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The invitation comes on a Thursday, an arbitrary happenstance, but Castiel has never been able to rid himself of the belief that if you asked a question, the answer would be revealed if you were attuned to its subtleties. Here is his sign, an engraved invitation on the day of his namesake’s keeping.

He’s doing this. He is sitting at his laptop, punching in the private user code that came with his invitation, creating an account, reading the contract. The endless contract that mingles attention dulling legalese with precise descriptions of sexual proclivities, some of which he’s searched for late at night, pulling up crudely made websites rendered in black and red, clicking play before shutting it all down. Heart racing, search history cleared, and if he doesn’t watch he can’t be tortured with how much he’s sure he’ll like it.

Ever since he heard about the island, it consumed him. What if he did it, what if he applied? The thrill of that far off place teased at him, seeped into his dreams, made him hard in line for coffee, made him whimper at the contact of the sun hot steering wheel against his palms when getting into his car. In a fit of wanton glee he gave in, protected by the conviction that there was no way in hell they would choose him. It was the act of applying that gave him a buzz of pleasure, filling out the two page form in his careful hand. (They’d requested handwritten in black ink only.) Pushing the living room chairs away so that the grey curtains could serve as a pleasingly neutral background. Setting up the camera, (hard copies only, no digital files) staring at the little red dot and feeling the weight of its open eye lens pull him like a gaping void that calls at you to jump.

Just jump.

They had been very specific. First name, last name, height, weight, hair color, eye color, sexual orientation and level of comfort exploring outside of it. This he said with a careful expression that tried to hide his nerves. Then he stripped, deliberately slow, just like they’d asked, but without a hint of tease he was sure other people performed on their tapes. That just wasn’t him, he wasn’t coy, or even particularly sultry in his opinion, which was another reason why he was sure that whoever watched this performance would throw it immediately into the reject pile.

He didn’t mind.

He put the letter and the tape into a Fedex envelope he’d brought home for this purpose, printed the label, scheduled the pickup. He knew that if he had to drive it to the store himself he’d never get out of the car. When the driver came, Castiel had a crazy impulse to tell the man there was a video of himself naked in that envelope. Or maybe the man also secretly dabbled, maybe the driver would scan the package and recognize the address as belonging to the one and only King of Kink.

Maybe if Castiel ran he could tear the thing from the driver’s hands and chalk this all up to temporary insanity.

Too late, though. The boxy white truck was already lumbering down the street. It was done.

After that he went immediately to the bathroom and locked the door, an old habit as he now lived alone but it still gave him an illicit little thrill. Or maybe it was the mirrors, watching the panic and guilt war with the pleasure as he masturbated standing at the sink. And in his mind it was finished, scene complete.

But they chose him.

And once the shock fades some, he makes the decision to go. The gold script of his name is a promise. For once he can have something of his own.

In the weeks leading up to his trip, Castiel walks around in a state of being not unlike a murderer plotting an elaborate kill. There are logistics, lies to tell his friends and family (two weeks alone in a cabin was just the thing he needed to finish this bitch of a book), lies to tell his doctor (new boyfriend is a bit of a stickler, need those blood tests printed out if you could and while I’m here, why not a full physical, couldn’t hurt), cancel the paper, cancel the maid, walk around smiling like your heart isn’t furiously beating out of your chest.

The apartment phone rings.

“Delivery coming up.”

Dean hangs up without a word. The soft knock comes two minutes later, and when he sees the dark haired woman behind his door, smooth caramel skin, soft fawn colored dress painting her curves, downcast eyes, he wonders if Sam hadn’t gotten him an early birthday present.

“For the Masters Winchester.” And she knows well enough it’s acceptable to entrust both envelopes to Dean, presenting the pair on the tray of her hands.

“Do you come with it?” He flirts, the certainty of rejection enough of a punchline.

“No.” She says simply, smiles simply, turns and walks down the hall and goddamn did Crowley know how to pick ‘em.

With a final, appreciative glance at her retreating form, Dean hurries to shut the door and press the buzzer on the intercom.

“Sam you need to get out here.”

“I’m a little busy.” He crackles back.

“It can wait.”

Waiting for Sam, Dean turns the heavy black cardstock over in his hands, the matte black ribbon, the glossy red seal thrilling him with its promise. Sam appears from the hall, leather pants and black rubber gloves, a sheen of sweat coating his long, naked torso. It always made Dean proud, that Sam could look so dangerous and sensual without even trying. The getup was probably at the request of whatever lucky SOB he’d left hanging in the other room, figuratively and literally.

“Is that it?”

He’s trying his best not to dance around like a child, wasn’t doing a very good job. Dean can only laugh and hand one envelope over. Neither had a name, they were identical, everyone knew the brothers came in a pair, even though they didn’t always play with partners together.

Sam makes a face as Dean sends bits of wax and ribbon to the floor. He probably wanted Dean to savor it, which is hilarious considering, of the two, Dean is far more of a sensualist in his play than Sam, who likes things with a little more ferocity, a little more pain. Yet the one thing Dean lacks that his brother has in abundance is patience. When he wants, he wants now.

The gold embossed script flickers like flame across his vision and he grins.

It is with deepest pleasure that I invite you…..

The only way to reach New Sybaris is by plane to the nearest island and then by boat. Technically there is a helipad on the south side, but it’s only for emergencies. Crowley could have boasted his status, flying in and out at his leisure, but his mind is made for detail and there is too much potential for a breach of privacy even with just one measly helicopter and its pilots. Men could be bought and the current market price for photos of his island sanctuary is just too high to risk.

Everyone amasses in New York, where Crowley’s private fleet of planes whisks them off to the Maldives. Here his twin set of yachts shuttles them from the little beach club he uses as a holding pen to the docks of New Sybaris. The regulars have come to refer to it as Purgatory.

The word of the day is always control, and even the star Doms must submit to Crowley’s rule of law if they want to play in his garden. It is all very neatly managed. The subs arrive first, separately, boarding the yachts while thousands of miles away the first batches of Doms take off over the cluttered concrete landscape of Queens. They are greeted with the same genteel attention that the Doms will receive. These smiling men and women in brightly colored gauzy uniforms are employees, not playmates. Crowley goes to great length to train the very best in the particular level of service his guests require. They are off limits. They are unobtrusive and totally inured to the sexual decadence that takes place here every year. The men all answer to the name Jonah, the women to Jade, easier to remember if one’s mind is otherwise occupied.

The first instruction the subs receive is simple enough. Every guest has private accommodations, not even the couples who come here share. Once shown their quarters, the subs must remain indoors until 8pm, at which time everyone must attend the opening night gala. This will be the first time the Doms and subs get a chance to mingle and, aside from the last day, it is the only time everyone will be fully dressed.

No one is expected or encouraged to play a roll tonight. Come as you are. The only indicator of status is found in a rosewood box that has been left on Castiel’s bed.

He’s been fueling a steady buzz with mini bottles of airline booze for the last ten hours to deal with his nerves but it’s listed halfway down on the neatly typed sheet of paper that rests beside the box.

Sobriety is mandatory for all interactions.

He takes a peek in the small fridge anyway. Bottles of water, carafes of different juices, bowls of cut fruit and a plate of cheeses he takes to sit out. No honor bar, he wonders if the Dom bungalows are the same.

He’s actually here. It seems like a dream, but he did it. The bungalow is not large, but the high beamed ceiling gives it an airy feel. The bed is wide and crisp with white linens, the furniture simple and unobtrusive, a sofa and table, a chest of drawers, a night stand, a large free standing armoire. This piece isn’t empty though, which he discovers once he opens it to hang his jacket. Paddles, coils of rope, floggers and cuffs and boxes of toys stored primly on each shelf. It’s overwhelming. Everything he’s ever read about, imagined as a tool to break his will and make it new right here out in the open, no locks, not hidden in a closet’s dark corner.

Like these things were all perfectly normal. An enormous cache of sex toys a fixture like any other. A chair. A lamp.

That’s when it really hits him. Every single person on this island is like him. They want what he wants, in different ways, sure, but in the end the same. It’s freedom, sudden and hot like the time delayed slice of a knife. He leaves the doors open, stealing a peek from time to time.

The bathroom is huge, almost as large as the main room with the back section an open air shower, the walls papered with blossoming vines, sun streaming down onto the stone tiles. The center of the bathroom is taken up by a gigantic claw foot tub, next to which is a low table and an armchair. He shivers at the implication. A little yellow bird flutters down to perch on the shower head, twittering at Castiel before flying away, and he considers the fact that the mosquito netting surrounding the bed might not be just for decoration. He runs the bath, leaving to lay out his clothes for the evening and open the rosewood box.

Your gift must be worn at all times in public spaces and privately in the company of your Dom/Domme.

Castiel’s heart speeds up when he sees the circlet of soft brown leather, CASTIEL tooled into the left side, the brass buckle and row of grommets, the O ring fastened flush to the band, not free swinging as he’s always imagined.

He’s imagined this a lot.

The tub is steaming and perfect on his travel sore muscles. He sinks lower in the water and sighs with utter contentment, smiling as he fingers the collar around his neck.

Dean hasn’t subbed in a long, long time, but wants to get on his knees and kiss the pilot’s shoes when they land. He hates flying, no amount of excellent whiskey served by busty flight attendants could ease the white knuckle terror that’s been riding him since they took off. Sam only let him have one little Vallium, well aware of the risk his brother might overdose in the bathroom if given the whole bottle.

It’s evening when the ship hits port, the tropical blaze of sunset washing out the torches that light the sandy walkways. There are ten overwater bungalows separate from the other accommodations, and as guest trainers Dean and Sam are each given one. Next door to one another, naturally.

Dean can’t wait for tonight, he’s been to the island twice before as a guest and he knows by now that as much as it’s about easing into the social setting and listening to Crowley’s speech, this is where you build your list of subs you’d like to play with. The pro subs are in high demand, naturally, but he’s not worried about that. All of his classes will be demonstrated with one of them and once he knows who they are he’s planning on booking any of them that catch his eye. And there are perks of his own to enjoy, no more competition with the other guests to get time with the best looking subs. No, tonight they’re all coming to him, and he can sit back and let them fall in his lap. It’s going to be awesome.

There’s less than an hour until the event, but Dean’s in no hurry, showering, changing, poking around at all the extras in his room. The hooks attached to the ceiling beams make him smile especially wide and he wonders if Crowley did this for him or if this is a new feature in every room. God, he hopes it is.

He leaves the little box on his bed for last, running a hand over the warm grain before cracking the lid. On the velvet backing, two round brass disks, each hanging from a lobster claw clasp, each stamped with DEAN’S in a sturdy font. He pockets both of them with a racing heart and heads over to Sam’s. The guy is still in the bathroom, which is no shock, he never has to worry about arriving too early for an entrance with his brother, Sam is worse than a girl about primping. But Dean can’t give him too much shit about it when he emerges in a cloud of steam, the telltale jingle in his brother’s pocket tells him they both have the same idea. Most of the new guests will just be getting their bearings, but the brothers plan on wasting no time claiming one (or two) of the prettiest subs for themselves right off the bat.

Dean unscrews the flask he’s brought and pours two shots, handing one to his brother and matching the younger man’s grin before they each toss theirs back.

“Sammy, we are gonna have so much fun.”

A conch shell, an actually conch shell horn bellows from the hilltop where the main house sits overlooking the resort. Or at least Castiel thinks it’s a conch shell, he’s never actually heard one before but everything here is so perfectly detailed he wouldn’t be surprised. The night is warm and humid, the air scented with frangipani. He follows the crowd as they spill from their bungalows, some people squealing as they recognize old friends, most swaying silently up the fire lit walkways towards the blazing jewel of the main house. It’s a palace of dark gleaming wood and white stucco, the open front windows a golden beacon. Castiel glances nervously around him, touching the leather against his throat as he lets himself be lead along in the river of bodies.

A line of staff greet everyone at the entrance, guiding them to a hall where large round tables fill with guests, the Doms seated separately but tantalizingly close. Were not half the tables collared, it would be difficult to tell them apart. There are no downcast eyes or broad shouldered displays of dominance, everyone chats excitedly and calls to friends across tables or makes introductions that Castiel finds almost unsettlingly normal. He’s shown to a seat next to a slim girl with bright red hair and an impish smile. She looks him over and grins.

“First timer?”

“Uhh…umm yes. How did you know?”

“Dude, you look like you’re going to pass out!”

Castiel tries to offer a smile of his own but he finds his nerves just won’t allow it.

“To be honest I didn’t really think I would be offered a place here so I believe I’m feeling a little overwhelmed.”

“Well hell, this is my fourth time here and I’m overwhelmed! You never get used to it, you know? I mean, look at all these people! Do you know that for every person that gets an invitation thirty other people are declined? It took me five years to get an invite, and I don’t care how broke it gets me, I’ll be here every single time if I can. You know? I’ve had subs approach me offering to buy my invite. Can you believe that?! As if Crowley wouldn’t have me banned for life. I think one time there was this Dom that tried to sell his on like, eBay or something, or maybe it was on Fetlife, I don’t remember, but anyway Crowley took one look at the crowd and had the stranger tossed on the first boat outta here. He, like, knows everyone. Isn’t that crazy? And that Dom was pretty much excommunicated from every major club, can you imagine? How long did it take you to get your invite?”

“I…this was my first attempt to-“

“What!” She squeals and a few heads turn in their direction. Castiel feels himself flush but she doesn’t seem fazed in the least. “How the hell did you make it through on your first try? Oh my gosh, what did you do?”

“Do?”

“On your video! How did you get Crowley to notice you, did you juggle flaming dildos with your dick?!”

“That doesn’t sound possible.”

She bursts out laughing.

“You are the cutest! I’m Charlie, by the way. Sometimes I get going and I end up skipping the intro to get right to the BFF part. Cas-teel. Am I saying that right?”

It’s a shock, for a moment, before he remembers his named scrolled along the collar. He shakes her proffered hand. “Castiel, actually. And what is a BFF part?”

“Oh my god,” she grins wider. “They are gonna eat you alive!”

Just then the lights dim except for where they illuminate a long banquet table at the head of the hall. It’s a wonder he didn’t notice it before, what with the actual throne crowing the center, but there are five people flanking either side of it, and from here Castiel can see that all those seated to the right are wearing collars, all those on the left are not.

“Those are the pros.” Charlie whispers in his ear. “I mean, there are a ton of pros here, but they’re the trainers. They’ll teach all the classes and do demos and stuff but really that’s all just extra. They’re Top Gun, man, and half the people in this room are here just so they can get a chance to scene with them.”

Castiel sweeps his gaze over the row of faces. They’re all very different, but each one has a kind of allure that can’t be denied. As they chat amongst themselves, he can see them looking over the crowd carefully. Scouting for potential or sizing up their audience. There is one in particular that catches his eye, a tall, sandy haired man seated directly next to the throne. Castiel can’t make out the fine details of his face, but the fullness of his lips is prominent even from here, as is the cocksure way he leans back in his seat and throws smirking comments at the even taller man next to him, eyes never leaving the crowd. A hot flash of blood floods his system as Castiel imagines a man like that putting him under his control. But he won’t let the thought linger, it’s a miracle he’s even here in the first place and someone like that would uncover his secret in a heartbeat. No, better to stick to the regular guests, take his time, enjoy simply being immersed in a place like this where everything is possible and no one feels ashamed.

“Well, looky here, got ourselves the Brothers Grim!”

“Benny!” Dean shouts as the burly man embraces both he and Sam in a combination headlock-hug. “I thought you and Andrea were in Greece.”

Benny takes the seat next to Sam at the table. “And let you boys have all the fun? Not a chance. Sam and I still have a score to settle.”

“Dude, I won, get over it!” Sam laughs.

“Oh Jesus, the edging thing? You two are still on that?” Dean rolls his eyes.

“Now don’t get cross, brother, all I’m asking for is a fair shot.”

“You got your fair shot and lost!”

“My sub only came because he sneezed! You can’t edge a man for six hours like that and not expect him to pop his cork if he sneezes. Now this time I say we pick women, better staying power. Dean you can ref if you want.”

“Yeah, no thanks, I’ll pass. Where’s Andrea?”

Benny scans the room. In the very back stood his wife, waving at him and pointing theatrically at the back of a young woman’s head. Her smile so wide they can make out each of her teeth from here.

“There she is, not here an hour and she’s already found someone she wants to play with. Got this whole scenario she wants to try out, innocent little foreign exchange student virgin that gets corrupted very thoroughly by her host family. All that ‘I’ve never done this before!’ really gets the woman hot.”

“Oh man,” Dean adjusts himself openly. “Let me know if you’re up for someone watching, that sounds hot!”

“Dean has the biggest innocence kink on the planet.” Sam teases. “Every time he dresses someone up it’s always priests and nuns and school girls and last month he came home with this big ass set of wings!”

“That sounds like more of a religious kink to me.” Benny raises an eyebrow at Dean who isn’t embarrassed in the least.

