There were only a handful of places where the type of photographs Dean wanted could be purchased.
Dean knew every supplier.
It was a shame that there was such a small market; it forced the price up.
Charles Shurley was a perpetually nervous looking man. He drank. He talked over himself, repeated his words and his hands shook. Dean liked to buy from him. It was easier to exert a little pressure to get the price dropped.
His photographs came wrapped in brown paper and tied tightly with string.
Dean went to Shurley’s shop, paid for the photographs and tucked them under his coat. He didn’t look at them until he was back at his lodgings when he lit a candle and carefully unwrapped his purchase.
The photographs had been developed beautifully.
Dean laid them out across his writing desk and took his time examining them.
The first photograph showed two young men draped around each other, cocks out and pressed together. They weren’t wearing much, but, what they did have on were corsets and petticoats, pretty feminine attire that most young men would never dream of wearing.
If these photographs ever fell into the wrong hands they’d mean prosecution and prison sentences for everyone involved.
Dean smiled down at the photograph.
Although there were two young men in the photographs, Dean was only interested in one of them.
The sepia tone never did proper justice to Castiel. It never captured the color and vibrancy of his little whore, but, the photographs did give him something permanent when he couldn’t have Castiel to himself.
He wanted to consume Castiel, to feed off him for eternity, but, that wasn’t possible. Castiel wasn’t strong enough to sustain him indefinitely. He was human, mortal. Dean didn’t want to kill Castiel. He wanted something very different from him, so the photographs provided a safe way to feast on his sweetheart.
Dean could look, could feast with his eyes, and whet his appetite for later.
He turned to the next photograph; picking it up to inspect it closer. Castiel was bending over now, hiking up the petticoats as the other boy bent over him, simulating penetration, but his cock was nowhere near Castiel’s hole. It stood hard and proud and clearly in shot, making the promise of penetration, but never fulfilling it.
It made Dean ache.
He knew what it felt like to be buried inside Castiel. It was delicious. No one else he had ever fucked had shared that perfect blend of tightness and heat that Castiel had. Dean was a connoisseur. He’d been inside enough tight holes to know that Castiel’s was simply better. It satisfied him better than any other.
He could imagine no greater torture than being so close to fucking Castiel and not being allowed, having to pose and pretend, but never getting the taste he craved.
Of course, for him it wasn’t only sexual pleasure he sought. Castiel was food as well as a companion. If Dean was denied sex then he was denied a meal; and that would never do.
Angel Street was damp and cold, the fog from the Thames curling through all of London and the bitter chill of the night serving only to make it worse. It was not the sort of night anyone would choose to be out in; not unless they had to be.
Castiel stomped his feet, trying to get some warmth back into them, and blew on his cold fingers.
He did have to be out there. He needed to eat and he needed money to pay for a bed in one of the lodging houses, and he wouldn’t get either of those things unless he stood out on the street that evening, earning his keep.
He’d be warmer if he dressed like some of the other boys. They came out in their uniforms - sailor boys fro the ships, soldiers passing through town - and got a lot of trade because there was always a man attracted by uniform.
Others just wore their usual clothes, thick boots and long jackets, and smoked as they waited. They had their own charm, a distinctly boyish one that Castiel didn’t copy. Those boys worked with their hands and mouths, earned a little less, but they had factory jobs or something else to support them. They came out because they liked it, liked the men and the extra money.
Castiel wasn’t one of them. This was how he made his living.
When he wasn’t on the streets he was either at the Molly house or at one of the dingy little photography studios that had provided a second source of income for him. If he didn’t work he didn’t have anything to fall back on. He had no other job, no savings and certainly no enthralled client who would take care of him.
So at night he went to Angel Street, wore the clothes his clients expected of him, and offered himself to any man passing.
Those photographs had proved to be popular. Castiel was a favorite, and he’d seen a rise in interest, but, that didn’t mean anyone wanted him on a cold night like tonight.
He stamped his feet again, wishing that his clothes were as warm as they looked. That was the problem with dresses, at least the ones he could afford, they were made of light fabric, suitable for the summer, but not the weather they were having now. Any cold or damp gust of wind blew right up inside the skirts, reminding Castiel that his legs were bare, and chilled him to the bone. Castiel couldn’t afford to have a gown made for him, not one made from anything robust that could withstand the damp of Angel Street.
