his Grace.




Ah, that stretching burn! Dean does remember that. But that's the only thing that bears even the slightest resemblance to the act he endured in Hell. What he's experiencing now is so different it might as well not even be the same damned thing. He uses the few working brain cells he has left to recognize that it really isn't the same. It's like using a knife to carve Thanksgiving dinner versus using it to carve out a human heart. The parts may be the same but the acts are not.

"Tight, Dean. So... unbelievably tight." The angel sounds wrecked behind him. Sounds like he's holding on by a thread. He can't believe that Cas... Castiel, Angel of The Lord, is buried inside him... fucking him. He's wanted this... since... shit, since The Barn, and God damn it feels good to admit that. It feels so good that Dean's cock leaks like a faucet, hard and ready, even with the burn in his ass.

"Cas," he pleads, "move."

The angel lets out a cry as if he's just been waiting for Dean's go-ahead. Dean feels Castiel's dick pull out almost completely; a punishing drag. He inches back in not as slow, not as deliberate as the first push and Dean feels his body dissolve, just fucking melt, under the impaling bliss that Cas accompanies with a throaty grunt.

"Cas," he moans, to the angel's scratched out, "Dean." Apparently they have a vocabulary of two words at this point and Dean's surprised they can deliver even that much given his brain's state. Cas, obviously, isn't much better off.

The angel wraps Dean in his arms as he establishes a steady rhythm -- a slow, deliberate slide out, and a ruthless stab in. He pegs Dean's prostate just about every other thrust and Dean's going to fly apart if Castiel doesn't touch him.

"So long...," he hears the angel whisper, "...wanted this... so... long."

He is so beyond caring if he's whining, or moaning, or even (Jesus!) begging. He needs Cas's hands on him. "Cas... would you... can you... Cas...."

He's pissed off at himself for not being able to get the words out but Cas can either interpret "Dean Being Fucked" language or he really can read minds because in the next instant Cas pulls out of Dean, eliciting a moan from each of them. He dismisses Dean's bindings and grabs hold of him, turning him roughly and positioning Dean's legs over the angel's forearms, before sliding back in with another grunt.

Dean whines, long and deep, maybe at the rough re-entry, maybe at the sheer exposure he feels, but when Castiel takes Dean's cock in hand and tugs it up and down, expertly (Isn't he a virgin?), and with a slight twist at the head, Dean just doesn't fucking care about anything else in the universe. There is no Michael, no Apocalypse, no Lucifer... there's just Dean and Cas... finally.




It is just too overwhelmingly good and he is moments from climax. His rhythm falters but he thrusts pointedly against Dean's prostate, determined to take the man over the edge with him. Dean's cock is a copiously leaking, silky, concrete pillar in his hand as he strokes it, root to tip.

"I am so deep inside of you, Dean." The angel speaks through clenched teeth. "So deep... and you are so tight... but so open for me." Castiel pistons in several times, brutally hard, exquisitely deep. "Dean," he gasps, "it feels like I'm touching your soul when I thrust home. It's so... overwhelming... so...,"

Castiel just cannot find the words anymore so he leans over Dean and covers his mouth with his own, tasting his own come and moaning into the wet heat. There is no fight for control of the kiss -- Dean yields beautifully to Castiel's plunging tongue, just as he does to his thrusting cock. He ends the kiss with a rough bite of Dean's lip as he dips his fingernail into the tip of the man's cock, either one -- or both -- drag a strangled cry from the man below him. With that there is no more holding on. He is done.

"Dean!" He cries as he drives in a final time, holding there, muscles clenched, teeth gnashed, until he feels his climax explode from his center, rampaging through every physical cell, erupting across his Grace, and ultimately gushing into Dean's channel, marking him as surely as his palm marks Dean's shoulder.




"Cas, oh my God... Caaaaasss!" Neither of them hear Dean's blaspheme as he comes like a fountain, pouring all over himself and the angel slanted above him.