“I haven’t got the chance to put those wings on anyone yet, but I have it all worked out. Just gotta find my angel.”

Just then the side doors open and a spotlight follows the black and gold litter where it’s carried on the backs of six very fit looking subs dressed as slaves. They all wear the black collar that marks them as Crowley’s private property. The man himself is seated like a king, waving to the cheering crowd and using the naked back of one of his boys to step down to his place at the table. He raises his arms to bask in the adulation before silencing them all with a gesture.

“Welcome, all you beautiful, deviant little whores.” A few whistles rise above the laughter. “Now I know what some of you first timers are thinking, ‘Your Majesty, most glorious and noble King, why aren’t we all just writhing around fucking right now?’ But I can assure you, I will open the orgy room at the stroke of midnight--”

A shout of yay comes from the back.

“Quiet Kevin! Business then pleasure, so on to the rules, shall we? Those of you returning to our fair island know that everything has been outlined in your contracts, but seeing as I’m the only one who reads the bloody thing, we all get to sit here and listen to me rattle off the main points so that legal is happy. Sound good?”

“Yes sir!” Half the crowd shouts, the pros at the front the loudest.

“Good! Now rule number one, I am your King and you will show me all due respect. My word is law and overrides anything that might be happening at the time. However, this does not mean I will stop or alter scenes that are safe, sane and consensual. Or join them,” He says with distaste. “so please don’t ask. I say this, and yet every year a few of you assholes infest my bed thinking I’m interested in being your Daddy. I’m not. There’s nothing the lot of you tourists can come up with that I don’t already call a boring Tuesday.”

“While you are here you will all use the color system for check-in. I do not have time to sort out the fuckary that will happen if two hundred people try to remember each other’s safewords. Let’s give it a try, how does everyone feel about that?”

“Green!” Comes the enthusiastic reply.

“Splendid. Now, my boys and girls will be monitoring activities and may, at times, request that one or more partners in any given scene give them their colors. I don’t care if you’re riding a cock or taking a shower. If my pets ask you your color you give it immediately or you will be asked to leave. They will pause play on anyone stating yellow and initiate private conversation. They will stop play on red and report this to me. If anyone feels unable to communicate sufficiently with their partner, or needs concerns addressed, my pets are an extension of me and I will be giving serious consideration to their findings.”

“In each of your rooms you will find your tablet, I would greatly appreciate it if they didn’t come back covered in lube, among other things. You will use these to browse the catalogue of guests and send your partner and scene requests to one another. Doms you may have noticed your claim tags, any submissive wearing a tag is unavailable to scene with another partner unless two or more Doms have an agreement with their sub. Subs, I’m sure you know but I want to make it explicitly clear right now, you are under no obligation to scene with anyone you do not wish to. Should you be approached with a request, it is entirely your decision to accept or deny. If at any time you remove a Dom’s tag from you collar, the scene ends immediately, no questions asked. I will not tolerate emotional high school bullshit. If anyone on my island causes trouble I will toss you in the drink and watch you swim home. I will also keep your hefty security deposit. Is that clear?”

A few more yes sir’s along with a number of crystal echo through the room.

“You wanna meet them?”

Charlie had caught Castiel staring at the head table again. He blushes and ducks his head, trying again to eat the delicious cioppino but finding his stomach too knotted to comply.

“Oh no, I’m fine. I’m sure they’ll be flooded with requests and I’d rather not intrude.”

Charlie’s nose scrunches up when she smiles, it’s very endearing and Castiel begins to wonder what kind of play she was into. “Don’t worry about it! Actually, part of their job tonight is to talk to everyone, answer questions, help the newbies like you find their feet.”

All around them people are eating and laughing, or mingling around the bar, though nobody seems to be doing much drinking. Up at the head table, little clusters of people are gathered and Castiel notices the largest group has formed around Crowley and the two men at his right hand.

Before he knows what’s happening she has him on his feet and is propelling them through the maze of tables, only waving when someone yells her name. At the fringe of the crowd, Castiel is happy to wait and observe, nervously hoping that somehow he won’t be asked to interact with these demigods for long. He would fuck it up somehow, he’s certain. There is a way of behaving, a rulebook he hadn’t read because the terrifying reality is that he has never actually done any of this before.

Sure you could watch porn and read blogs and lurk in comment threads and even buy one or two things from that website you found and hide them like they were goddamned national secrets to try out alone when you had a private hour to yourself, imagining what it would be like to feel that sting or squeeze of leather and rope meted out by another person’s hand. But Castiel Novak has never, ever actually scened with anyone before and now by fates he is fervently cursing, he finds himself in the bloody beating heart of the BDSM world, standing on the soil of the most notorious and exclusive sanctuary for such practitioners not three feet from the infamous King of Kink and his court of fetish all stars.

“Hey bitches!” Charlie squeals as she drags Castiel up to the table. And oh God the man is right there, in front of him. Castiel is speechless, the Dom he had been ogling all night is somehow even hotter than he’d appeared at a distance. Broad shoulders and strong capable looking hands, fine, almost pretty features that are offset nicely by a genuine roughness he’s seen many men try and emulate but few this gorgeous ever succeed at. Thank goodness he’s too busy celebrating Charlie’s arrival to notice him. The tall man seated next to him leans over the table and hauls Charlie up and over and into his lap like she weighs nothing. The two men hug her and smother her with kisses while Castiel notices the tall one pinning her hands to her sides while the gorgeous one zeroes in on her ticklish spots.

“Stop! St-ah-hhooppp! D-don’t- you can’t-“

They eventually take pity on her, ending the tickling attack, but she doesn’t leave the tall one’s lap, who’s taken to stroking her hair.

“Ugh, you both suck!”

“Only if you’re good sweetheart.”

“Guys this here is Castiel, he’s fresh meat so be nice. Castiel, these are the Brothers Grim, Dean and Sam.”

For the first time, Dean notices Castiel standing there. His eyes are verdant green and they widen a bit when they meet Castiel’s, the plushness of his lips thinned out some as he presses them together then wets them with his tongue.

“Did you say Castiel?” A raspy British accent curls in from the right, and now Castiel’s night has just gotten progressively more nerve-racking because Crowley himself has turned in his throne to regard him. And this is another first because Castiel has never before had another person rake their eyes over him like a soap opera villain but he’s got two people doing it to him now and if they don’t stop he’s going to asphyxiate himself from panic. “Well isn’t this serendipitous. I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

“Me?” He croaks out and feels all his blood rush to his cheeks.

“As you can imagine I take great pains to curate my guest roster with a healthy variety of…..talent. But there’s one thing I’ve never been able to get my hands on until now. A complete and utter novice. If you’re amenable I have a few people I’d like you to meet.”

Castiel isn’t sure he caught that last part, his hearing shorted out like a bomb had just gone off. Everyone is looking at him now. Panic squeezes him, it had never been his intention to be the center of so much scrutiny. This was supposed to be--

He steals one quick look at Dean, who is staring at him with an intensity that sets every surface inch of his skin on fire. Sam is smiling with a feline sort of knowing, Charlie is grinning and the burly one in the next seat down is gesturing insistently for someone across the room to join them ASAP, eyes darting back and forth between them and Castiel.

There’s only one right way to handle this. Castiel turns and flees out the door and into the night.

“Explain novice.” Dean hadn’t wasted a moment after watching Castiel run off.

“Just that. As you can imagine, all my usual applications come from people that have been in the lifestyle for a while. Kink virgins aren’t typically willing to throw themselves to the sharks, so to speak.”

“But he did.”

“That he did. Intriguing, isn’t it? Now you know why I had to have him here.”

Dean knows the feeling. He’d been struck a little dumb by the blue eyed stunner Charlie had brought over, there had been something there that caught his interest, some difference that he couldn’t put his finger on. But hearing that he was a beginner brings it all into focus. The sub is untrained, completely void of any habits that might echo the hand of another Dom. And hell if that doesn’t slam a fist on the big red possessive button in his brain that detonates with an explosion of MINE!

“I’ll play you for him.” Sam nudges him, fist at the ready for rock paper scissors.

“Not a chance! Charlie I need you to run interference.”

“On it boss!” She salutes, already wrapping her arms around Sam.

Dean jumps up, makes it five feet before turning around.

“Room 26” Crowley doesn’t even look up from his drink.

Most of Castiel’s clothing is already packed when a firm knock sounds at his door. It’s probably staff, Castiel considers, not making a move to answer it. It was likely against the rules to run off from the opening night dinner like that, and in front of Crowley no less. They are going to ask him to leave, which is fine because this had to be the stupidest mistake he’s ever made in his life.

The knock comes again.

With a resigned sigh, Castiel opens the door. But it’s Dean standing there, leaning there against the door frame, looking far too gorgeous to be real and for a second Castiel wonders if he’s hallucinating.

“Can I come in?”

“Why?”

And he’s at least a little aware of the fact that this is a ridiculous thing to say when someone is asking to join you in your bedroom at a BDSM sex resort.

“I just want to talk. No touching, I promise.”

Castiel considers this. He’s more than a little spooked at being thrown into the spotlight and outted as a total novice in front of the pros, but there doesn’t seem to be any deception to the man in front of him and to be honest it’s more than a little thrilling to be so close to him with no one else around. He moves aside and Dean takes the cue, sauntering past and looking around, smiling up at the ceiling before standing beside the sofa.

“Can I sit?”

“Sure.” Castiel doesn’t know what the correct action is for this situation. The sofa’s a little small. There’s the bed, but sitting there might signal some sort of intention and Castiel was already rearranging his airfare in his head before Dean showed up. He selects standing a few feet away, perfectly still.

“Are you leaving?” Dean’s eyes fall on the half-filled suitcase on the bed. He looks back at Castiel with an odd mix of mild disappointment and steel edged challenge. It’s the challenge that pricks Castiel’s interest.

“I’m realizing this trip was not my most prudent decision. I’m sure Crowley won’t have any trouble filling my spot with someone more……seasoned.”

Dean leans back in the seat, as if indicating this conversation won’t be over quickly. Castiel still doesn’t sit down.

“You’ve never done any of this before?”

“No,” he sighs. What did it matter anyway? “I have a bad habit of serial monogamy with people that do not share my….interests. I’ve spent more of my life than I care to admit fantasizing about these sorts of things but never acting on them. After my last relationship ended I figured, why not do something about it for once? At least then I could say I’d had some kind of experience while I had the chance.”

“What, afraid you’ll wake up tomorrow with a boring vanilla husband and no kinky memories to tide you over in your old age?” Dean laughs, Castiel says nothing. “Oh my God you are! Well why not just join a club, go to a munch and meet some nice daddies that might also want a relationship? Why fly halfway around the world to Spank Island?”

“I suppose I figured if I did it this way, there would be no room for half measures. I was able to learn Japanese through immersion, so why not this? Besides, it’s difficult enough for me to find normal people that I get along with, the odds of finding one that might also share my interests has always seemed infinitesimal. But this place felt……..safe? I don’t know. This conversation is becoming very personal and I-“

“You speak Japanese?” Dean doesn’t seem deterred by Castiel’s growing discomfort. Or maybe that’s what this change in topic is trying to deflect.

“Not fluently, but enough to get by.”

“You ever heard of shibari?”

“I-“ Castiel stalls.

I had an epiphany during my year in Japan.

I’m afraid of the misunderstandings that would occur if I ever told anyone about the erections I get reading Boy Scout knot tying manuals.

Every single night I fall asleep imaging coils of rope binding my wrists.

“Yes.”

Dean leans forward in his chair, and Castiel suddenly notices how very dark his room is. Maybe he should turn on a light. Maybe he should fill the silence with more than just their syncopated breathing. Maybe…

Dean digs through his pocket and pulls out a metal disk that catches a few dull flashes of moonlight where it dangles from his fingers.

“Do you know what this is?”

Castiel’s mouth goes dry, his heart fluttering off rhythm. “It’s your claim.”

“That’s right. I think, well…. you came all this way, it would be a shame if you went back having nothing to get you through your next boring ol’ vanilla relationship.”

“…..what are you…..”

And Dean smiles like he knows what Castiel is thinking, that a claim from one of Crowley’s pros means Dean is two seconds from pulling on a latex zipper mask and strapping him to a fucking machine.

“Something small. I’d just like a chance to change your mind. I promised I wouldn’t touch you, and that applies to this. Not until you let me. You wear my claim for the next eight hours and we’ll see how you feel about all this in the morning.”

There is that inflection of a challenge again. Such an innocent sounding thing but clearly not because Dean has hungry eyes and the tight shallow breathing of something just waiting for a chance to pounce. It makes Castiel harden immediately, his body’s answer he’s sure Dean can see.

“Alright, something small.”

The Dom is up and out of his chair, across the space, radiating heat in the short distance between them. He holds up the tag, his voice becoming low and commanding where before it had been teasing and soft.

“Do you want this Castiel?”

Castiel only nods, unable to tear his eyes away from Dean’s.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes. I- I want you to claim me.”

Dean hums a pleased noise, reaching up to clip the tag to the ring on Castiel’s collar, careful not to touch his throat. The weight of the tag is small but it shifts his world sideways and Castiel is a little shocked to feel himself sway on his feet at the sensation.

“How are you doing?”

“Uh- green. I’m green.” He feels pleased he remembered. Dean seems pleased too.

“Good. Now I want you to undress for me and get on the bed.”

Castiel hesitates, then immediately scrolls through the reams of information he’s gathered that says hesitation at a Dom’s command usually leads to punishment. But Dean doesn’t look bothered by his pause, he looks like he could stand there all night, waiting. It somehow calms and excites Castiel with a strange tidal flood. He’s doing this, this is actually happening.

It doesn’t take long for him to undress, his clothes dropped in a rumpled pile at his feet. And maybe he should have folded them and put them aside. Maybe he should have stripped slower, stripping was a part of this, right? Was the act of getting naked part of this scene or just the preparation or….

“Stop thinking. On the bed, on your back, hands at your sides.” Castiel is quick to comply. The little brass tag makes a warm flat pressure on the hollow of his throat, the leather of his collar constricting and releasing with the pace of his breathing. His erect cock weighs heavy against his belly, and no matter that he’s had plenty of partners, this time his nudity feels profoundly vulnerable, raw. Dean watches him for a moment, waiting until Castiel seems calm before moving over to the large armoire of toys. Castiel watches him with a rapidly increasing heartbeat, he could do anything right now and Castiel would say yes, needs to say it, the shape of the word burning his lungs. Dean bends over, riffling through the drawers before coming over with a jingling sound announcing every step.

He has a chain.

A simple silver linked length of chain you might find in any hardware store, about six feet long, finished with clips on either end. Dean fastens an end to one of several rings conveniently embedded in the headboard, stretching out the length before carefully clipping the other end to Castiel’s collar. The cold metal snakes over Castiel’s skin, rolling and settling in the dips of his stomach, over his hip, across right arm to rest atop his sternum where it adds to the weight of the tag. Dean walks around, looking at him, making Castiel crazy with the anticipation.

“You look real good like that Cas. I’d love to have you chained like this to my bed.” He palms the heavy bulge in his jeans before coming to sit on the bed. His right hand moves up to wrap around the chain where it links to the headboard, giving it a firm yank to test its hold before trailing his fingers down the links slowly, following the silver track where it winds across Castiel’s skin, so very light, deliberately touching only the metal but Castiel feels the spark of it like this chain were a part of him. He watches that finger trail a small circle around his tag before moving away and it fills him with unvarnished want.

“How do you feel Cas?”

“………..green.”

“Good. Now here’s what’s going to happen.” Dean picks up the tablet from the bedside table, tapping at it for quite a bit before propping it up to face Castiel. “Tonight, I want you to sleep here, wearing this chain all night, but you have permission to unhitch this end only,” he taps the clip at the headboard, “if you need to use the bathroom. I’ve set an alarm for every two hours. When that goes off, I want you to touch yourself. Not too much, just enough to keep you hard for me but not enough to come. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Castiel shivers. Dean leans over him and smiles.

“Castiel,” his voice is low but firm, “is that how you answer someone who’s taking care of you?”

“Oh. Yes, sir. I mean no, sir! Yes to the-“

“It’s ok,” Dean laughs, “you’ve got it. Now, I’m going to go back to my room, but when you see that little light come on, you’ll know that I’m watching you. I’m keeping the video chat open all night, so I’ll get to watch every time you touch yourself and make sure you’re being good for me.”

“I’ll be good, sir.” God, just saying that makes Castiel somehow harder, if Dean were to actually touch him anywhere now he’s 70% sure he could come from just that. The pleased smile Dean gives him pushes that to 85%.

“I know you will Cas. Now I’m leaving the rest of you free, so if at any time you become uneasy or this is too much for you I want you to unhook yourself at the collar and call me, ok?” He points at the tablet. “Just give me a shout if you need to end it and I’ll be over right away. You won’t be punished for that, so I want you to promise me you’re going to stop this if it gets to be too much for you. Ok Cas?”