The best thing he could do tonight was find a man who wanted more than the use of Castiel’s mouth down some back alley. He needed to find a man who’d pay for a room and want everything Castiel offered. Then he’d at least be in the warm and dry for the length of the buggery.
Footsteps behind him made Castiel turn, and he was already slipping into a practiced pose when he realized the man heading towards him through the fog wasn’t a potential client, but another prostitute. Castiel knew the man. They had been working the same streets together for as long as Castiel could remember.
He relaxed, wrapping his arms across his chest. There was no point in appearing flirtatious when it was just Inias. Castiel didn’t go to bed with anyone who wasn’t willing to pay him, and he doubted Inias wanted to spend his hard earned pennies on a quick lay. He got more than enough to keep him satisfied.
“Miserable night,” Inias said.
Up close, he looked surprisingly bright and eager. He must have been searching for Castiel, walking up and down the street trying to find him. They often worked together. It was safer to have a friend around, someone who could watch your back and might notice if you didn’t turn up one day. More than a few of them disappeared into the black embrace of the night. Sometimes a body turned up, floating in the Thames and almost unrecognizable from the person they’d once been. Sometimes only parts of them turned up.
Castiel gave an involuntary shudder.
He didn’t want to think about how dangerous things could be. He didn’t want to think about the madman in the papers, the one who was killing and mutilating prostitutes. That was the kind of thinking that led to him doing stupid things, things like turning down clients and going hungry, or without a safe place to sleep.
“What’s troubling you?” Inias asked.
He peered at Castiel, his face drawn with concern.
“Just the Ripper,” Castiel said.
“He only goes after the girls,” Inias said.
Castiel gestured to his clothes, the ill-fitting dress and the hint of corset that it revealed. He always spent more on his under things. He spent more time in them, posing for photographers or entertaining his clients. The dress came off quickly.
“Well, he’d know you weren’t a girl once he got your clothes off.”
“Do you think he waits that long?”
“Just haggle on the price then. You get your voice all gruff and low and that will scare him off.”
Castiel touched his throat self-consciously. He’d had more than enough punters who told him not speak, who said he ruined the experience. They had an idea in their head about what Castiel should be like, how he should sound, and the raspy depth of his voice only got them soft. There were those who’d fucked his throat to keep him quiet, who’d made it clear they didn’t appreciate him talking. There were others who just walked away, shaking their heads in disgust. Castiel tried not to take it personally. They were buying a fantasy, not him. His body was all he had to give.
Inias licked his lips, seeming to notice just how uncomfortable he’d made Castiel.
“Other men like the way you sound,” he said quietly.
“It’s not important,” Castiel said briskly. “I don’t care if they like me or not. I just care that they pay.”
Inias nodded. Castiel could tell that he didn’t believe him.
It did sting a little to be rejected over something he couldn’t help, but men were picky. They’d reject boys over nothing at all - being too tall, too short, wearing the wrong kind of uniform or being too forward. It was stupid because in the end all they wanted was a quick fuck or the use of some boy’s mouth and in the end, one hole was the same as another, but those men had the money, so it was their choice who they gave it to.
Castiel just tried not to care so much that it stopped him from approaching the next gentleman.
He had to be tough to work the streets, had to be prepared for dismissal. There were far worse things. He’d had his share of beatings at the hands of angry men who hated themselves for wanting him, and hated Castiel for tempting them. He’d much rather have a hundred cruel comments than have someone raise his fists to him in anger.
“If you don’t find anyone tonight, do you want to sleep down near the market with me? I know this little sheltered bit. It’s warm in there with two people.” Inias said.
Castiel nodded. He’d slept outside before when there hadn’t been enough money to get him a room or even a space on a sleeping bench. It was better when he stayed together with some of the other boys. They kept warm, all their bodies pressed together, and there was something reassuring about the quiet snuffles and snorings that lulled him to sleep too. He much preferred it to trying to sleep alone.