Afterwards he feels like a pile of mush... a pile of mush with a heartbeat off the charts. Wouldn't it be par for the course, he thinks, if he'd survived vampires, a feelings-centric brother, fucking Hell, and an angsty angel only to die of a sex induced heart attack?

He laughs to himself. Ha! And I thought the last orgasm was incredible. This one is numero uno, top of the charts, bestest ever.

He hisses as Cas pulls out, thinking how much he hates that this has to end. Cas lowers him gently to the ground and holds him, cuddles with him like he's a... a...."

Ah, you know what? Fuck it. Who cares if Cas is spooning him a little. It's not like he's going to ever tell anyone or anything. And it feels good. So, what-fucking-ever!

As his sex-high wears off he realizes his ass... shit, his everything hurts... a lot. But kinda in a really good way. It feels... like a release or something. He doesn't know -- he isn't Samantha -- he can't find the flowery words for it. He just knows that even though he's been beat to shit he feels better than he has since... forever maybe.

He wonders for a moment who's humming and smiles when he realizes it's him.

It could be moments or hours later, Dean's not sure, but he startles out of a calm blissfulness to Castiel's voice.

"Dean...," he starts, but his voice sounds scratchy and fractured. He tries again, "Dean, I don't want this... any of this to end." Dean sees distress in the angel's eyes and he feels his gut clench in sorrow and a fairly sizable chunk of guilt. "We can find another way," Cas says. "Surrendering to Michael is not it."

"Oh, but it's okay if I surrender to you?" Dean says half as a joke and half as a jab meant to hit the angel hard.

If possible, Cas's eyes grow even more sad. Apparently the angel didn't get the joke part.

"Surrendering to me--" Cas starts.

"Cas, look, I didn't mean--"

"Let me finish, Dean," he says in that badass, chill-inducing way of his. Dean nods and Cas starts again.

"Surrendering to me is indeed a... submission. It is you yielding to something I want." Dean huffs and looks down, prompting Cas to tip Dean's face back up with a tenderness completely out of place with the hard alley and even harder times. "But what I ask from you is only what you can give and no more. Yes, I ask you to relinquish control, but only temporarily. I ask you to give me your pain because I give you passion -- and release -- in return. Surrendering to Michael will be permanent, Dean. Permanent, and hopeless. Surrendering to him is not the same as... surrendering to me." The last is said in a barely audible whisper.

Cas lets Dean turn his head away and he sits up, buying some time to figure out an answer. Because he just doesn't know anymore. It's not like he wants to become that dick's vessel. But he's not going to let Adam take on that burden either.

He tries to stand but his ribs, his... everything, hurts too much and he sinks back down onto the filthy alleyway on his still naked knees. Cas mirrors his position, holding his arms, an imploring look on his face.

The angel startles him again, this time with his words. "I will fight for you, Dean. Even if I have to fight you, I will fight for you."

Dean grips Cas's arms and chokes down the building lump in his throat. He looks at Castiel and allows a sliver of hope to settle in his chest. If anyone can figure this shit out it's the three of them. But he says, "I'm not going to sit back and let them take Adam, Cas. It's just not going to happen."

"I know that, Dean." Cas lifts Dean to his feet and holds him there, indignant angel look firmly in place. "Can you just stop being so damned stubborn and let us think of another way?"

He stares at Cas for a moment. "We'll see, Cas. Okay? That's the best I can do."

Cas sighs, probably because he knows that that's the best he's going to get from Dean at this point. The angel shakes his head and looks Dean up and down. "Before I bring you back to Bobby's I'll reclothe you and heal your wounds."

But as he reaches his fingers up towards Dean's head, which when landed will mean instantaneous transport back to Bobby's, Dean stops him. "Hey, Cas? Don't mojo it completely away, okay?"

Cas tilts his head in confusion so Dean adds with a smile, "I want you to leave something for me to feel tomorrow."

Castel smiles back and gently touches Dean's brow.