“Yes, sir. I promise.”

Dean leans in a little, like his instincts were to respond with touch, but thinks better of himself and smiles, takes another long look at Castiel, whispers goodnight and leaves with the soft click of the door.

Dean doesn’t ‘scoot’, he’s not a scooter. And nobody ran on this island unless some Dom was making them, so he wasn’t about to do that. But the power-walk-with-bounce maneuver he was currently executing to get himself back to his bunk as quickly as possible was peculiar enough on its own that strangers would have definitely wondered what had burned his ass and Sam would have given him that shitty Are we eager, Dean? look he’d gotten the day their contractor had finally finished work on the new rigging in the playroom.

Well fuck them. Yes he’s eager, he hasn’t been so giddy about a scene in a long friggin’ time. And something so basic, too. What the hell was that about? Maybe he’s done so much kinky shit for so long he’s burnt out on the weird stuff and come around full circle. Missionary with fuzzy handcuffs. Sexy dice games where ‘Do a sexy striptease!’ is naughty enough to make a partner blush.

Wouldn’t that be weird.

There’s bondage tape in his cabinet, Crowley thinks of everything. Dean puts a small bit of tape on his tablet’s camera, he wants to see Castiel but doesn’t want the sub to see him. Opening the chat window, his screen immediately lights up with the blue grey washed image of his sub’s back arched, neck craning to see where he’s attached to the headboard and tug at the chain, testing its strength. Christ this man is beautiful , long lean lines, tan skin that pulls over his muscles in smooth planes, the twin juts of his hipbones peaked in moonlight and begging to be bitten. He hasn’t noticed the Dom has joined the chat, is twisting a bit in the bed to take handfuls of chain, slip it through his palms, twine it around his wrist once to tug at. Dean holds back a groan, this one is perfect. He undresses as quickly as he can, crawling up onto the bed with a bottle of lube and sitting back on his heels, thighs spread and back straight. Not that Cas can see him perched and stroking his cock slowly, but it gets Dean in the right headspace even if they aren’t together.

Dean licks his lips and puts a bit more pressure into his strokes. He was just going to watch for a while, figured Cas would be a bit restless but eventually fall asleep. He’d assumed some of the thrill would die down with Dean out of the room and no additional stimulation, just a nice easy little win for Cas that he could achieve with no major boundaries pushed. What Dean hadn’t figured was just how much this little scene turns his pretty sub on. Castiel’s cock looks painfully hard even over the low-def feed of the video, jutting up from his pelvis and contrasting dark against his moon washed skin. The soft jingling of the chain can be heard, the rustling of the sheets, Castiel is dragging the chain over his body, running links over his lips, making tiny little noises that Dean can’t fucking hear the way he wants even with the sound cranked up. Then a tug across his body drags the chain across his straining erection and Castiel gasps at the sensation, tossing his head back and to the side and it’s only now that he sees the miniature light that means he’s not alone.

Sir!” he gasps, a little breathless, eyes hooded but still blue enough to cut. And Jesus Christ on a cracker Dean wants run bare assed naked right back to Castiel’s room and find out what kind of face he’ll make once Dean finds his prostate.

“That’s right Cas, I’m here. Looks like you’re enjoying your new toy. Now I gave you a job, didn’t I? I want to see you touch yourself for me, nice and slow. Go on sweetheart.”

Castiel doesn’t move straight to his cock, like Dean had the moment he made it to naked. Instead he teases his fingers over the skin of his throat, feeling the collar and tag, running down the length of chain to pinch at his nipples, pink and stiff looking, sensitive too from the looks of it and Dean gives his own a sympathetic tweak. Right before Cas makes the final trail down, he twines the links once around his right wrist and slips a loop under his balls. Wrapping a light hand around his thick length, Dean can hear the clinking of the chain with every motion up and down, watch it pull at his neck on the down stroke, tug at his balls on the up.

Where the fuck did Crowley find this guy?

Dean’s transfixed by Castiel, finds it difficult to keep his pace slow. He’s always been overly generous when it came to lube and it trickles down now along his thighs and covers his hand in a slick mess. “Uhnn, Cassss. I’m so fucking hard right now. I need you to stop angel. Put your hands on the mattress for me.” Castiel whimpers a little, smudge of a shadow where his brow furrows in distress, but he does as he’s told, turning to face the camera, chest rising and falling deeply. “I’m gonna come now, Cas. Do you want to hear me come?”

“Yes, please!”

“Oh,uh, uh! Yeah I’m close.” Dean speeds his hand, the sounds his dick making as he fucks his fist obscene. Dean smiles when he sees the effect it’s having, his sub shuddering and clutching the sheets, moaning a little. God this was the part he loved best, getting his partner strung out and frustrated. “Almost….alm….ungh- Cas! Caa-aasss!” The hot spray of his come arcs up before splashing along his thighs and across the bedspread.

When his eyes finally uncross, Dean shifts closer to the screen. Castiel is staring at the ceiling.

“Hey Cas, how ya doing?”

“Green, sir.” He smiles into the camera. “Very green.”

One long, unending, relentless erection, delineated only with bouts of feverish frustration. Teasing and stroking himself to the brink until he pleads with Dean and has to listen to the Dom coo praise but order him to stop, listen as the man jacks himself to off again and again. Castiel wonders if this is what insanity feels like. His dreams (for now, after Dean’s through, Castiel falls immediately into dream painted sleep) are nothing but ropes and chains and many pairs of Dean’s hands everywhere and his mouth everywhere while his voice never stops the warm whiskey stream of all the things he’s going to do and all the things Castiel is going to take. More than once he’s woken up before the alarm, had to breathe himself down because he’s so close to the edge he’ll come if he dreams of coming.

The sunrise creeps in through the slats in the shutters and under the cracks of the doors. Castiel hasn’t gone back to sleep since the last round of teasing, grips the chain above his head where it anchors to the headboard, desperate to keep his hands off his swollen cock. He needs an anchor, he needs a heavier chain, he needs Dean to tell him he can come because if he has to count the minutes any longer he may start to cry. When a soft knock comes at his door, and Dean enters without waiting for an answer, Castiel does sob, a fat tear running down his cheek with relief.

“Oh angel, look at you.” Dean whispers with a note of surprised pleasure. He’s barefoot in only a pair of running shorts and his hair is a mess, his eyes soft and sleepy, but he moves over to Castiel like he owns the place and it makes Castiel happy in a way he would have trouble describing if asked. “You need it bad, don’t you?”

It’s not entirely a question, but Castiel nods vigorously anyway, biting his lip and not moving his hands from their grip above his head.

“How are you right now?”

Castiel whimpers when the words don’t come out straight away, but finally manages to rasp out, “…..green.”

“Good,” he moves to the foot of the bed and pats the mattress. “I want you here, up on your knees, hands behind your back.”

Castiel hurries to get into position, groaning when his erection slaps at his belly then sways heavy when he’s up on his knees. From here he can feel the muscles of his butt shift to hold him in place, his thighs pulling taught, showing off the neat cut lines that are the reward of all that running. The hands behind his back thrust his chest out further and he has to widen his knees a bit for balance. Dean looks him over and licks his lips.

“I’d like to touch you now, is that ok Cas?”

“Yes! Oh please….” because there is nothing on earth he wants more now than for Dean to touch him.

Dean does one better, he leans in to suck one pink nipple into his mouth, already tight from his arousal. Castiel gasps and Dean has to grip his sides so that he doesn’t tip over. He licks at the one until the sensation is almost too much, then presses the pointed tips of his teeth down gently to see how it makes Cas squirm. He does the same to the other, then back again, hands roaming over the flushed stretches of skin. Castiel bows and flexes, trying to stay still on the rolling softness of the mattress and the gorgeous assault of Dean’s mouth. It’s a losing battle.

“You’ve been so good for me Cas,” as Dean works on the sensitive patch right above Castiel’s hipbone. His cock is so very red and dripping a few scant inches away and he can tell Castiel would agree to anything if Dean would only touch him there. The Dom looks up at him through his lashes, so very aware of what his eyes can do to a person in a position like this. The thin whine Castiel manages means he’s hit the bullseye. “Do you want me to make you come?”

“Oh God yes please! Sir, please make me come! It’s never been so difficult before to- I can’t- “

“Shhhh,” Castiel begins to shake under his palms and it feels new somehow. Fuck he’s so hard for this guy, it’s like he’s a teenager again, first few times when he played at teasing a partner till they beg, feeling that power and privilege. He has been doing this shit for a long ass time but there’s something about the way Castiel just perfectly bends to his touch like it was the most natural thing in the world that has him thinking he has more to learn as a Dom. “If you want to come, then you can’t move and you can’t speak except to safeword, you understand?”

Castiel nods, wide eyed, and pulls himself together a little straighter. Dean smiles at him and then looks at his watch on its wide leather band. Right on time. He gets a bottle of lube from the drawer (not hard to find considering every room has a bottle in every single drawer. All hail the King of Kink.) and makes a show of drizzling a generous amount onto his palm. Dean slides his left hand up Castiel’s flank, taking a moment to fondle the tight round globes of his ass, and this right here is an ass that begs to be spanked.

Another time though.

When Dean finally grips the length of Castiel’s cock, burning and solid against his hand, it’s a very good thing he’s holding the sub for the man nearly doubles over with a moan. Dean just squeezes his hip and gives him a moment, then starts a slow, murderously slow pace, letting the slickness coat and squish between his fingers. He keeps the rhythm steady and watches with glee what it does to his sub.

“You can come whenever you like.”

The flash of gratitude, of weary relief is chased away by the curt knock at the door.

“Come in.” Calls Dean, who keeps pistoning his hand, holding Castiel in place as the man falters with surprise.

The door opens and one of the staff enters, wheeling a cart with silver domed trays and pots of coffee, tea, bottles of juice, white linen dotted with fresh cut orchids. Dean speeds up his hand and watches the conflict war across Castiel’s face. He’s shocked, embarrassed, confused, but so desperate to come that he doesn’t dare speak out or move to cover himself. Dean smiles up at him, encouraging and sure, kisses him on the ribs. Castiel has his safeword after all and he knows that Dean would stop immediately if he used it. But he can’t stop, not even the presence of the little man moving trays over to the table, pouring coffee, laying out silverware can stop him. He groans a little at the back of his throat and Dean begins twisting his hand.

“So good for me. Want to see you come Cas, come on…”

And holy shit he does. Cries out and arches back, shooting an impressive spray across the hardwood floor. He slumps back, sitting on his heels, still held by Dean who kisses his temple and runs soothing hands over his back.

“Isn’t he lovely Jonah?” The Dom beams at the employee as the man wheels his cart towards the door. Jonah gives the sub a long considering look. Castiel tries to turn away in embarrassment, but Dean won’t allow it, gripping him by the hair so that he must face this man’s praise.

“He is very lovely, Sir, you have done very well with him.”

Without so much as a raised eyebrow he slips out the door.

Dean doesn’t let go of Castiel’s hair. “I’m going to clean you up, and then I’d like us to have some breakfast together so we can talk. Is that ok with you?” It’s a strange mix of signals, the gentle tone of his voice a genuine question of his needs, the hand in his hair and the tag at his throat an anchoring weight proclaiming Dean’s position, but a safe one. He feels blissful and satiated and so incredibly safe.

“Yes, that’s ok.”

Dean goes to the bathroom, washing his hands, wetting a cloth and returning to run it over Castiel’s skin. He jumps a bit when the fabric drags across his still sensitive cock, it’s odd but very comforting, he’s never had anyone clean him before. Dean reaches up and unclips the chain and then his tag, pocketing it and then running a thumb over Castiel’s cheek.

“You did great. Come sit down and let’s eat.”

Dean doesn’t wait for him, dropping into a chair and picking over the plates, hitting the bacon hard and fast. Castiel watches him for a moment before taking his own seat and downing a cup of coffee.

“You need to drink some juice too.” Dean says through a large mouthful of food. And it’s a little boorish but rather endearing, Castiel thinks, that this man who is so careful and skilled when he’s in a scene has almost no table manners in real life. Dean emphasizes this when he isn’t above plucking pieces of fruit from the plate with his fingers and licking the juice from them. It’s actually quite mesmerizing to watch and Castiel loses more than a minute just staring at the combination of those lips pursing around each finger as it’s sucked forcefully clean.

“So Cas, how do you feel right now?”

Castiel almost answers with green. But they’re not in the scene anymore so he considers a moment before answering honestly.

“I’m tired and a bit sweaty.” He bites into a piece of toast.

“No man, up here,” Dean taps his head. “How do you feel about what we did? Any questions, critiques, full bodied panic attacks gearing up in there? I need to know that you’re ok. This was your first ever scene Cas and that can sometimes come at you sideways.”

“I enjoyed it very much Dean. I don’t believe I will be unnerved by what we have done. I’ve been thinking of this so long, more than feeling satisfied I mostly feel deeply relieved. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah Cas, I can see that. You go so long building something up in your head that seems impossible, to get it out there can be liberating. But it can also be disappointing or depressing if it wasn’t everything you built it up to be.”

Castiel smiles over his coffee. “Your concern is reassuring, but I am in no way disappointed by what we have done. In fact I’m very much looking forward to more such activities.”

Dean grins at him and it’s like the sun searing through the clouds. “You mean to say your gonna stay?”

“Sir, you have thoroughly convinced me to stay.”

Before he’d even arrived to the island, Castiel had imagined every conceivable scene and toy and combination of partners that he might enjoy on this trip but he’d never given any serious thought to the non-sexual social interactions. He was the sort to be perfectly content with his own company and that of a small coterie of friends who shared his proclivity for isolation. And as much as he enjoyed a whole night of Dean teasing him to the brink and then expertly jerking him off in front of the poor man delivering room service, he found that just spending a regular breakfast with the man is somehow even more enjoyable.

Once Dean seems convinced Castiel is recovered and in little danger of dropping, they spend the morning appreciating the excellent breakfast Dean has chosen and talking amiably about their interests and how they plan to spend their time on the island. Dean is easy to talk to, laughs freely, even when Castiel is unsure of what he’s said that is so funny. And when it’s over, Castiel thanks him for a lovely time and Dean smiles over his shoulder before slipping out the door.

Castiel regards the slightly messy room. Well, not messy, simply adorned with the evidence of what he’d done. And it’s strange, but cleaning his own semen off the floor, looping and putting away the length of chain, setting the dishes outside his door, gives him an odd sense that this transient room somehow reflects him better than the two bedroom apartment waiting for him back home. The daunting nature of coming here is gone, evaporated with the morning and the knowledge that at least in this small way, he’s accomplished what he’d set out to do. He could leave right now content.

Mostly content.

But he no longer wants to leave. Dean hadn’t been put off by his lack of experience, seemed to enjoy it actually. And after all, Crowley had made it clear that the only solid reason Castiel had been chosen was for this very lack of experience. Why had he been so unnerved?

After a long hot shower, Castiel considers a nap, the lack of sleep is creeping up on him. But the voice at the door put a damper on those plans.

“I’m coming in hot stuff!”

Before he can respond, or put on a robe, Charlie cracks the door to peek inside and, finding him alone, bursts in looking about as indignant as one can in her current state of undress. Her bright wavy hair frames the red of her pout, the hands at her slim hips drawing attention to the straps fastened around them. Besides that, the only other thing she wears is her collar with its claim swinging in time with her pacing.

“Gilda put me in chastity! On my first day! She’s probably been planning this for weeks! And now she’s set me loose to wander around and watch everybody else having fun because she’s a sadist! Anyway, you got plans? Kinda thought you’d be tagged seeing how Dean nearly mowed down table five last night to chase after you. You wanna go get lunch on the beach with me? Do you like fish? They do this thing where they roast it in banana leaves or something and you can eat it with your hands with rice balls, it’s so amazing. It’s kinda messed up that we’re expected to walk around naked when they’re stuffing you with all this incredible food. So plans? I want to hear all about Dean! He’s so great isn’t he? Come on, tell me on the way!”

He’s sure that if she’d given him a moment to consider, or actually speak, he would feel a bit skittish about his first official foray into the resort. Outside of one’s room, it’s mandatory that subs be nude at all times. Charlie makes it easier though, Castiel is not particularly body shy, but she seems to revel in it. The woman is content to drag him along the sandy paths running a non-stop monologue about a television show he’d never heard of but seems desperately important to Charlie’s wellbeing.

They arrive at the beach, blindingly white sands, the sea a flat azure that expands out forever. Charlie leads him to a shady spot right where the palm trees give way to the open sand. There are plush looking lounge chairs scattered here and under cabanas that dot the beach. She stretches out on one and pats the seat of the chair beside her. The moment he sits down, a server appears and Charlie runs through her order before turning to Castiel.

“You want a beer? I’m having a beer. I’m sorry, I didn’t even check with you what you wanted to eat! Did you want something else?”

“It’s ok, Charlie,” he laughs. “A beer would be great and the food it fine.”