Still it would be better to find a man to take him home. When it got too cold, he’d leave with Inias and go down to the market. If they were lucky, when they woke up tomorrow there’d be someone there who’d be willing to trade them breakfast for a quick suck. Castel preferred to trade for money, but when his stomach was grumbling, he wasn’t picky about what he traded his favors for.
“Am I interrupting?” a voice asked.
Castiel stiffened in shock. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts, in talking to Inias, that he hadn’t been aware of what was going on around him. He’d forgotten that he should be working.
He turned quickly, smiling when he saw the man who’d addressed him. It was Dean, one of his regulars. Dean always provided him with a warm bed and a few hours out of the cold. He liked a little of everything, which made him a very rewarding client, and he never haggled over the price. He always paid Castiel exactly what was asked and in return, Castiel tried his best to be good to Dean. He knew Dean saw other boys, that he wasn’t strict in his attentions, but he always returned to Castiel.
Although it shouldn’t have mattered, Castiel really didn’t want Dean seeing other boys. He wanted Dean as an exclusive client, to keep him all to himself.
“Hello, Dean,” he said, unable to stop the warmth that blossomed in his words.
“You look delicious,” Dean said, licking his lips.
He looked Castiel up and down, smiling widely.
Castiel felt his heart skip like he was some inexperienced boy, looking to be picked up for the first time. He wished he knew how to stop himself from feeling attracted to Dean, but he couldn’t. Dean made him feel things he’d forgotten, things he’d spent so long pretending to feel to please the men who paid him. Castiel wasn’t sure he’d ever really felt desire before, but he felt it when he was with Dean.
Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel could see Inias frowning.
If Castiel went with Dean, then Inias would no doubt have a cold night unless he could find a client. Castiel didn’t begrudge Inias his disappointment, but it wouldn’t be enough for him to turn down a paying client, especially not when that client was Dean.
“Are you going to take me home?” he asked. “You’re not here for anyone else?”
“Cas, you know you’re my best boy,” Dean murmured, reaching out to gently stroke Castiel’s cheek. “I just have some appetites you can’t fulfill.”
“I bet I could if you gave me a chance,” he said.
He couldn’t help speculating about what Dean meant by appetites. Did he want those uniformed boys? The dolly mops who were housemaids and nursemaids during the day, but who offered themselves to anyone who’d take them to see a show and buy them dinner in the evening? Or just another Sally-Ann, but one who wasn’t as masculine as Castiel? What did he look for that Castiel couldn’t give him?
Dean sighed softly.
“If I could, Cas, you’d be my only,” he said. “But you’re not going to refuse me tonight, are you? I want to take you home.”
“You know I wouldn’t refuse you, Dean.”
Castiel knew that Inias’s frown had only grown wider, and he knew why too. Inias could see that this wasn’t the normal flirting Castel did with clients. They hadn’t discussed price, they hadn’t even talked about what Dean wanted. They didn’t have to. They both knew what was going to happen. Castiel was going to go back to Dean’s house. It wouldn’t even be a quick fuck in a rented room. Dean would keep him for the whole night and Castiel would do anything he asked. Dean always paid, he was good like that, and he paid for everything Castiel gave him, but Castiel would still have gone with him even if money hadn’t been offered.
Inias had to see that Castiel was in over his head when it came to Dean,and he didn’t like it. Castel didn’t blame him - he knew it was foolish to fall for Dean. It wouldn’t end well for him, it couldn’t. He had no idea what Dean did for a living but he had money, a rented townhouse that he took Castiel to, even servants who had always turned a blind eye to what their master did; the men that he brought home. Dean came from a very different world to the one Castiel inhabited. It was a world Castiel could never hope to be a part of.
“Let me take you home,” Dean said softly, reaching for his hand.
Castiel entwined their fingers together, trying to stifle the spark of hope that bloomed in his chest. He wanted to belong to Dean. He wanted it so badly. It couldn’t be, but he could pretend for the night; he could go home with Dean, let Dean fuck him until he was breathless and dizzy, and fall asleep in Dean’s bed. That was good enough for him. It was all a prostitute like Castel could hope for.
“Please,” he said.
Dean wrapped an arm around him, leading him through the fog, away from Inias and Angel Street, towards the waiting carriage led by a sleek black horse.
In the swirling fog, they must have looked like a gentleman and his lady, silhouetted by the glow of the lamp light. There had never been a time that Castiel, even in all his fine clothes, wished to be a woman, but if he had been, even if he was still a prostitute, he could have been Dean’s mistress, kept by him. There might even have been a level of respectability in that. Dean could have introduced him to his friends, taken him to dinners and on outings.
There was no equivalent position for a man though, and certainly not for one that ran around in skirts and corsets. Even if Dean dressed him prettily, painted his face, Castiel couldn’t hide who he was. Dean could never introduce him at parties, could never been seen in a place more public than Angel Street with him. All they could ever have was sex, but Castiel would make the most of that.
The carriage driver, who was just a boy really with a soft face and sparkling eyes, tipped his cap to them as they neared.
“Good evening,” he said. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, sir.”
It took Castiel a moment to realize that the boy was addressing him, making reference to the number of times Dean had sought him out. He blushed, breaking eye contact and staring at his feet.
“Don’t mind Adam. He’s cheeky, but that’s the worst of him.”
He helped Castiel up into the carriage. It was not the first time Castiel had ridden in it. Indeed, once he’d never gotten out of it. Dean had been so hungry for him, he’d ripped Castiel’s clothes off as the carriage circled the streets and had him right there on the cushioned seat.
That didn’t happen this time. Dean sat beside him, pressing kisses to Castiel’s throat, smiling at him every time Castiel looked at him.
“You have a glow about you,” Dean whispered. He looked so happy.
Castiel smiled back at him, tangling their fingers together. He wasn’t sure what Dean meant, but he was certain that he loved him. The realization settled warmly into his bones, spreading through him. It shouldn’t have made him pleased. It should have terrified him, made him remember how vulnerable he was, but it didn’t. It felt right. Tomorrow, he would curse himself. He would hate himself for falling in love with a client, but for that moment he didn’t.
“Your friend doesn’t like me, does he?” Dean said.
“He’s worried about me. You must have read about the Ripper, you know that my profession isn’t the safest one.”
Dean cupped Castiel’s cheek, turning his face so Castel was looking at him. Castiel wouldn’t have been able to look away.
“I would never hurt you,” he said.
There was a weight behind his words, a weight Castiel had never felt before. The unspoken words shone through clearly. Dean was dangerous, he could have hurt Castiel, but he hadn’t.
It was another realization that should have meant a different reaction - fear or anger, something more than just understanding. He was in a carriage with someone he hardly knew, someone who could be dangerous. It shouldn’t have made Castiel wiggle free from Dean’s grip, then settle his head against Dean’s shoulder, curling close to him as if Dean was the only good thing in his world.
Dean wrapped his arm around him.
Dean was a powerful man, if he’d wanted to, he could have caused him pain, but all Castiel felt was safe in his arms. There were no absolutes in his world, and he knew that he shouldn’t trust anyone, especially not a relative stranger like Dean, but he did trust him. He gazed up at Dean, studying the outline of his profle, the way that Dean’s eye’s seemed black in the dark of the carriage.
The rest of the ride passed in silence, the two of them quiet in each other’s arms.
As far as Castiel was aware, Dean lived there alone in his house apart from the company of his servants. There had never been a wife to avoid or family that Dean wished to keep in the dark about his dalliances. There had never been a need to usher him in through the tradesmans entrance. Dean led him through the front door.
It certainly made things easier for the two of them. Castiel could catalogue every room in the house they’d had sex in; the dining room, where Dean had fucked him face down over the breakfast table, or the drawing room where he’d bounced up and down on Dean’s cock in one of the big leather arm chairs, or the master bedroom that still remained Castiel’s favorite spot.
That was where Dean took him now, upstairs to the great big four poster bed with it’s feather pillows and damask curtains. When Castiel was getting fucked roughly in some back alley, skirts bunched up around his hips, the scrape of a rough wall against his back, he thought about this bed and Dean’s arms encircling him. It was a place he dreamed of when he closed his eyes, not just because it was soft and warm, but because it was a place he shared with Dean.