The food is more than fine, it’s perfect. They sit in the shade under the caress of the sea air, fingers messy and a little drunk. One beer turns into three turns into a small bucket of ice sprouting a bouquet of glass bottles the two of them are fast on their way to emptying. Castiel has never been so relaxed in all his life. He’s finding he really likes Charlie, she has an infectious energy that gets him opening up more than he usually does. He tells her all about his night with Dean, and she shrieks and sighs and assures him that he is beyond lucky to have started off with a Dom like him.

“We’ve played around a few times, but now it’s kinda like he’s my brother. Which can be fun in a so wrong don’t tell mom kinda way. Sam’s great too, but let me tell you, he is not for the faint of heart.” She laughs.

He hears much about the fabled Winchester brothers over the next few hours, and it’s hard to admit but he is more than a little pleased that he doesn’t have to do much more than sit here to get her to spill what she knows about them.

Or more particularly, Dean.

From what Charlie has said, they’d both been active in the fetish scene since they were teenagers. And though they’ve never, according to her, done anything incestuous, strictly speaking, they were infamous for towing a very fine line when they scened together with a partner, which Charlie noted happened far less now a days than it had a few years back. Some people found it unsettling, others got off on it and the brothers seemed not to care what anyone thought as long as they were having fun.

“But Brothers Grim, are they into heavy role play….stories?”

“HA! No that’s- - well maybe Dean. But the other grim. I think Ruby gave them that name back in the day. It’s like, one of them will set your head spinning, but the two of them together? Devastating. There’s stories of people dropping out of the life in depression cause they could never find that same high they got from the Winchesters. But if you ask me, Dean is probably the one spreading those rumors, boy’s ego is like whoa.”

Castiel considers Dean, the man sticks to his thoughts, warms his blood with the memory of their time together. But he should be careful, it would be foolish of him to get attached to the very first Dom he scened with on an island bursting with attractive, willing partners that were all looking for the same sort of good time. They hadn’t even had sex, really, not the way Castiel considered it. Last night had been a revelation for him but for someone like Dean that was probably the equivalent of light stretching.

He watches a sub massage tanning oil into the glistening skin of her Domme. There is a couple actually locked and loaded for fellatio not twenty feet from where they sit, but for some reason the reverent hands of the blissful sub running over the glowing mahogany skin of her Mistress’ back and the tight swell of her ass is far more enticing to watch. Charlie gets a bit distracted by the sight too.

“Come on,” she shakes herself to break the spell. “I’m gonna give you the grand tour.”

New Syabris appears large from the deck of a yacht or standing on one of its sugar white beaches and watching the line of its shore disappear in a curve far off on either side. But its habitable portions were actually quite walkable and Crowley had done well blending one area into another. The bungalows follow a serpentine path just inside the line of palms along the western edge beside the largest beach. Curving up to the north, the land peaks like the tip of an egg, where graceful fingers of docks splay out into the water and end in thatched roofed, stilted bungalows the same size as the others, but with the addition of half-moon decks extending off the back end. Charlie explains that these are for the trainers, and Castiel’s eyes linger over each one, wondering which one might be Dean’s and if he was in his room right now.

Following the curl of the path leads to the eastern slope where the island rises to the peak of its lone hill. Perched here is Crowley’s manor, looking somehow more intimidating in the brilliant South Pacific sun. Crowley has a suite of rooms here as well as a dorm for his pets. There is also the dining hall, the training rooms, the orgy room (Roman in design) and something called The Pit run by a man everyone refers to as Lucifer.

“It’s exactly as hardcore as it sounds.”

Leading down the other side of the hill is the gleaming white bathhouse that Castiel notices is the most crowded spot they’ve come across.

“It’s always a party here. This is where most people come if they’re looking for a partner.” She offers.

They walk past a large outdoor pool surrounded by more Roman style accents suggesting ruins. Rows of columns, some of them purposefully broken, creeping vines draped lush over the white marble. There are statues here, graphic carvings of nubile young things bowed in graceful curves of ecstasy. In the large white marble building there are hot tubs, mineral baths, a medical spa complete with a suite of enema rooms and Doms dressed as doctors handling a line of waiting subs. As they pass the massage rooms, a handsome couple calls out to Charlie. Castiel recognizes the man as one who had been sitting at the head table with Dean.

“Hey guys!” Charlie hugs them both. “This is Castiel.”

“You’re actually just the person we’ve been looking for.” The woman has soft, down-slanted eyes and thick dark hair that hangs in a heavy braid down her back. Her collar is untagged despite the possessive arm the Dom has wrapped around her waist. “I’m Andrea and this is my husband Benny.”

They make pleasantries all around.

“We were wondering, Castiel, if you might be free for a little scene with me and the missus. She thinks you’re real cute.” He winks at his wife who elbows him in the ribs.

“Right now?” Castiel blushes.

“We’ve had a few drinks,” Charlie grins. “My fault, I’m a bad influence.”

“Well maybe that’s why Gilda locked you up.” Benny teases as he taps the metal cup between her legs, causing her to jump.

“Ugh don’t remind me!”

“We can wait, how about we have dinner together and we can discuss the scene and work out what you’re comfortable with?” Andrea has an accent he can’t place but it makes her voice warm and very kind.

“Alright, sure.” The butterflies already swirling in his stomach. Castiel prefers men, very masculine, dominant men and Benny is right in his wheelhouse, but when he’s asked his orientation, the answer is always bi. He adores women, the softness of their curves and the musicality of their voices.

Benny takes out a tag.

“I’d like you to wear this until then, if you been drinkin’ you shouldn’t be playing with anybody anyways, so this should give you a little time to even out. Can I put it on you cher?”

“Yes, please.”

Benny smiles easy at him and clips the tag to his collar then pats his ass and gives a long hard look to Castiel’s naked body. He can’t help it, Benny’s looking at him with gears turning in his head and it makes Castiel’s dick plump up under the attention. The couple smiles when they see it.

“Come by my bunk round five and we’ll talk. It’s north side number three.”

They say their goodbyes and Charlie drags him out of the bathhouse toward the gardens.

“Two trainers in a row.” She shakes her head. “You’re like a fucking unicorn Cas, I need you to teach me your kung fu.”

Dean’s floating by the time he gets back to his room. He can’t stop thinking about Castiel, about the moment when he gave over, too desperate for modesty, arching against him and coming with that beautiful tortured look on his face. It reminds him of Bernini sculptures, something divine twisted with sensuality. He should tie him, he should come up with something graceful that shows off Cas’ long lines, suspend him and worship him as his spins helpless. Oh fuck his mind is racing with the possibilities, he’s still so goddamned hard. He didn’t want to come this morning with Cas, he wanted it to be just about his sub, just about his need to show the man that he could do this, to keep him from leaving.

Jerking off alone in the shower seems almost sacrilegious in a place like this, so he cleans off quick and hurries over to Sammy’s. His brother never lets five waking minutes pass without getting into something and it’s no surprise to find him standing in the middle of his room, naked, working his huge cock down the throat of a young woman kneeling on a sheepskin rug. Her hands are bound in cuffs behind her, attached to the foot of the bed frame and Sam is pulling her forward, hand at the back of her head and steadily feeding another inch into her already straining mouth. Sweat covers her shivering frame and tears streak her lovely puckish face.

“That’s it, just a little more…see how much farther I can get?” She moans. “Hey Dean! Come here, I’ve been working on Julie, gonna see if we can get her to take all of me by the end of the week.”

Dean moves over and Sam pulls out, rubbing her swollen lips with the shiny wet tip of his cock. Dean gives him a look and Sam nods. It’s always like that with them, communicating without much more than a look. Dean pets at the girl’s hair, rubbing a hand over his aching dick and she smiles up at him dreamily.

“Julie, would you like to make my brother come?” He tilts her head up to look at him.

“Mmmm…yes sir. I’d like that.”

“Good girl.” He moves aside to let Dean take his place, uncuffing her and shifting her forward so he can stand behind her. Dean pulls his erection from his pants. He’s not as terrifyingly huge as Sam but he’s not small by any stretch. Sam rests a light hand across the softness of her throat, the other hand in her hair, guiding her forward to take in Dean. She does so eagerly, mouth already stretched and wet, lips red and thin as they circle Dean’s shaft, slicking it up rapidly with her saliva. Dean grunts at the feel of her warm mouth, stands still and holds himself in place so she can work her way down. Once she grows accustomed to the feel of him, Dean gives his brother a look and they share a wicked smile. Sam guides her forward, caressing her throat above the collar, encouraging her to open up, take more.

“Come on baby, I want to feel how deep you can get him.” He presses her forward another inch and she groans when he pulls her back for a breath of air. Dean let’s his brother do all the work, his large hands commanding as they bob her head down on him. On the next pass he gets her lower, nose almost touching Dean’s pubic bone.

“Oh shit Dean, I can feel you!” Sam grins. “Keep going baby, wanna feel him come down your throat.”

There are fresh tears against her cheeks, wetting the dried tracks and matting her lashes, she looks beautiful like this and for a moment Dean’s mind flashes on Castiel, his full pink lips, how that mouth was made to be fucked wide. That single desperate tear when Dean had finally come to relieve him. It gets him right to the edge and he curses when he feels his brother’s fingers tease his cockhead through her soft white skin.

“Hold her!” Dean grunts as he comes hard. She struggles to swallow what she can, little gurgling noises as she holds her breath and takes it. Sam grips her head and rocks her into it until Dean is spent, then pulls her off slowly and bends to kiss her deep. When he’s licked the taste of his brother out of her mouth he shoves her down to her hands and knees, then strips his dick in rapid fire stokes, grunting like an animal and coming all over her ass.

“Up.” She stands on wobbly feet. “Give them to me.”

Julie spreads her legs and Sam cups a hand beneath her, catching one then another of the heavy ben wah balls as she expels them from inside her. He makes a show of licking them once, slowly, before kissing her again.

“Go clean up and I’ll make you some tea. Then you can take a nap before I work on that tight little pussy of yours.” He smacks her playfully on the ass on her way to the bathroom and Dean gives her a quick kiss and a thank you as she walks past him. Soon enough Sam has her tucked into his bed with a cup of tea and honey before joining Dean on the deck overlooking his own patch of turquois sea.

“So the kink virgin.” Dean doesn’t need to look over to know his brother’s grinning at him.

“Not a virgin anymore. Officially deflowered.”

“And…?”

“And what? He’s a happy customer, you don’t need details.”

“You’re kidding, right? You’re clinically incapable of not giving me details, you’re twitching right now trying to hold it in.”

“I’m not twitching!”

Rapidly bouncing your knee was not twitching.

Sam raises an eyebrow and just waits.

“Ok! Fuck you Oprah, yes he was great. Amazing. It was like so new for him it was new for me, does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I can see that. So when are you gonna play with him again?” Sam has that shitty smirk on his face like he just rooted out some filthy, uncut gem of feelings from Dean’s core and can’t wait to polish it off and shove it in his face.

“Sam, we got a whole island of horny subs that are doubly interested in taking it from the sexy new trainers in town. I mean, maybe I’ll fit him in later on when he’s ready for something a little more complicated, but I’m not-“

He stops at the sound of Sam’s dubious snort.

“Sure dude, but there’s also the fact that you have never deviated from your method before Castiel batted his pretty eyes at you last night.”

“I don’t have a method! I don’t need a method!”

“Oh no? Saunter, saunter, hip cock, Blue Steel….let them come to you? Sound familiar? You are like, aggressively passive when it comes to picking up subs.”

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Whatever jerk. So he’s up for grabs?”

Dean fights the urge to glare his brother down. “Yeah, go knock yourself out.”

“Or…. we could play with him together.”

“Sure.” He smiles a little bigger than he indented. Sam knows him too well, giving him a chance to see the sub again without looking over eager.

“Great! Maybe tomorrow? I got plans tonight after Julie.”

Dean groaned, “Oh Christ you’re going to The Pit, aren’t you?”

Sam just shrugged and cocked a crooked smile. “What can I say, Lucifer gets me.”

“You two have some weird fucking thing going on. Just try not to come back looking like you were in a car crash, ok? You gotta teach tomorrow and I don’t want to have to explain to Crowley why his impact trainer looks like he got into an accident with his own friggin’ gear.”

The brothers have lunch brought in and eat it on the deck together, talking about plans for their upcoming classes. Dean leaves Sam to take care of Julie after that and decides to head over to the bathhouse to see who looks good to play with, maybe get a massage.

Taking the winding path up to the bathhouse, Dean notices a flash of red and suddenly spies Charlie leaving the other side of the building with Castiel. He’s about to call out to them, hand raising in a half wave, when the light catches off Castiel’s collar and the tag swinging there. He’s not sure why but he stops himself, a strange tightness in his gut. They’re busy, he muses, maybe they were involved in something right now, he shouldn’t interrupt. He watches them as they stroll off into the palms, naked and smiling and it takes Dean a moment to notice he’s just standing there. Watching them.

He doesn’t even bother with the pool, picking out a slim young man with dark hair that keeps stealing hopeful glances. Dean strides on over and has the sub tagged and trailing after him towards the back rooms in a matter of seconds. He undresses and stretches out on the table, letting the sub dig into his tense muscles and ease away his tension. It works for a little while, but soon Dean finds himself restless, unable to turn his mind off and just enjoy this the way he wants. He keeps seeing that flashing tag on Castiel’s collar, wondering who owns him now. He has to fight to lie still, finally giving up and jumping off, surprising his sub, hoisting the boy onto the table and manhandling him onto his belly with his ass in the air. Dean rims the boy like he’s auditioning for the job, pulling out all his tricks until he has the sub shaking and screaming with pleasure. He makes him come as fast as he can, then hops up on the table, holding the boy down in his own mess and jerking himself off all over his slender back.

When he’s done, he gets dressed and the sub (and for some reason Dean has refused to look at the name on his collar) hops off and grins down at the smears of semen, unclips the tag and drops it into Dean’s hand with a quick thanks and a peck to the cheek before he’s out the door.

The rest of the day Dean spends with his ropes, pulling out the black and chrome road case with its shiny studs bright against the black leather. Inside are coils of rope like many colored bird’s nests, mostly hemp, but some silk blends, some cotton wrapped ones, different thicknesses and weights. In the bottom he has several pulleys and hooks, a first aid kit, along with a leather bound journal that contains his notes. He has pages of ties in here, the early entries from when he was starting out simple, more a grocery list of basics he needed to remember. But the more recent entries are wild, spiderweb fantasies, gorgeous cages of rope on flesh tattooed across the paper that he’s been slowly improving over time.

There is something very meditative about going over his ropes, running them through his hands, checking for flaws and testing the speed and accuracy of his hands as he unwinds, knots, unties, knots, release. It can always calm him. Many of his partners fall into subspace rapidly under his ropes, but when all the elements are perfect, Dean has found that once in a while he can sink into a trance of his own. Still aware, hyper aware actually, but totally at peace and focused on the task in front of him, the outside world evaporating.

He tries to chase a little of that peacefulness now, still unsure why he feels so unsettled.

“What are you sleepin’? Get your lazy bones up and get on over here, need your help with somethin’.”

Dean rolled over, dropping the phone receiver on the floor before fishing it back up onto the bed.

“Unless you have coffee over there Benny, I don’t know you.”

“You know I do brother, and a nice hot breakfast and a show. Now get your ass up before I have all the fun without you.”

Ten minutes later Dean is washed up, dressed and padding barefoot over to Benny’s bungalow, just two doors down from his own. He knocks once, then pushes in when he hears Benny’s gruff voice calling to him.

“Get on in here and help me with these.”

Dean stops short.

Benny is next to the bed, fussing with the knots holding Andrea’s hands to the headboard. But Dean barely notices her because all he can see is the sub he’s been thinking about since yesterday, kneeling on the bed over Andrea, tied to her and shaking.

He can see what Benny’s plan had been. He’s put Andrea on her back, hands bound above her, knees drawn up wide on either side and fastened by several lines. He’s placed Castiel on top of her, kneeling with his own wrists bound beside hers. Several lines run along his thighs and hips and frame his plump ass. He’s buried deep inside her and Dean can tell they’ve been holding this pose, doing their best to thrust into each other while Benny takes his time getting the ropes right. Benny has them both gagged with black sashes and when Castiel turns to find Dean standing there, looking him over with hungry eyes, Castiel can’t say a word. Only croak a pained, needy sound, sweat dripping down his neck and the valley of his spine. He looks incredible like this, the ropes biting gently into his flesh, and Dean has to clear his throat more than once before he can make words happen.

“You um….you got this lead too tight. May I?”

“Go on brother, that’s why I called the Master.” Benny gives him a little bow before stepping aside. “Figured I’d give myself something nice to watch while I ate, but I can’t get the tension right. I want it just slack enough to keep them trying but not enough so they can get what they want. What do ya think?”