The room was lit by a single candle, throwing shadows across the bed, and once again Dean’s eyes seemed black in the darkness. He looked at Castiel hungrily, stripping out of his clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor. Dean was a handsome man. The sight of him naked always made Castiel’s heart beat faster. He spent so much time giving pleasure to men who turned his stomach, repulsed him. It was always a shock when Dean stripped and he remembered what desire was, remembered that he could want - even need - to be fucked. That was what Dean did to him. He reminded Castiel how to feel all the parts of him that had been dulled. With Dean, sex wasn’t a job, it was a craving and one Castel could only satisfy through touch and taste.
Dean sat down on the bed, legs spread and cock hard. He wrapped his hand around his girth and stroked, watching Castiel through hooded eyes.
“You’re overdressed,” he growled, his voice low and feral with lust.
Castiel smiled. Knowing Dean wanted him, desired him, made Castiel feel powerful.
He rolled his shoulders, taking his time shrugging the thin, flimsy gown from his frame. Dean’s eyes followed his every movement, and when the gown hit the floor and Castiel’s underthings were revealed, he whistled low and long in his appreciation.
“Do you approve?” Castiel asked, turning to give Dean the full view.
He knew already how much Dean liked him in his corsets. The rest of his clothing - the dress, his under shorts - they were window dressing, but the corset always seemed to arouse Dean’s vigour. It was a rare session that saw Castiel completely undressed.
“Very much,” Dean’s voice came from behind him, roughened with desire.
Castiel bent over, allowing Dean a good view of his ass as he rolled down his under shorts. He heard Dean’s sharp intake of breath and he smiled. The under things ended up on the floor along with his dress, and then Castiel straightened, turning back to face Dean.
His own cock was hard, jutting erect from the dark thatch of hair between his legs. There was no denying now, if there ever had been, that Castiel was a boy. Half the time when he was fucked, his cock remained flaccid, and if he shut his mouth, most men could fool themselves as they used him. Not Dean though. His eyes swept up and down the length of Castiel’s body and he licked his lips.
“Aren’t you just the most beautiful boy, Cas? So hard for me.”
“I want you,” Castiel said softly.
He didn’t have pretty words, just an ache inside him that wouldn’t be sated until he was filled with Dean’s cock.
Dean seemed to understand because he didn’t tease. He stopped stroking himself and leant back on the bed, beckoning Castiel over with a nod of his head. Castiel crossed the room quickly, crawling into Dean’s lap and seating himself so Dean’s cock brushed between his cheeks, so close to what he wanted but not close enough.
“How should I fuck you tonight, Castiel?” Dean mused, arms coming up to encircle Castiel and hold him close. “On your hands and knees? In my lap?”
“Please,” Castiel whispered. He didn’t care how Dean took him, just that he did.
“Maybe I should have you on your back, so I can see your face as I fuck you?” Dean suggested.
Castiel nodded eagerly.
He felt Dean’s fingers sneak up to loosen the ties on his corset, tugging free the knot that held him bound. He breathed a little more deeply, surprised, but not upset, as Dean eased that off him too and left it on the floor with their discarded clothes.
“I want to see all of you tonight, Castiel, nothing hidden,” he said, hands stroking up Castiel’s sides, then across his stomach. “You really are beautiful, Cas, and even more so like this.”
Castiel whined softly, rubbing himself back against Dean’s hard cock. He liked the praise, liked to know that Dean thought him beautiful, but it wasn’t what he needed. What he needed was Dean inside him. Dean could praise him all he wanted while he fucked him.
“So impatient,” Dean chided him. “Lie down, like I told you, so I can see your face.”
Castiel didn’t want to move. He would have happily stayed in Dean’s lap and fucked himself on Dean’s cock, but he did as he was told, moving from Dean’s lap to the soft mattress of the bed.
He squirmed a little as he settled himself, spreading his legs and reaching for his own cock, stroking it idely as Dean moved, getting up from the bed and returning a few moments later with a small jar of oil. He knelt between Castiel’s spread legs, staring at Castiel for a moment.
“So desperate for me,” he murmured, watching Castiel touch himself.
“Please,” Castiel whined again.
Dean uncapped the oil and poured a generous amount over his fingers. He set the oil on the bedside table, close enough to reach again when he needed it, and ran his fingers across Castiel’s hole.
“How many men have fucked you today?” he asked.
“None,” Castiel said. “Only my mouth today. It’s been slow and no one wanted to pay for a room.”
“Good, I prefer that,” Dean said. “I like to imagine you being fucked. I like those photographs of you and other boys, but I don’t like it when some other man has stretched you out. I want this all for myself.”
He pressed one finger inside Castiel, so quickly that Castiel found himself gasping in surprise. The second finger he added more gently, pumping both of them slowly into Castiel, getting him used to the sensation and the fullness before he added a third, scissoring them and stretching him open.
Castiel closed his eyes, losing himself in the feeling of dexterous fingers filling him. He pushed his hips down, seeking more, and whimpered when Dean didn’t push deeper but pulled his fingers away.
The loss was only for a moment and then he felt the press of Dean’s cock against his hole. Dean went so slowly, sinking into him inch by torturous inch, that Castiel was trembling by the time he was buried to the hilt inside him. Dean’s cock was big. It filled him up like nothing else. All Castiel could think about, all he could concentrate on, was that feeling of being filled so completely. He moaned, opening his eyes, and looked up at Dean.
“Beautiful,” Dean breathed, bending to kiss him.
The kiss was short, demanding, before Dean was pulling away and jerking his hips back, setting a brutal pace. This wasn’t delicate. Dean wasn’t afraid to touch him, wasn’t afraid to fuck him so Castiel would still feel it in the morning. It was passion, harder and faster than anything he was used to. Being with Dean never felt like being with other men. Dean had a way of touching him, a way of fucking him, that drew everything from Castiel. It heightened every sense, made him aware of every noise - of the bed creaking under them, the huffs of Dean’s breath - the way Dean smelt, dark and musky, and how his own heart raced dangerously fast trying to keep up with everything he was feeling.
“Dean,” he cried, feeling as if he couldn’t breathe. There were stars behind his eyes, his vision swam, yet he was conscious of Dean pounding inside him, of his orgasm building. It became his focus, every as everything else faded away into darkness.
Dean seemed to be getting stronger and stronger, and Castiel clung to him, feeling as if he was about to fall. Dean took everything from him, panted his name like it was a chant, like he was binding Castiel to him and Castiel would never resist that. He wanted to belong to Dean. He wanted Dean to have every part of him, to take whatever he needed.
Castiel came with a cry. His orgasm, which had been building for so long, crashed over him. He arched, his cock leaking white and hot across his stomach. The stars behind his eyes seemed to grow brighter until their white, shimmery light was all he saw. Everything - Dean, the room, the sensations he’d felt - faded away and Castiel was left in the white light, exhausted and drained.
Dean had taken everything from him, just as Castiel had wanted him to.
The light peeking through the curtains was what caused Castiel to wake.
For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. For a moment, he couldn’t remember who he was. All he knew was that he was warm and safe, wrapped tight in a blanket and resting on a soft mattress. It was all he cared to know. He yawned, stretched a little, and nuzzled deeper into the cocoon of warmth he’d made himself.
Even if the sun was up, it didn't mean that Castiel had to be.
He lay there for a few moments longer, enjoying the warmth, drifting on the edge of sleep, before reality came back to him.
Castiel sat up quickly, grasping the bed sheets to his chest.
It was the morning and he was still there, still lying in Dean’s bed when he should have been gone hours ago. It was one thing to bring a whore into a house under the cover of darkness, but another thing altogether for one to waltz out of the front door in the bright light of the morning, especially when the whore in question was as conspicuous as Castiel.
He would have to leave out the back, by the tradesmans entrance, but even then there might still be talk. If he was lucky, people would catch only a fleeting glance of him. They’d assume Dean had spent the night with a young lady. They wouldn’t understand the truth.
Castiel stumbled out of bed, trying to ignore how much he ached. His clothes were strewn across the floor and Castiel fumbled, trying to collect them. He was still tired, but he had overstayed his welcome. Dean had been kind to let him sleep on, but it was a foolish kindness that could cost him so much more than a night with Castiel was worth.
The bedroom door opened and a pretty maid with long red hair stuffed under her cap entered, carrying a breakfast tray in her hands.