Dean thinks the roll of Cas’ back muscles, the dimpled treat of his ass as it flexes and shifts, trying for a new angle to find some just-right alignment that lets him fuck deeper down, is a vision.

Dean thinks the ropes bite him beautifully, can see that Castiel likes it like this, bearing down on the damp fabric of the gag, accentuating the ticking muscles in his jaw. He needs the constriction to fight against and Dean wants to push into him with his own throbbing dick more than he’s ever wanted anything. Give the sub one more thing to strain towards, frustration giving him the transcendent fervor of a saint.

“My girl’s already come a good bit, we had some fun last night wringing her out, so this is more to get the boy riled up.”

Dean runs his hand over the lines wrapped around the backs of Cas’ thighs, just under his buttocks. Castiel doesn’t stop the aborted thrusts, can’t possibly stop, but he turns his head to look up at Dean, eyes glassy and pleading, never leaving his face.

Shit he wants to take over, grab the sub’s hair, hiss orders in his ear and cinch the lines taught so he’s held inside of Andrea as deep as he can go, get Benny to work a vibrator in his ass while Dean gets on the bed and fucks his face until he cries from the overstimulation. He wants to see blue eyes with wet lashes staring up at him while he pushes his cock in deep and feel him try to scream as Benny drills his prostate and Andrea squeezes him tight.

“Ummm…what?” Benny was talking to him.

“I said how do you take your coffee?” He laughs at Dean’s distraction.

“Black, thanks Benny.”

With quick hands he undoes a few of the knots, measuring out some slack before retying them. Now Castiel has enough room to make larger, half thrusts, just deep enough so he can feel it build but not enough to get him there. Andrea moans around the gag at the added movement, her hips shifting uselessly beneath Castiel.

Dean joins Benny at the table, nods in thanks for the plate of food and the coffee. The view is amazing.

“Now Castiel, sugar,” Benny croons. “You get my girl to come one more time, then I’ll untie you and let you have yours.”

Castiel shudders but sets desperately to work, rolling his hips to rub his pubic bone over Andrea’s clit at the end of each thrust. She’s come so many times, the angle is so maddeningly shallow that it takes forever. And Dean and Benny watch, leisurely eating their breakfast, though Dean’s throat is a little dry and he’s starting to worry his dick is about to knock his plate to the floor. The two subs grunt and strain, Benny blows on his fresh cup of coffee and rubs at the bulge in his sweat pants. Andrea’s noises get louder.

“Oh yeah boy, you almost got her. Keep working her good, you’re not going anywhere until you make my girl come.”

That seems to do something to Castiel, Dean can see it. The sub likes to be trapped, he thinks, and friggin hell if that doesn’t trigger an avalanche of ideas, each more depraved and sweaty than the last.

It’s not ok for a guest to start beating off at the breakfast table like he’s just discovered his dick, right?

No….right.

With a few more stuttering jabs of his hips, Castiel grinds down in little circles as Andrea screams behind the gag and shakes against the ropes.

“Good job boy.” Benny gets up and undoes the lines holding Castiel in place then releases his hands, leaving Andrea as she is. The gag stays put though, and Castiel whimpers through it when Benny smacks him on the ass like a horse. He doesn’t need any more encouragement, grabbing Andrea by the hips and pounding into her wildly a handful of times before he spills deep inside her, screaming something unintelligible through the fabric that Dean thinks sounds very close to his name.

He’s going to think it was his name.

Benny is already undoing the rest of the ties and the gags while Dean presses a hand against his crotch. Castiel rolls to the side as Benny rubs at the marks on Andrea’s skin. She’s flopped spread eagle across the whole mattress now, panting and twitching away from Benny’s hands.

“Ugh, don’t touch me you oaf!” She pouts with amusement. “Nobody touch me ever again!”

“Aww girl, you let me make sure you’re ok and I’ll let you have a little nap.”

After he’s sure she’s alright, makes her drink a little juice, he moves onto Castiel, rubbing him down with his large, careful hands before helping him up.

“Come on now.” He moves Cas over to kneel on a pillow by the couch, dropping down himself with the sub between his knees. Castiel lays his weary head on Benny’s thigh, looking up at Dean with a bleary smile. Benny tears apart some toast, feeds Castiel pieces in between sips of water. Feeds him individual berries, pushing his fingers into Castiel’s mouth so he can clean the juice from them. “There we go. Dean, you have his mouth before?”

Dean clears his throat, seriously why is it so dry in here? “Uh, no. Not yet.”

“Well you gotta try it sometime. Cas here’s got a mouth made o’ sin.” Castiel moans quietly as Benny pushes two of his fingers in deeper, exploring the contours inside him and it’s so much worse because Castiel stares at Dean the whole time, as if this were only for him. Dean makes a desperate sound, unable to stop himself as he watches Castiel’s lips get gently prodded with the inadequate width of Benny’s fingers. He needs something larger in there, fill it up properly. Castiel pops off, turning his eyes up to Benny.

“Sir,” he croaks. His Dom must have had him gagged for a long time. “May I?” And he gives Dean’s clothed erection a hopeful look. Benny pets his hair affectionately.

“You wanna help Dean, sugar? He does look awful uncomfortable right now. Lookit how hard you got him with your little show. Mighty nice of you to let him use your sweet mouth to take care of it.”

Castiel crawls over to Dean and the man can’t get his pants open fast enough. His cock is thickly engorged and red as it juts up from Dean’s hand. Castiel licks his lips, looks up, waiting for permission. Dean hooks a finger under Castiel’s collar, pulling gently until the sub is hovering over his cock.

“You gonna help me with this baby? Want you to- hoo- uhn- oh shit!” Castiel slid right down, his throat so open and scorching slick perfect. Benny must have been working his dick in Cas’ mouth all night because there is no teasing preamble or building pace, it’s just ferocious wet suction with the head of Dean’s cock bumping the back of Castiel’s throat over and over. Dean throws his head back against the couch as he buries his hands in thick, dark hair.

“Oh goddamn Cas! Fucking hell, you’re gonna make me come so fast!”

“I told you, right?” Benny’s moved to the bed, folding up Andrea’s limbs so he can carry her to the bathroom. She doesn’t seem interested in helping him but Benny is almost preternaturally strong, hoisting her into the shower with no effort at all. Dean has Cas alone now, the beautiful sub sweat slicked and working his tongue in unholy hieroglyphics, lips stretched and swollen just the way Dean wanted to see them.

He wants to hold out, make this last because this is heaven. But Cas has had a long night already, and he’s a guest here, and it’s not his tag that Cas is wearing.

It should be.

Grabbing the collar in one hand, Dean pulls Cas off and pumps his fist over his cock until he comes in fat stripes over Castiel’s face, cheeks streaked, lips pearly with it. Dean swipes a thumb over the sub’s bottom lip, and thrills when the man opens his mouth expectantly. But he only smiles and sucks the pad of his finger himself, pleased with the small pout of disappointment this causes on Cas.

“Next time baby, when you’re mine. I’ll strap you down and fill you with my come, would you like that?”

“Yes sir.” Castiel nods enthusiastically, but he looks so sleepy right now it makes Dean chuckle. He reaches for a napkin, cleaning off Castiel’s face and pulling him up into his lap.

“How you feelin’ Cas?”

“Mmmm,” Castiel sounds like he’s about to fall asleep, smiling into the crook of Dean’s neck as he curls into the arms holding him. “Very good. Benny and Andrea are lovely people. And I’m….I’m glad you came over Dean.”

An acrid burst of panic flashes behind Dean’s ribs and then is gone. He holds Castiel tighter and tells himself there’s no way the feeling can be Dom drop if he hasn’t actually Domed. Castiel nuzzles at his neck, warm and relaxed against him.

“I’m teaching a class at three today in the main house. I think you might like it. If you- you know, want to come by.”

Jesus his eyes are blue, it’s almost hard to look at them when they’ve tipped back to stare at him so intensely.

“I will, Dean, thank you. What will the class be on? I never asked about your area of expertise.”

Dean only gives him a crooked, knowing smirk.

The woman kneeling on the tatami mat, back to the audience, has the most luminous alabaster skin Castiel has ever seen. The late afternoon sun makes her radiant, the crown of vibrant red hair piled atop her head an arresting splash of color in the neutral room. Tan hemp rope contrasts pleasingly with her complexion, absorbing the light as her skin glows with it, her upper body caged, arms aligned straight behind her, head bowed. Dean, shirtless in a pair of wide legged yoga pants, pads barefoot around her, hands precise, stretches of rope twined and coiled and braided with impossible ease. A weighty V shaped braid runs flat against the upper length of her spine before opening up to a crosshatch of ties that fill the space between bicep and wrist. There are ropes binding her chest, a few around her lovely long neck, but the real showpiece is the gorgeous weave sculpting her arms, its knots even and identically placed, surprising geometry revealed in the negative space left by layers of hemp.

The class sits rapt as Dean works, occasionally stopping to demonstrate the technique used to turn the coils of rope at his feet into art. This is an educated crowd, their questions speak of an intimate knowledge of shibari, but to Castiel it all seems like magic.

Everyone watches Dean’s hands, but Castiel finds he watches his face more. The man is breathtaking, his intense focus something that stabs genuine bolts of pleasure through Castiel. Every time Dean yanks a rope a little harder, flexes his muscled hands to cinch a knot tightly into place, Castiel’s cock throbs. He looks around again, reassuring himself that he’s not the only person here visibly aroused.

He’s not.

That would be all well and good, but every now and then, Dean catches his eye- holds it, licks his lips, or pointedly stares at Castiel’s needy erection- and it sends a deeper ache pulsing through him.

When the tie is finished, Dean takes questions and answers them carefully before gently undoing his work and checking on the model.

“Thank you Anna.” He helps her up to standing and rubs the blood back into her arms. More than a few of the Doms in the room murmur with approval, her gaze sweet and subdued, cheeks a lovely delicate shade, skin imprinted with pleasing rope marks. She’s perfect for something like this, and as Castiel stands to leave, uninterested in joining the crowd formed to congratulate teacher and model, he feels a pang of jealousy that’s utterly absurd.

“Cas!”                                                                                          

He’s made it halfway down the hall. It’s dark here, the inner rooms not benefitting from the wash of island light they’d enjoyed in the class.

“Dean,” he smiles politely and tries to mentally will away his erection. His cock isn’t interested in manners. “Thank you for inviting me to your class, you are very skilled.”

Dean’s come right up into his personal space, once more giving off that aura that he owns the place, and making Castiel a little dizzy with indecision over whether to look him in the eyes or demurely down at his feet.

“So you liked it?”

“Very much.” And then chuckles with embarrassment because the obviousness of his enjoyment is practically stabbing Dean in the leg.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow? Anyone, you know, book you for anything?”

“No, not as of yet.”

Dean’s smile melts the actual muscle fiber in his legs and Castiel pleads with himself not to go weak in the knees like teenaged girl with a crush.

“Then I wanted to see if you’d like to scene with me, all day.”

“Will we be in the same room together all day?” He teases while his mind is screaming YES all day! Let’s do that right now!

“Oh yes,” With some mysterious sleight of hand, Dean produces one of his tags, the beveled etch of his name catching on what little light surrounds them. “In fact, I want you to wear this now. I have a few things you’ll need to do for me in order to get ready.”

Castiel licks his lips and Dean tracks it just as quick.

“Yes, please sir.”

Dean clips it to Castiel’s collar and breathes a sigh of what seems like relief. Was he worried Castiel might not agree? That’s utterly ludicrous.

“Thank you, Sir.” And suddenly Dean is crowding him against the wall, wrapping a possessive hand around his aching cock and forcing out a filthy stuttered moan from the sub. A couple walks by, the Domme smiling at them over her shoulder, she’s heard Castiel. Dean begins to piston his hand, unconcerned with an audience.

“I need you to listen carefully, sweetheart. Tomorrow, I am going to fuck you all day long,” he punctuates this with a squeeze and Castiel whimpers, hitting the back of his head on the wall. “I am going to own you with my dick and use that beautiful ass of yours the way it was meant to be used. But first, you need to be a good boy…”

A small school of bright yellow and black fish flit around the pylons supporting the trainer’s bungalow. The rough wood surface has long since been overtaken by a silken carpet of green seaweed, swaying with the pull of the tide. Castiel is caught there a moment staring at the delicate shapes below the water’s surface, suddenly struck by an odd thought.

The next time he sees these fish, he’ll have slept with Dean.

Before and after. Before he knocks on the door…..knock, knock.

And after.

“Get in here Cas.”

Dean stands at the door of his room with a look of sternness that churns Castiel’s insides. It’s exactly nine am, he’s not late, punctuality is almost a compulsion for him. He slips in without meeting Dean’s eyes, assuming that this would be the best course of action, bare feet padding to the middle of the room to where a pillow has been left for him.

“Kneel.” Dean’s voice is hard at his back and it cuts Castiel’s legs out from under him on the exhale. He drops down smoothly, head bowed, hands behind his back just to be sure.

“Did you do as I asked?” Dean walks a slow circle around the sub at his feet. Castiel’s nod has him stopping, tilting his submissive’s face up by the chin so he can lance the man with a firm look. “I need your words when I ask you a question. Tell me, specifically, what you did for me.”

“I-“ Castiel needs to clear his throat and start again. “I went to the bathhouse to get clean.”

“How clean Cas?”

“Everything. And they followed your instructions for a high colonic.” He’s crimson now because that had been a first he’d liked a lot more than he thought he would.

“Good. And your hole? Did you take care of it like I asked you to?”

“Yes,” he squirms minutely on the plug, the very mention of his ass making the fullness evident. “I opened myself up until I could take four fingers, like you told me to. Then I inserted the plug you sent and have been wearing it all night.”

“And have you touched yourself otherwise? Have you made yourself come without my permission?”

“No Sir. I kept myself ready for you.” The heavy line of the erection against his thigh testament enough.

“Good boy. Now let me inspect you. Head down, ass in the air.”

Castiel drops his forearms to the ground immediately, resting his forehead against them as he tilts his hips up high. He’s shivering, goosebumps breaking out over his skin. Dean runs a warm hand over his back, around the curve of his pert cheek and the back of his thigh. The plug is a bright, nearly neon red, the base of which stands out sharply against the tan of his skin. It’s wide, and that width had been tormenting him all night. Castiel had needed to prep longer than normal to work it in, but having seen Dean’s cock, having stretched his lips to fit it all into his mouth, he knows there’s a good reason for the size.

Dean’s other reason is his impatience. His fantasies of burying himself deep inside this sub have been distracting him for far too long, he doesn’t want to waste a moment of their time together. Don’t get him wrong, Dean loved prepping his partners, loved teasing them, getting them past the point of readiness into red line desperation, but that would have to be for another day.

He grips the base of the plug, turning it slowly as he drags it out a scant inch before letting it go, watching Castiel’s body suck it back into place. It makes the sub groan. A few more times and Dean finally pulls it free, admiring the way the velvety ring of muscle dilates, searching for something to fill it, stretch it back to that delicious width. Dean is a man that knows how to undress in the least amount of moves possible and he puts that talent to good use now, instantly naked and looming over the offering before him. Swiping a bottle of lube from the table, Dean drizzles a stream over his fingers before dropping to his knees. He runs a thumb around the slick rim, massaging Castiel’s perineum and stroking the tender skin of his balls. There are choked half sounds coming from beneath Castiel as the sub tries to hold himself still and quiet.

“Oh no sweetheart, I want to hear you. I want to hear what I do to you.” Dean pushes two fingers inside Castiel and they go in easy as anything but the moan it produces makes Dean feel like a criminal. He can’t stand fingering Castiel for more than a minute, his dick is screaming at him for a taste of silky heat sucking him down. He flips Castiel on his back, pushing his thighs apart to give himself more room. He can’t help grinning as he lubes up his cock, putting on a show of stroking himself slick, biting at his full lower lip and reveling in the way Castiel sucks at his own in sympathy.

“Here’s what we’re going to do Cas. I’m going to fuck you nice and hard with this,” he grabs his cock and begins rubbing it in teasing circles around Castiel’s rim, causing the sub to twitch with aborted thrusts down, starving to get it inside him. “And you can come any time you want but you can’t touch yourself. You got me?”

“Yes Sir, I do.” He sounds breathless, pressing his palms against the ground.

“Good.”

And then he’s pressing right in, and it’s so fucking perfect they both groan at the pleasure.

“Oh fuck yeah Cas,” Castiel had thought his Dom would start off hard and fast, pounding into him with little mercy. But Dean braces himself against the floor and begins to undulate his whole body in wicked rolls that shove him in smooth and deep, grinding on Castiel’s prostate with a kind of pressure and precision that Castiel has never, ever experienced before.

“Oh God! Oh Dean- Sir- fuck!” It’s all he can do to keep his hands on the floor. Dean’s cock is so thick and long, much bigger than the plug, and it hits every deep inch inside him, the burn of it so good it stings his eyes with tears. He’s so full, so- shit right there- so overwhelmingly filled it’s almost too much.

“You ever come on just a cock before?” Dean exhales. Castiel shakes his head as he arches back.

“No! Want to- ohh! Fuck it out of me, make me come on your cock Sir!”

Dean growls and grabs Castiel’s wrists, pinning them above his head and shifting so that the sub is bent nearly double. Harder now, the torque of his hips narrowed to fierce, snapping circles.

“Gonna fill you up baby, gonna seed you all day long till you can’t hold any more of me.”

That does it for Castiel, bucking against the points of his body Dean’s pinned to the ground, spraying both their stomachs in his release with a fractured cry. Dean curses at the vice of Cas’ channel milking him, holds back until his partner is spent then grabs Castiel’s legs behind the knees and starts to fuck him wildly, loving the way the sub is too drained to do anything more than take it, whine and moan at the sensitivity. Dean makes it last as long as he can, punching his hips into the addictive sweetness of Castiel’s ass, coming in at different angles just to see what noises he can get the sub to make. The sight of him gets to be too much though, red bitten lips, come streaks painting his leanly muscled torso, high cheekbones rosy with exhaustion. Dean can’t even number the partners he’s slept with over the years, men and women, but none of them ever made him feel like this. Like he needs more, needs to take and use and own over and over, needs to mark, brand, something, anything that will make it last beyond…..

He comes hard, shooting deep into Castiel, rocking with the last few pulses before slowly, carefully drawing himself out.

“Don’t move. Hold your knees up.” Dean growls, scrapes two fingers through the sticky trails of come along Castiel’s body, scooping it up and pushing it into his ass, making sure not a drop is wasted, smirking at the needy sounds Cas makes and the squelching of his fingers working in his hole. When he’s satisfied he’s gotten it all, he goes for the plug, lubing it up again and sliding it back into place, holding their come inside. “Come on baby, up you go.”

Dean gets Cas standing and leads him into the bathroom, unbuckling the collar and laying it by the sink. Castiel already took a shower this morning, but it’s so much better taking one with Dean. The Dom soaps him up, working out any tension he finds in Cas’ muscles with perfect pressure, making him shiver when he plays with his limp cock. When Dean spins him around to wash his hair, work his strong fingers over Cas’ scalp and down his neck, he feels like he could melt and run down the drain with the water. Now it’s his turn, taking the time to enjoy Dean’s body under his soapy hands, memorizing the broad contours of his shoulders, the trim cut of his abs and the delightful round curve of his ass. He gets on his knees to wash Dean’s legs and feet, looking up through the spray to watch his Dom as he leans in and kisses the head of Dean’s cock. Reverently, soft little praises that start to get deeper, an itch to feel this thing back in his mouth, filling his throat, filling him better than the plug that’s teasing his ass right now.

“Oh no you don’t.” Dean warns him, amused as he pulls Cas to standing the minute his dick starts to respond. “I got plans remember?”

“I’m sorry, I just really, really like your cock….Sir.” And it’s playful and teasing, with that whiskey smoke voice that seems so at odds for a submissive but shoots hot through Dean every time he hears it.

“Well that’s good Cas, cause you’re gonna get a whole lot of it today.”

They’re smiling at each other, the edge of a dare, the bright open sky above them making the droplets glint and streak. And maybe it’s the fact that he’s not wearing a collar, but Castiel kisses him suddenly, boldly. Or maybe it was Dean that made the move. No way of telling, not when their lips are feverishly occupied with knowing the other’s taste. Lips chasing, fingers seeking purchase against the slick skin, Castiel isn’t remotely submissive when he kisses and it’s something that would bother Dean with other partners, but for some reason he loves this spark in Cas, a feeling of being taken and fighting to take as well, a feeling of having to earn it.

Hands caress harder, exploration devolving into outright tongue-fucking one another as they rut wantonly against thighs and the inviting slick creases of hips.

“Mr. Winchester!” An accented voice calls out. “Your breakfast is ready.”

“Oh good, I’m starving.” Dean pants against Castiel’s mouth with an evil smirk.

“But we’re…” Cas’s eyes are still lust glazed, confused. “Do you have the staff on retainer just to interrupt us?”

“Hey, breakfast is never an interruption,” he turns off the water and drags Cas after him, tossing him a towel. They dry off quickly, and when Cas turns around, he sees his collar in Dean’s hand. Without prompting, he kneels at his Dom’s feet, bowing his head, waiting. Dean slips it around his neck, buckling the back and checking that it’s not too tight.

Breakfast has been laid out on the deck, and Dean leads the way, still nude, spreading out on the couch and throwing some cushions on the ground. He opens his knees wide, grinning and jerking his head to indicate Castiel’s place. The sub smiles at him and drops down between Dean’s legs, sighing happily and resting his head on his bare thigh.

“You do look good on your knees Cas.” He purrs, combing through the damp curls that cling to Castiel’s forehead. “I’d really like to feed you like Benny did, but if you’re not interested in that I can give you a plate down there.”

“No, I would- I’d like it if you feed me…Sir. Please?”

“Good boy.”

“Sir?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you get started in all this? If you don’t mind my asking.”

They’d finished breakfast not long ago, well Castiel had finished with the fruit and smoked ham and buttered bagel that Dean had been feeding to him with his fingers, Dean on the other hand seems to have no functional limit to his stomach.

Dean scratches at his chest and Castiel can’t choose between admiring those broad pecs or the way his neck muscles flex around a swallow of hot coffee.

“My parents were the mismatched sort, he was a hard drinkin’ mechanic and she was a sweet, soft-spoken baker. She loved the man even though she thought he wasn’t the best influence on us, so she made us go to church every Sunday. They taught some old school religion in that place, preacher screaming and people speaking in tongues. The preacher had more kids than he could count and one of them was a boy a few years older than me named Michael. He thought I needed saving and I just wanted to get in his pants. We came up with some real interesting ways of both getting what we wanted. He would get me to kneel at the alter when everyone’d gone, belted my ass when I talked back, tied me up and made me beg forgiveness for my sins. Didn’t take long for things to start getting sexual, Michael was fire and brimstone and ready to inherit his Daddy’s Bible but he also had this domineering side that just needed to take sin in his hands and try to use it as a way to find God. It was so fucking twisted and I loved it.”

Dean’s cock begins to fill out as he reminisces. It’s so tantalizingly close, Castiel can smell the warm masculine scent of him mingling with the soap and he wants to suckle at him, his own dick growing stiff and insistent at the idea. But he resists, he doesn’t have permission. He loves not having permission.

“After that, it was hard to go back to the standard stuff. I started going to clubs before I was even old enough to legally get in. Got busted at one and that’s how I met Crowley. Instead of kicking me out of his club, he taught me the ropes. I was real pretty back then,” he bats his lashes at Castiel and the sub chuckles. “so most people pegged me as a submissive. It was Crowley that turned me on to Domming. It just….everything clicked. I like taking care of people, kinda raised my brother there for a while when Dad was too drunk and Mom was working all hours. It just feels good, having people trust me like that.”

“And Sam? How did he start?”

Dean snorts.

“Well he and Dad were always butting heads, so the two of us moved into our own place. I was deep into the life back then and I guess I didn’t hide my gear well enough. Got a call at work from him begging me to come home.” He starts laughing, “Kid had tied up this girl so tight he couldn’t get her out, and then the blindfold got caught in her hair and she was hysterical. One super uncomfortable talk later and I sort of took him under my wing, like Crowley had for me. Man, he just took right to it, and there was never any confusion over that kid being a Dom.”

He looks down at Castiel now, and it was like a switch flipped. All lazy Midwestern ease gone from his voice as he begins to stroke himself hard.

“I think it’s time for us to talk about the rest of your day. Are you ready to keep going?”

“Yes Sir.” Castiel’s eyes go dark with excitement.

“I want to fill that ass of yours, you understand?”

Castiel nods enthusiastically, “Yes, I want you to fill me up.”

“That’s good,” he runs a hand over Cas’ face, slipping a thumb into his mouth, which the sub sucks at in earnest. “So we’ll need to stick to a strict schedule from now on. I’ve let you ease into our day, but starting now I plan on taking you every hour, and it will be your job to hold everything I give you until I say we’re done. Got it?”

“Yes sir.”

“Without,” his voice gets that low husky grit that sends a shiver through Castiel’s frame. “the aid of your plug. And I don’t want you to spill a drop, are we clear?”

He can’t help moaning at that, “Very clear sir.”

All day, being used by this beautiful man and taking his come until he was bursting.

“My seed is very precious boy, so I’ll have to punish you if you spill it. Come up here, on my lap.”

He pulls Castiel up and positions him so that the man is draped over his lap face down, cocks rubbing deliciously and ass raised up for Dean to enjoy. He rubs firm circles around the tight flesh, teasing at the plug nestled between his cheeks. It makes the sub gasp and wiggle, pushing up into Dean’s hand for more.

“I propose that you get a spanking for any come you let leak out of this ass, what do you think?”

The low frequency moan and the involuntary rut down of his hips says just what Castiel thinks of that.

“Yes please! I- it’s yours! I’ll keep your ass filled all day and I’ll take your hand if I fail.”

Dean’s heart stutters then pounds hard and slow in his chest. It’s not something he mentions to anyone, how much of his enjoyment in this is wrapped up in owning. It taps into something he’d rather not look at too closely, but it’s hard to resist it now, with Castiel ripe and begging him to take. He grabs a rough handful of the ass in his lap, twisting at the plug with his other hand.

“That’s right Cas, this is mine. And I’m going to give you a little taste of what I’ll do if you don’t take care of what’s mine.”

He rubs a warm circle over Castiel’s cheek before bringing his hand down sharply, rosy handprint blooming a few seconds later. Cas cries out, his dick throbbing against Dean’s thighs, hands clenching at the cushion under his head.

“How do you feel Cas?”

“Green!” Dean doesn’t wait for more, bringing his hand down five more times, peppering the blows all over the fleshy surface, not giving the man time to adjust.

“There you go boy,” admiring the pink flush painted across both cheeks. “Just a little taste. Now I think it’s past time for me to fuck another load into you.”

With a swiftness that leaves Castiel panting, Dean shifts them around so that he has Cas bent over the arm of the deck sofa. He comes up to kneel behind him, twisting and dragging the plug out carefully before using his thumbs to open and inspect Castiel’s stretched out hole. The sound of lube slicking up Dean’s prick makes him shake and whine, he feels so empty without the plug. There’s a hand at his hip and the bluntness of the wide head finds his rim and then he’s being breached, split open on that glorious cock as it slides in till he’s fully impaled. Dean takes his time, drawing out slow before snapping in hard, the sound it makes when their skin collides skipping out across the water. Castiel thinks on that as he’s being pounded so thoroughly, that other people can hear them, people staying next door or possibly on the beach. He wants to let them know how well his Dom is fucking him, wants to let everyone know what’s going on in this room. He lets go, tossing away every inhibition he’s ever had and screaming out the raw pleasure Dean is giving him. It’s so freeing, living in a moment that’s only body and sensation and need. Dean’s cursing above him, drilling him harder and ordering him not to hold back, so he doesn’t, crying out till his throat stings, feeling the need for something sharper, darker. Teeth on his skin or nails or- fuck yes!

Dean’s got a handful of his hair, yanking it back with the right amount of force, grunting loudly as he comes.

Someone wolf whistles from outside.

Dean takes a moment, panting against Castiel’s back before he slides out carefully, making sure not to spill a drop. He rubs at Castiel’s swollen rim, blowing on it and watching it tighten at the coolness. Castiel whimpers.

“Sir please…”

“Aww baby, you didn’t come.” He rolls Cas onto his side and strokes both hands over his sub’s arms and through his hair. “Well I’m sorry, but if you don’t come on my cock, you don’t get to come at all. You’ll just have to wait for next time, and no touching or I’ll have to punish you.”

That makes his dick throb harder. Dean gets up to clean them off, and they spend the rest of the hour lazing on the deck, so relaxed Castiel is taken a little by surprise when Dean checks his watch- the only thing he’s been wearing- then yanks him into place on his back and pushes into him with minimal prep.

Castiel doesn’t get to come that time either, their time spent relaxing having muted most of his arousal. But Dean only smirks at him and stays firm, despite the needy little sounds Cas makes when he’s finished with him.

It gets progressively harder after that. With each subsequent fuck, Castiel gets looser, slicker, pumped fuller with Dean’s come. It takes conscious effort to keep himself closed tight. He’s already been spanked twice. Dean must have some sort of sixth sense about when Castiel lets slip, the exact timber of his groan when he feels it dripping, or the specific shade of pink he gets when he knows he’s about to be punished. His Dom had put on clothes earlier, and it’s so much more humiliating, and thrilling, when a fully dressed Dean calls him over in that calm, stern voice and tells him to turn around for an inspection.

“Looks like you’re not being careful enough with my seed Cas. Get on my lap.”

Dean always takes a moment to push the errant trails of come back into Castiel before cracking his open palm against his reddening ass, giving one or two targeted smacks to his puffy hole. It makes him shriek and try to twist away, but it does help tighten up that ring of muscle.

And it makes him so fucking hard every time.

Dean always takes him immediately after a spanking, and each time the hot burn of Castiel’s sensitized skin and the rush of hazy bliss that follows the pain rips orgasms from his body with such force he forgets his own name. And when he does, his Dom praises him so thoroughly it makes Castiel swell with pride.

By the afternoon, despite the spankings, Castiel is finding it impossible to keep himself closed tightly enough every minute. He’s forced to spend his time on his back, on his knees with his ass in the air, bent over the last piece of furniture Dean has fucked him on just to keep it all in. His Dom loves this, moving about the room with his odd tasks and petting him when he passes.

“Cas?”

“Yes Sir?” he answers from facedown on the bed. His ass is a lovely shade of red.

“How would you feel about Sammy joining us for lunch?”

“I…uh…”

“Not to participate, darlin’. Just want him to hang out and see how good you’re being. But only if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Would you….do you plan to keep filling me? When he’s here?”

Dean sits next to him on the bed and rolls him over, stroking his cock- which is always rock hard and aching now- not enough pressure to get him off, just enough to make him moan and buck up into Dean’s hand.

“Would you like that? Show Sammy how I’ve been using my boy? How good you are at taking my load?”

Castiel moans at the idea.

“Yes, but….I only want you inside of me today, I only want to be yours.”

“Yeah Cas,” he leans down and whispers hotly while jerking his hand faster over Castiel’s cock. It’s so close….just a little….more…. “this is mine. Right now you only belong to me.”

He takes Cas right up to the edge, familiar now with the signs that his sub is close, then lets him go.

“I’ll be back in a few. I want you to stay right where you are until I get back, ok?”

“Ok.” He pants hard, trying to pull back the throttle on his orgasm.

“Color?

“M’green.”

He gets a quick kiss, and then Dean is gone. His whole body is oversensitive and he’s aching and suddenly tired. Sleep calls to him, so he rolls onto his stomach, shoving two pillows under his hips to make sure Dean’s come stays in him while he sleeps.

From somewhere outside of his awareness, there are voices, then he’s pulled slowly from sleep by the touch of a large hand stroking his back.

“Oh man, tell me you’re gonna take him like this. He’s too pretty.”

The unfamiliar voice rouses him further, his sleepy blue eyes blinking open to look up at Dean and the tall, attractive man beside him.

“We didn’t talk about sleep stuff. Hey Cas? Wake up angel, Sammy’s here.”

Castiel groans himself awake, stretching out a bit. “Hello Sir, hello Sam. Is it time for you to seed me again, Sir?”

“Baby,” Dean kisses his temple. “It’s so good you’re ready for me to take this ass again.” He strips off his jeans and tshirt, crawling up behind Castiel on the bed and pulling his hips up into position. They don’t need to prep at all anymore, Castiel is always loose and ready for Dean’s cock. He slides to the hilt in one sleek move, grunting at the wetness and heat. “Oh shit Sam he feels so amazing, it’s so fucking slick.”

Sam pulls a chair up to the bed and drops into it, running a hand through his hair and grinning slyly at his brother shoving into the sleepy sub over and over. “I want to watch him come, are you letting him?”

“Only on my dick if he can, but I think it’s ok to give him a treat, seeing as how he’s been so good to us letting you be here. What do you think Cas, want me to make you come while Sam watches us?”

“Oh yes please! Make me come for you!”

Dean hums in amusement, then shifts them up so that Castiel is high on his knees, both hands braced on the bed post, Dean’s arms wrapped tight around his body. This position gives Sam a perfect view of the long lines of Castiel’s body as he’s rocked with the force of Dean driving into him.

“Make him come fast Dean, I want to see him taking you even after he’s finished.” Sam is rock hard in his pants right now, but aside from lightly teasing himself he makes no move to get off.

“You gotta watch his face when he does it,” Dean growls then angles it just right to nail Cas’ prostate. The sub screams, head thrown back on Dean’s shoulder, mouth open and gasping. A large, calloused hand finds his shaft, pumping him fast and rough, speeding him headlong into his release.