He waited for her to do something - to scream, to back out of the room, to drop the tray - to have some reaction to the half-naked man in front of her. But she didn’t seem in the least phased by him or his state of undress.
She crossed the room and deposited the tray on the bedside table before turning to face him. Castiel straightened up, holding his clothes in front of him as a shield.
“Dean says you’re to eat something,” the maid said. “I’m Charlie, and he’s told me to take care of you. I can run you a bath if you need one, and I’ll take those things from you and get them laundered.”
She held her hands out for his clothes. Castiel hesitated. The clothes were all he had in the world, the only things he owned that were his, that he didn’t have to rent from someone else. If she destroyed them, he wouldn’t have anything.
Charlie seemed to read his mind.
“If it was up to me, I’d burn these old things. Dean can buy you much better, but I promise you I’ll take good care of them. They’ll be washed and clean when I bring them back to you.”
Castiel carefully passed them to her. Everything seemed too surreal to be taken seriously. He was certain that in a moment he’d wake up and find this had all been a dream. That seemed more plausible than Dean sending a maid to take care of him. Why wouldn’t Dean want to hide him away? That was normal, that was what his other clients did.
“Would you like a bath?” Charlie asked. “I’ve got the kitchens heating hot water for you if you do, but you should eat now. Dean said it was important you keep your strength up.”
Castiel nodded wordlessly.
Under Charlie’s watchful eye, he got back into bed, pulling the sheets around him. He waited to wake up, waited for the moment when the dream would fade away, but nothing happened. He took a deep breath and risked a glance at the breakfast tray, his stomach heaving when he saw the bacon, eggs and fresh toast.
It should have made him hungry. There was food, it was free and Castiel probably wouldn’t get another hot meal like this one in a long while, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat it.
The scent made him feel nauseous.
Charlie was watching him carefully.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
Castiel shook his head. “No, I...I just need to open a window. I need fresh air. I’ll be fine in a moment.”
“You’re feeling sick?”
Castiel paused for a moment.
“I’m not used to this,” he said. He wasn’t used to rich food, to staying in the morning, to anything that was happening. It made him feel uneasy.
“I’ll fetch Dean,” Charlie said.
“No,” Castiel gasped, but it was too late. Charlie was already gone.
Castiel pushed the tray away and ran a hand through his hair distractedly. He didn’t want Charlie to call Dean. She’d taken Castiel’s clothes with her, which was a shame, because otherwise he could have just left without seeing Dean again. Then he wouldn't have to hear Dean tell him to leave.
Dean would have to ask him to go eventually. It was supposed to be part of Castiel’s job to leave before he was ordered to, to know when to extract himself before things grew awkward.
There were footsteps outside the door, then Dean burst in. He strode across the room in three quick steps and pressed the back of his hand to Castiel’s forehead.
“Charlie said you felt sick.”
“It’s nothing,” Castiel insisted. “It was just the smell…”
He knew what Dean would think. It was what anyone would think. They’d worry about their own health, about what they could have caught by fucking a sick whore. Castiel knew it was just the strangeness of the situation that had turned his stomach, that had made him feel so nauseous, but that didn’t mean Dean would understand. He would want to get as far away from Castiel as possible. Any man would.
Dean let his hand drop. He smiled softly at Castiel, which was all the more puzzling.
“That’s only to be expected,” he said. “In your condition.”
“My condition?” Castiel repeated.
“Your pregnancy,” Dean said.
For a moment, Castiel stared at him blankly. Then he laughed.
Dean didn’t laugh. He sat on the bed, watching him closely, still smiling that strange, soft smile that was beginning to unnerve Castiel.
Slowly, his laughter died away. He put a hand on his stomach, another wave of nausea washing over him.
“That’s unnatural. Men can’t...I can’t…”
“Yes, you can, with a little help,” Dean said.
He picked up Castiel’s hand, holding it tenderly and brought it to his lips to kiss. His eyes were black.
“What are you?” Castiel asked.
He’d known since the night before that something was off about Dean. He’d felt it. Now he had confirmation that Dean was not normal, was something else, a creature not completely human. He’d known that Dean was dangerous, but he hadn’t cared to think too deeply about the nature of the danger Dean posed to him. He had to now.