“Look at Sam angel.” Dean grits out in his ear, the strain of fucking his boy making his voice severe, commanding. “Want him to see.”

That’s it, tipping over the edge with the hot burn of ecstasy, eyes locked on the man watching them, forcing himself to keep staring even as the pleasure locks down every muscle.

“Oh Christ Dean, he’s looks beautiful. Fuck him harder.”

“Yeah,” Dean pants. “Keep your eyes on my brother, Cas. Let him watch you.”

Castiel obeys eagerly, watching Sam with half-lidded eyes as Dean pounds into him again and again and again. He doesn’t stop himself from making noise either, sobbing and moaning each time his Dom hits that tender bundle of nerves. His arms start to shake, it’s getting harder to hold himself up. Dean’s licking and sucking at his neck, making hungry noises and holding him tighter before stuttering out a ragged cry and biting down on Castiel’s shoulder, pumping into him as he comes. He collapses backwards, taking Cas with him and curling his body around the sub, kissing all along his neck and behind his ear.

“Mmmm…Sam, go put the food out. I don’t think I can move.”

“Sure thing Dean.” Castiel hears the clatter of plates and glasses, the smell of something delicious hitting him a second later.

Dean pulls out of him slowly, rolls off the bed and pulls on his jeans. “Come on Cas, you need to eat.”

Castiel takes a moment to get his breathing under control, but when he stands up, he comes to an immediate and mortifying realization. There’s no way he can walk across the room after this last round without leaking. He’s squeezing as hard as he can, but he’s been fucked open too many times with too much lube. His cheeks slip against each other and he can feel the warm pressure threatening to spill. He whimpers a bit, unsure of what to do. Across the room Sam is cutting into an enormous steak, next to him Dean sits back in the couch, legs wide and waiting for Cas to join them. He’s got an evil little smirk on his face like he knows exactly what kind of dilemma Castiel is having right now and is waiting to see how his sub will handle it. He’ll spank him right there on the couch if he fails, Cas thinks. And Sam takes up so much room…he’ll probably get stretched out across the younger brother’s lap as well while Dean spanks his already tender ass a deeper shade of red. The thought turns his cheeks crimson and his dick gives a futile twitch. He looks at Dean again, and the smirk is still there, but his eyes are encouraging and….safe. Anything that happens, Castiel feels safe.

He drops to his knees, arching his back to tilt his ass in the air and crawling slowly to his Dom. Sam has stopped mid bite to watch him and by the time he makes it to the pillow between Dean’s knees, his Dom’s smile has faded into black eyed hunger. He leans down to tilt Cas’ head up by the jaw and kisses him deeply, licking the sandy-sweet moan right out of his mouth and possessing his lips until he has Castiel feverish and wriggling.

“God baby you are too fucking perfect.” One last kiss and then he reaches over beside him to pull out the neon red plug, lubing it up before handing it to Cas.

“Put this in while we eat, you deserve a little break.”

Castiel takes the plug, eyes shining with gratitude. He should give Dean a treat too, seeing as how generous he’s being. He turns around to lay his head on the ground, ass up high and presented right in front of Dean so he and Sam can get the perfect view. Fingering his swollen rim, he slides the head of the plug in teasing little circles before popping it past the muscle. Twisting it, he slowly works it deeper and deeper into his body, he’s loose enough that he could push it right in with no trouble, but judging from the heavy breathing coming from behind him this little demonstration was the best idea.

Once he has it in place, he turns around to see Sam and Dean both staring hard at him with matching looks like they’re about to shove him down and eat him alive. It makes him feel so goddamned powerful he can’t help an evil little smirk of his own.

“Thank you sir.” he keeps his eyes lowered as he moves into place between Dean’s knees, but the smile just won’t leave his face.

“Dude,” Sam laughs. “I would get back into training subs full time if it meant I could break this one.”

“Oh no you don’t bitch,” Dean pulled the small coffee table overloaded with plates closer, cutting small pieces of steak. “Cas doesn’t need any of your weird electrodes n’ ass hooks stuff. Besides, the only training he’s getting right now is from me.”

Castiel is in heaven. Dean feeds him bits of steak, swipes of mashed potato sucked right from his fingers, tips a bright yellow sports drink into his open mouth that he didn’t much care for but finishes anyway at Dean’s firm insistence. And only once he is too full to continue does Dean start eating himself, all the while talking to Sam over his sub’s head. Castiel leans against him, arms wrapped loosely around his Dom’s calf and head gradually lowering to rest on his thigh. The brothers chat and tease and joke with one another, a camaraderie that speaks of a great deal of history and love. Their voices warm him, lull him along with the click and scrape of silverware over porcelain. He isn’t even aware he’s fallen asleep until a pleasant pressure and drag at his ass kindles from foggy ache to an unrelenting pulse of need that yanks him instantly awake.

Dean is working the plug inside him, calmly petting his head and whispering in his ear. Sam is gone.

“So amazing for me angel. You kneel for me like you’ve been doing this forever, so happy to give over.”

The plunge of the toy finds the spot that makes his breath stutter and mouth fall open with exquisite, building hunger.

“I like to kneel for you, Dean. It makes me feel….right.”

He’s too deep into the sensation to realize his slip, but if Dean notices the use of his name, just then he isn’t in the mindset to care.

There is an intimacy here Dean hasn’t felt in a long, long while. Or maybe ever. The appeal of a scene was in the parameters, rules that leave no hazy boundaries for emotion or expectation from either party to bleed through, things he is never really prepared to handle. But Castiel is different somehow, he wasn’t trying out a persona or looking to spice up a post-divorce self-discovery. His submission came from somewhere natural and pure, a desire to serve, to give over everything of himself with a complete lack of artifice. It made Dean remember why he got into this in the first place, to care for people, to experience a level of absolute trust that had never been offered to him in his day to day life, no matter how hard he tried.

When he pulls Castiel up onto the couch and eases into him, opening red and sloppy but still so fucking good Dean’s teeth clench on a reflex, it’s slower than anything they’ve done so far. Just a lazy slide of skin as they breathe into each other’s mouths and whisper about their need as if no one should hear.

He holds Castiel to task for four more hours after that and every moment of it he feels like a second hand in his blood stream. At the end of it, he makes Castiel bend over the edge of the bed and push it all out, a day’s worth of come eagerly hoarded to gush out in languid rivulets down the insides of Cas’ thighs. Dean watches with a covetous slant to his gaze, kneeling just behind Castiel so he can properly spread his ass and direct him how to push and when to relax so he can appreciate how used and absolutely fucked out he’s made his boy.

And he wants to take him one last time, but can’t. Tamps down an urge that he won’t name because naming it means looking at it, at a thing he is wholly unwilling to deal with right now. So instead he draws a bath and lowers his worn out sub into the water, slots himself against the man’s back and washes away the sweat and the tacky remains of their mingled come. Castiel melts against him, the water giving his skin a luminous quality that Dean tries to memorize with the skim of his fingers under the eddies and whirls.

“Stay here tonight.”

It’s not supposed to be a command but he can’t stop himself from sounding like it is. Castiel turns to look up at him.

“Alright.”

“That’s not… you don’t have to, if you need a break from me or- -“

His laugh is self-depreciative in a way that is far too natural for Castiel’s liking.

“Dean, I want to stay.”

“Oh……ok good.”

“Good.”

Castiel wakes up unable to breathe. There’s something heavy and swelteringly hot suffocating him and flattening all his organs. His right leg is somewhat free, so he uses this to lever off the mass of flesh that is Dean Winchester’s whole body starfished on top of his own. The man doesn’t so much cuddle as occupy a sleeping person with extreme aggression.

Attempts to leave the bed are cut off at every turn by arms and legs that snatch at whatever part of Castiel they can reach and try to tuck him back in place under Dean’s bulk. It’s sweet, and so incredibly tempting to stay here all morning, but they can’t.

“Dean!” The man can’t still be asleep, he’s grumbling as if he is, but there’s too much conscious action in the iron band of his arms pinning Cas to the bed or the lazy trail of his lips along the ridge of his scapula.

“Grrmmmmmnnn.”

“Dean you have a class in an hour, you need to get up.”

“Shit.” He’s immediately awake and squinting at the clock. “Sammy was supposed to….shit.”

While he fumbles around, knocking into three separate pieces of furniture and a wall on his way to the bathroom, Castiel stretches and looks around the room. It was only a day, only one scene in two week’s worth of scenes he has to look forward to, but he can’t help feeling disappointed somehow. Is he dropping? This doesn’t feel like dropping, though he’s never really experienced that before so there’s no clinical way to compare. Truth is he doesn’t want this to end, he wants to stay here in this bed, waiting for Dean to return from class and find a new way to use him, to make him feel owned.

He goes through the drawers until he finds what he’s looking for, a pair of the loose fitting yoga pants Dean had worn to that first class. He pulls out the rolling black case filled with shibari gear and lays the pants on top as well as a bottle of orange juice from the mini fridge.

“Here,” he indicates the items when Dean steps out of the bathroom, hair perfect but jaw unshaven. “You have time, you’re not going to be late.”

“Thanks Cas,” he grins, pulls on the pants and downs the juice, wincing as it clashes with his toothpaste.

“And um….this.” Castiel unclips the tag he’s worn for over twenty four hours. Dean freezes for a moment, face blank, before slipping it into his pocket.

“Right, thanks. So you…uhh, you ok and everything? I don’t mind being late if you need to take a minute, talk about what we did.”

“You’re very kind, but I’ll be fine.”

“Well you know you can call me any time if you need me, ok? If you feel like you’re dropping or something. I mean it, anytime.”

Castiel offers a small smile of assent and they stand there, both seemingly unable to figure out the next move.

“So you, you know, got any plans for today?”

Dean tries to waggle his eyebrows suggestively but the mirth doesn’t include his eyes. Maybe he just wants Castiel to go, the man thinks. Maybe he’s being polite and Castiel is too oblivious to pick up the hint. It wouldn’t be the first time. Suddenly Castiel feels very embarrassed, this is one of Crowley’s trainers on his way out the door and he’s taking the time to small talk with Castiel because the sub is too clueless to know when to leave.

“Um, no. I think I’ll be taking a day off after yesterday. There’s a small lagoon on the island that I’ve heard is home to a diverse range of sea life, I may use the afternoon to go snorkeling. I’ll let you get to class.” He crosses the room quickly, unsure of why his heart is jerking about like a wounded bird. He stops at the door, turning to find that Dean has followed him and is standing quite close.

“Bye Cas.”

And Castiel has a wild idea. For one moment he wishes he were a Dom. If he were the Dom he would kiss Dean right now. But he’s not and their time together is over. He meets his eyes instead.

“Goodbye Dean.”

Five days pass. Nearly a week in a paradise of color and sun and sexual decadence that Dean has been looking forward to all year and no matter what he does he can’t seem to drag himself out of this miserable funk. He teaches classes, crafting beautiful, sculptural works of rope, answering questions and deflecting offers for private demonstrations. He scenes with everyone he can get his hands on, two, three, sometimes four scenes a day. Nothing satisfies him. He can’t stop thinking about Castiel, can’t stop comparing every single partner to the blue-eyed sub. Two of his subs end up dropping on him, which had never happened to him before, and it takes an intervention from one of Crowley’s pets to shake him up enough to admit something is wrong.

Sam is so busy trying to wear out his dick, he doesn’t notice there’s a problem. Dean doesn’t blame him, they live together after all and despite staying next door on a tiny island on the exact same working-vacation, this is as close to time apart as they get and have been operating with the understanding that they each leave the other mostly to his own devices.

He takes a day off, wandering the island, stumbling across the lagoon Castiel had spoken of and going for a swim in its shelter. That night he pulls out his journal and starts a new drawing. He needs to turn the book vertical to get the scale right. The figure is a long, elegant curve to the left, one leg held in a low arabesque, suspension rigged through the harness at the right ribs and hips. The arms are up and gracefully positioned to give the figure a sense of descending from above, looking down at something below. A postulant maybe, or a sinner about to be plucked from Hell. Arching up above this figure is a set of huge wings of rope, meticulous twin webs that would need to be anchored in both the ceiling and the floor. He would have to build those first, if he ever gets around to building this, create the wings and then weave his subject into them. It’s the most ambitious thing he’s ever designed and it’s suddenly the only thing he wants to do. It would take up studio space for a few days at least, but maybe Crowley would make an exception. This piece wouldn’t work on just anyone though, it needed a masculine line, but graceful. It needed Castiel.

Dean collapses into a chair on his deck and scrolls through his room’s tablet. He finds Castiel’s profile, lingering on the photo of him in a white dress shirt with a slightly confused expression on his face, head tilted to the side, as if unsure why anyone would want a photo of him in the first place. It makes Dean smile for just a moment before scrolling down.

There’s a waiting list.

Name after name of Doms with their suggestions for scenes. People he doesn’t know but some he does. Fucking Sam is on the list and in a fit he throws the device across the water and watches it skip twice before sinking into the flat blue sea.

The next morning he finds himself in Crowley’s office.

“Winchester. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I want to train a sub. Exclusively.”

And that’s not at all what he intended to say. He’d meant to ask for permission to commandeer a studio for a few days to create his shibari angel piece.

“Absolutely not. Anything else?”

“But-!”

“What you’re asking for is on par with collaring one of my subs for your own exclusive use and that’s not what we do here.”

“He’s not your sub.” Dean growled.

“Did you notice the round leather bits all these pretty submissives have been running around wearing? Yes? Well that, my friend, is my collar. This is my island, and on my island there are no exclusive contracts because that means you have just thinned the herd for everyone else. People pay me obscene amounts of money, Dean, to fuck many beautiful people many filthy ways in an impeccable five star setting. If you have feelings,” Crowley expelled the word as if offended by the taste. “deal with them on your own time.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. This trip was supposed to be the pinnacle of his career as a Dom, and now all he could think about was passing up on everything it offered for one submissive.

“Aww, buck up now champ. You know I still like you. You’re talented, the ladies think you’re pretty and you fuck like a stud horse in rut. You’re good for business, which is the highest compliment I can give another human being, so forget all this training nonsense and go have a good time.”

Castiel stares at his tablet and sighs.

The names staring back at him are not the ones he wants to see. Or rather, one. Singular.

This is absurd. He’d never expected to have so much interest, should be thrilled that his dance card is so full, but every day that passes ends in disappointment. After Dean, he’d tried a number of scenes with a variety of people. He’s been paddled and teased with vibrators and called a whore and lead around the main house on a leash blindfolded. And all the while his wretched brain wouldn’t stop playing Goldilocks. This one too soft, this one too rough, this one so depressingly not Dean.

One day off to rest turns into two, and now he can’t find the will to get back out there.

It’s humiliating, Dean is a star Dom in the most exclusive of venues. His days were spent beating starstruck subs off with a stick, and here he is a pathetic, untrained novice who shared a few moments with him, scenes he’s surely forgotten already and replaced with experiences far more intricate and fulfilling than what they’d done, and no matter what he does, he just can’t get over the man. Can’t resist reading the name on the tag of every sub he passes, stealing himself for when he finds one of Dean’s.

He never does, but it doesn’t help.

He reads over the list of names again, pausing on the one that reads Winchester with a pang of hope. Again. But it’s still Sam requesting a flogging session and he still can’t scrub the uneasiness that overcomes him when he thinks about sceneing with the younger brother alone. It feels unfaithful. It’s not but he can’t reshape the sensation any other way.

A message pops up on the screen from Charlie.

 

I’m @ hot tub w/ pitcher of sangria. RU free?

He types a quick reply and then heads out the door. This could be just what he needed.

Or not. He should have known it was a trap.

The combination of steaming hot water and sugar sweet sangria rockets the alcohol through every dilated blood vessel so fast that Castiel is too late to realize he’s gone from sober to drunk in under fifteen minutes.

“So now that you’re relaxed, tell me what’s going on. I haven’t seen you in days and a couple buddies of mine were asking about you. Too popular to talk to your old friends?”

“We only met last week Charlie.”

“Kink buddies for life, don’t question it, you know what I mean. You seem tense, and I’m not even sure how it’s medically possible to be tense here.”

“I think I made a mistake.” He frowns at the mangled red fruit at the bottom of his glass. Charlie refills without asking and he downs half of it in no time. “I think I have feelings for one of the Doms.”

“Oh my gosh that’s great!” she squeals, taking both of his shoulders in hand and shaking him in slow motion. “Who is it?”

“It doesn’t matter, this is all over in a few days and then we all go back to doing life…things…in real clothes in separate cities. I don’t even know anything about him really, outside of all this.”

Castiel gestures to the lush setting, the beautiful people lounging or kissing or openly fondling one another.

“So a guy. Ok, now, is it someone you’ve scened with before, or someone you’re just pining after?”

“We’ve…uhh…scened…..more than once.”

“Does he feel the same way?”

“It’s entirely unlikely. Everyone on this island wants to partner with him and I haven’t seen him anywhere since we….”