“A demon, a succubus; I feed off sexual energy,” Dean murmured, intent on pressing soft kisses to the inside of Castiel’s wrist. “I’ve been around for a very long time, travelling from place to place. This is only my second time in London. I came here during the Reformation. It was an interesting time, a good time, if you enjoyed debauchery as I do.”
Castiel swallowed. His mind was racing, filled with questions, but he didn’t doubt the things Dean said. He believed him implicitly.
“And Adam? Charlie? Are they demons too?”
“Lesser demons. No one in this household is human, apart from you.”
“And I’m….” he stopped for a moment, forcing the word out with some difficulty. “...pregnant?”
Dean’s smile grew wider still.
“Yes.” He rubbed his thumb across the back of Castiel’s hand. “As a succubus, it is expected for me to spread my seed. It isn’t unheard of for succubi to make men pregnant, but I’ve never done it before, not until I met you. I didn't even know that I had until I saw you last night, saw how you'd change.”
Castiel licked his lips. His mouth felt dry.
It was terrifying, unnatural. A demon had come into his life, had loved him and impregnated him. It made him fear for his immortal soul. What would happen to him once he died? Castiel knew he was damned for being a sodomite, but now he would be twice damned for carrying the spawn of a demon. It made him fear for his very life; his body was not built to carry a child, let alone a demonic one.
“You’re frightened,” Dean said. It was a statement, not a question.
“Men don’t get pregnant,” Castiel said. “It will kill me, won’t it? And you’re a demon, I’ll go to Hell.”
“You won’t die. I told you, Castiel, you’re not the first man to gain the attentions of a succubus.” Dean said. “And I’ve been to Hell. If you went there, I would find your soul and raise you to Earth with me.”
He touched Castiel’s stomach tenderly, the soft warmth returning to his eyes.
“You don’t know how please I am, Castiel. You are carrying my child and I can keep you.”
“Why?” Castiel asked.
He didn’t understand. If Dean had always wanted him, why couldn’t he just have told him that? He was a demon. There must have been so many ways for him to make Castiel his own.
“We share something now, Cas. A life-force we created,” Dean said. “And it will start to change you. After all, you could hardly remain mortal carrying a demon child. Besides, you know as well as I do that you’re safe here with me, staying with me, but you wouldn’t be safe if you went back to the streets.” He looked suddenly concerned. "You do want to stay with me, don't you, Castiel?"
Castiel drew in a deep breath.
“I’m becoming a demon?”
“Not quite, but you’re not mortal either,” Dean said. “And being a demon isn’t that bad. I’m not that bad.”
“Will you still have to feed from other people?” Castiel asked.
It was a jealous question, a possessive one, but if he was changing to become something more than mortal, he ought to be enough for Dean. He understood now that Dean had sought out others for his meals, had protected Castiel that way, but if the change would make Castiel stronger then Dean should be his.
Dean’s eyes flickered black again.
“While you’re carrying our child you need your strength, but after it’s born, you are the only one I want to eat. You truly are delicious.”
Castiel tried to sort through the distracted thoughts in his head, tried to make sense of them, but there was only one thing he could understand - Dean thought he was special. He had chosen Castiel out of all the others. It was foolish, but for the moment that was the only thing that mattered to him. He would have time to come to grips with Dean’s nature, to understand the true consequences of the creature growing within him, but for now he had the realization that he could be with Dean, that he would never have to leave again.
“You want me to stay?” he asked.
Dean breathed in deeply, his eyes flashing black again.
“Yes,” he hissed.
“I want to be yours,” Castiel said decidedly.
He already knew he was lost to Dean. He’d fallen for him so deeply, so completely, that it didn’t matter to him what Dean was or what he did. All that mattered was that they could be together. Dean lived outside of society. He was a creature of the night, a monster. It didn’t matter what Castiel was or how he dressed. It would never be a problem for Dean because Dean was not bound by the same rules as mortals. Dean was a being of lust and he was the one who had captured Castiel’s heart.
“You already are,” Dean said.
He grasped Castiel tightly and kissed him until Castiel was lightheaded.