He can’t tell Charlie about that day. It wasn’t like anything else he’d done, it felt….important. Private.

“It’s Dean!”

“W-wait, what?!” he pales. “Why do you say that?”

“One, because it totally is. B, because you’re not denying it. And Yahtzee, because he’s been completely M.I.A. for the last week, when Dean Winchester, as observed in the wild, should be elbow deep in poon right now!”

“Charlie, please. It’s just a silly….he’s- please don’t say anything.”

“I want to serve on this ship.” She whispers.

“What?”

“Nothing! Here, have some more sangria and tell me more about Dean.”

It’s just after sunset when Dean returns to his room, sweaty and covered in scratches and long streaks of dirt. Jesus, he stayed cleaner when he worked on cars. There is a light on in his room, which he assumes is Sam. The guy better not have some sub waiting on him in there, he really isn’t in the mood for it tonight. But it’s not Sam laying stretched out on his bed, posed like every femme fetale from every movie in creation.

“Mr. Winchester, so good of you to join us. We have much to discuss, you and I.” Her German accent is horrendous but she keeps a straight face, he’ll give her that.

“Charlie, what are you doing?”

“You don’t have a swivel chair or a white cat so this might lose some of the effect.” She doesn’t drop the accent.

“Kiddo, I’m really not in the mood for a tumble right now, and aren’t you on a mostly chic diet anyway?”

“In your dreams bitch, you look like you lost a fight with a garbage truck. Where the hell have you been?”

“Around.” He grunts.

“Hmm…been a lot of that lately. Go get a shower and I’ll order us some burgers and we can watch a movie.”

He sighs gratefully. “Sometimes I love you.”

“Yeah, hold that thought.” She mutters as he heads for the bathroom.

Not long after they are curled up on the sofa watching Ghostbusters on the tiny screen of Dean’s (replacement) room tablet. Bill Murry is articulating just how funky he feels when apropos of nothing Charlie announces, “So Castiel.”

Dean pauses, mouth full of burger, lips and fingers dripping grease, and if he doesn’t look her in the eye she can’t pin anything on him.

He swallows harder than he meant to.

“Yeah?”

“He’s some hot stuff, huh?”

“I guess.” He mumbles. And he wants to take another bite of his food so he won’t be expected to talk.

“Said you guys fooled around more than once and had a real good time with you.”

“He- he said that?”

“Oh yeah, loved every second of,” she makes sparkle fingers in the air, “whatever it was you guys did, I made him promise not to give me details.”

“Really?” Charlie knows what casual Dean sounds like and this isn’t it by a mile.

“Yeah. Now with Sam he- “

“Sam Domed him?!” He hadn’t meant to shout at her. Or stand. When did he stand up?

But Charlie’s shit eating grin doesn’t flinch.

“You like him!”

“I- wait no. But when you say Sam-“

“Never touched him, Winchester. Unbunch your panties from your asshole, I was messing with you for posterity. Now answer my declarative sentence. You like him!”

There’s no way he’s getting out of this, and part of him wants to confide in someone other than that lizard he’s been building a rapport with out in the jungle.

“Yeah, Red. I like him. But he’s here for a good time and he’s always booked and I don’t want to be the creepy Dom with a crush who wants to horn in and get all possessive. Except I already did that when I asked Crowley if I could train Cas exclusively.”

“You did?” she makes it sound like he’d proposed marriage.

“Oh God, I’m so embarrassed. Crowley’s never going to ask me back as a trainer now that he thinks I can’t control myself.”

“But if it wasn’t up to Crowley, would you still want to be Castiel’s Dom?”

“………yes.”

“Is that why you’ve been so hard to find lately?”

“I’ve been…uh…working on something. For Cas. I’m not even sure why I’m doing it because why would he want to sub for me again when he has every other Dom on this island lined up-“

“Yeah, lined up and waiting, but he’s not taking all comers Dean. He’s barely seeing anyone anymore. Want to hazard a guess why?”

“But his list…”

“Is full because he’s ignoring it. The one person he wants to be with never put in another request.”

She’s giving him her most meaningful look, which consists of widening her eyes and thinning her lips in more of a get with it stupid expression than anything else. And he can barely breathe because what if she’s wrong? But more importantly, what if she’s not?

There are only two days left. On Thursday the boats will come to take the Doms away to Purgatory where Crowley’s private planes would trace the route back to New York. The subs were scheduled to leave on Friday and the island would spend another week under the care of staff whose job it was to hide the sex toys and sanitize all the surfaces for the influx of normal tourists who filled the island the remaining days of the year. Castiel plans on spending all of it on the beach, alone. Or maybe he would walk the island again, swim in that lagoon he’d so enjoyed and pretend like he didn’t feel this rock he’s been carrying everywhere in his stomach. He tries to think about his next steps, what his life back home would be like now that he’s finally explored this side of himself. The thing that galls him most is that he wants this more than ever, has found a piece of himself that makes everything sit right under his skin for once, but the only one he wants to give that side of himself to is Dean.

There’s a farewell party tonight at the main house, everyone would be going. Dean would be there, he could see him again. But he just doesn’t think he can, so he curls up in bed with a glass of wine and blames his awkward social skills for choosing to stay in.

There’s a knock at the door.

One of the staff is there with a small covered tray. He didn’t order room service.

“For Castiel.” She hands him the whole tray and bows before turning to leave.

He takes it to the table, lifting the lid. There is a note scrawled on a piece of white paper on top of which rests a tag. For a moment he wants to roll his eyes at this presumptuous gesture, until he sees the name.

His heart all but stops then restarts on the wrong tempo.

I know this isn’t how I’m supposed to do things, but I need to make sure you get this message. I made something for you, something I hope you’ll like. Please meet me at the lagoon in an hour.

It’s eerily vacant on the island as Castiel makes his way out to the lagoon. Everyone is likely getting ready for the party, or packing, or cramming in a few more scenes while they can. He touches Dean’s tag at his throat one more time, excitement thrumming through the tips of his fingers. When he finally reaches the edge of the lagoon, he’s shaking.

“Cas!” Dean emerges from the copse of palm trees to his left. God he’s beautiful, skin golden in the sunlight, smiling brilliant at him as he hurries to his side. When his eye catches on the tag he stops, grin spreading wider across his face for a brief moment before wrapping Castiel up in his arms and stealing his breath with a deep, possessive kiss.

“I’m so glad you came.” He groans into Cas’ mouth before replacing his words with his tongue.

“Of- mm- course- mmmhh!”

“I want to show you something.” Dean manages some time later, after he’s made a wreck of Castiel’s lips and hair and balance. He pulls Castiel along to a spot just inside the trees.

It’s incredible.

Rigged between the sturdy trunks of the palm trees and across a set of parallel bamboo beams, is an astonishing set of wings rendered in hemp rope. Each one is easily six feet across, arching up into the canopy, the knots and braids and overlapping patterns suggesting perfect, geometric feathers.

“Oh Dean….”

“It’s for you. I mean, it’s for you if you want to.”

Castiel can barely speak.

“I want to. Very much.”

It takes over an hour of work, not counting the time Dean took to lay out his plan and set up the safety rules for Castiel, but in the end the effect is stunning. Castiel floats a few feet off the ground, body twisted in graceful lines, the harness and ties merging him seamlessly with the wings.

“Cas…” Dean runs a hand over Castiel’s hip and up the front of his body to pinch a rosy nipple. His angel gasps through the dreamy pleasure of his subspace, the very image of rapture he’d seen in all those Renaissance paintings. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

His mouth finds all the sensitive places between the fingers of rope, licking his way over every inch he can reach before seeking out the demanding thickness of Cas’ cock, trapped in a tie that puts it on display for Dean to enjoy. Castiel can only sob when Dean takes him fully in his mouth, hands anchored in the ropes lining his thighs, rocking the suspended man back and forth into the searing heat of his mouth, fucking his own throat. Castiel can’t thrash or buck or move in any way, an earth-bound angel trapped and forced to endure whatever sensation Dean decides for him, forced to take what Dean gives him. God he wants to take everything.

Dean is everywhere, he is the rope against his skin, the feel of it as his Dom carefully wrapped inch after inch around his trembling body, an extension of him, holding Castiel close, keeping him still so that he might give himself over wholly. It sends him spinning into an abyss, empties him out, fills him again with smoky curls of longing, with a need to exist only for Dean.

When he’s right at the knife’s edge, skin slick and glowing with sweat, tremors of warning alerting Dean that his submissive is so painfully close, the Dom steps back, delights in the agonized cries that speak of just how frantic Castiel is to get Dean’s remarkable mouth back down on his cock.

“Don’t move.”

Click. Click click click. The camera shutter echos softly around them.

He can’t hold it anymore. He needs to come. He needs to be touched. He needs…

Dean-“

“Just one more angel. Almost there.”

And then he’s there, his Dom’s hands lowering him, cradling him against his chest. The toes of his left leg just barely touch the ground, his balance a struggle, so it takes very little effort for Dean to spin him around, twirling and helpless, a grounded angel.

Until Dean seizes him suddenly, drops to his knees and spreads his cheeks, laps at the pink furl of muscle, spearing him on the point of his tongue again and again until Castiel begs him the way he’s wanted to hear.

It’s as if they are marooned out here on this island, the heavy green canopy closing in, dampening the world outside but spinning the sounds of Castiel’s cries and Dean’s encouragement back to them while he fucks his helpless angel open with his fingers. All alone with each other, and Dean finds that there isn’t enough time to find all the ways he can possess Castiel the way he needs to. Not enough time on the island, not enough time out there either.

He stands flush behind Cas while he slicks himself up with a lube covered palm, grips the ropes with one hand and then shoves in slow, growling in his ear and letting the man feel every inch of Dean conquering him until Castiel’s toes scratch at the ground and he’s all but suspended on Dean’s cock.

“Want to keep you Cas.”

Everything is too much, sensations heightened to the point of pain then rolling over the convex edge back to pleasure.

“I’m yours Dean, yours…..yours!” Both of them loving the sound of that word as it’s punched out of him.

“Tell me I can keep you. Tell me you’ll be mine, even after this.”

Hips hammering faster now, teeth selfish as they mark what they touch.

“Please Dean, want to belong to you. Want to wear your collar.”

“Oh fuck yeah-“

He loses his rhythm at the thought of Castiel’s neck in his collar, kneeling at his feet every day. Tied, suspended, waiting in his bed back home.

He drives into Castiel as hard as he can, making the sub scream for him, giving this man everything he has because it goes both ways. He needs Castiel to know he owns Dean, too.

Castiel chokes out cry after cry when he comes, violent, animal sounds that mingle with Dean’s single howl, the vice of Castiel’s channel milking him dry. Something flitters through the brush, frightened, and then the sound of ocean waves overcomes the rushing blood in their ears.

Dean lowers his angel to ground, undoes all the ropes and rubs at the marks, kisses him for reassurance. Kisses him again because it’s too sweet to resist.

In the flame of sunset they swim together in the lagoon, not saying much, letting a splash of water, a game under the ocean swells, the unbroken chain of touches do most of the talking. When the stars come out they float beside one another and find it best to keep their eyes to the heavens while they test the more important stuff.

“I wasn’t lying Cas. I really want to keep you.”

Castiel finds Orion, it’s the only one he’s ever been able to see.

“I wasn’t either. I want you too. I want you to be my Dom, but I don’t know how to do that.”

Dean lives in New York with Sam and a successful car restoration business. Castiel teaches literature in North Carolina and writes unsuccessful fiction on the breaks.

“I can make it work. I’m good with a plan.”

“You’re good with a plan?”

“Yup. Even better at winging it.”

“So we just wing it.”

“You gotta trust me Cas.”

“I do trust you Dean. I trust you.”

He treads over to steal a kiss, and when Dean pulls back, the sincerity on Castiel’s face squeezes at his heart, but it confirms that somehow, they could make this work.

They had to, this was too important to lose.

Dean swims to shore and hurries off into the trees.

“Dean?” Castiel hauls himself up onto the strip of beach, staring off into the black wall of palms. Dean emerges a moment later holding something in his fist.

“Give me your hand.”

He takes Castiel’s wrist and starts to twine a piece of rope around it, a length he’s cut from what they’d used. When he’s satisfied with the fit, he tucks the loose end in and reaches up to unclip his tag from Castiel’s collar to attach it to the rope like a charm.

“There. I want you to wear this until I come for you. I want you to look at this and still think of me as your Dom, even if we’re not together.”

“Dean….”

The rope encircles his wrist like a hand, he could close his eyes and imagine it’s Dean. Holding him.

Even if they never figure it out, he could have this.

As the boat pulls away from the dock, Castiel stands with Charlie and watches Dean drift farther and farther from view. A small number of subs stand waving with them, but soon these wander off until only Castiel and Charlie remain.

“Come on. You need a drink.”

There has probably never been a time when Castiel has ever been this drunk.

Charlie had graduated them fairly quickly from basic shots to something she bribed the staff to bring them called jungle juice because--

We’re in the jungle Cas! We have to!

It’s revolting but it must be working because the next thing he’s truly aware of is screaming with laughter while the two of them perform an elaborate improve with the full arsenal of tools in Lucifer’s empty Pit.

Then they stumble across the beach and get kicked out of a bungalow Charlie had mistaken for her own before they find themselves in a grove of trees, staring up at the huge form in front of them.

“W-what izzzit?” Charlie almost falls over from looking up.

“It’s my wings. Dean made me an angel.”

The plane ride home seems endless, due in no small part to the Hell born hangover he’s been riding the whole way. Charlie is no better, so at least they can enjoy slumping against one another and ordering ginger ale and pretzels until the wheels touched down in New York.

Their goodbyes are brief and for once Castiel believes someone when they say see you later. By the time he takes his seat on the connecting flight to Winston-Salem, he’s recovered enough of his faculties that reality comes needling through and leaves him feeling profoundly alone in a way that he’s never been before. The hemp coil binding his wrist brings him some solace, the stolen brass circle he rubs with his thumb, recalling the uneasiness he’d felt when it had to be removed briefly in order to make it through security. He digs his fingernail blindly along the name of his Dom on its shiny surface, as if it reading it this way might be any sort of substitute.

He has a Dom.

It is thrilling, terrifying.

It wraps a band of rope around his heart and cinches the mid-line until he has to tell himself to breathe again.

The duration of the cab ride home Castiel spends taking personal inventory, a list of facts versus desires and where each one fits in the Sane or Crazy columns expanding in his head.

Job. Family. Friends.

Loneliness. Boredom. Sacrificing any chance at happiness for the demands of being normal.

As the list grows, more and more of what held him here sounds far crazier than the idea of giving it all up for a chance to belong to Dean.

It’s hot and stuffy in the silent little house. Castiel stands in the foyer trying to decide what to do. He should probably go to the store, he—

The doorbell rings.

Thinking he might have forgotten to tip the driver, Castiel answers it with his wallet in hand.

“So here’s the thing….”

Dean is smirking, leaning against the doorframe just like he had that first night he’d shown up at Castiel’s room. Just as beautiful, with the same glint of challenge sparkling under a wash of anxiety.

“I had a good long talk with Sammy on the flight home, and he brought up some very interesting points.”

He must have driven all the way here right from the airport. A ten hour drive at least and he’s got to be exhausted, Castiel is exhausted, which is why it’s taking him so long to believe that this is not a hallucination.

“…..Dean.”

“Don’t you want to hear what points Sammy brought up?”

Dean!

He launches himself at the other man, devouring his mouth and pulling him inside. Dean’s laughing against his lips, he’s licking into him and over the swell of his lower lip. He’s biting and moaning just as loudly as Castiel.

“Well first, I- mmmhh- own- my own business. Take this…take this off. And second, you’re on summer break so I thought maybe- “

“Shut up.” Castiel growls and his hip hits something behind him, sending the vase he’d never liked anyway crashing to the floor. Dean hauls him up by the ass and Castiel wraps his legs around the man, grinding them together and mentally willing Dean to just pick a spot on the floor already and have at it.

“That’s the other thing.” Dean rams them both against the wall, pinning Castiel there and grabbing the man by the jaw to hold him in place, rutting dirty little circles with his jean clothed cock and glaring down at Castiel. “What kind of Dom would I be if I left you on your own, untrained? You’ve got so many bad habits I can’t wait to break you of, so I figured we have another month to figure things out…….. if you….I just……..I need you Cas.”

He drops his head to Castiel’s shoulder, but doesn’t let him down.

“I need you, too.” He murmurs, and the look he gets when Dean lifts his head breaks everything to pieces just the way he needed them broken. “Train me. I’m yours, make me good for you Dean. Sir. I need my Dom.”

“Oh God Cas, you don’t know how much I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

He devours Castiel’s mouth again, sucking on his tongue, making a point of keeping the pace just outside Castiel’s ability to adapt, brooking no argument about who’s in charge. With a small sound of surrender, Castiel melts against the wall and gives over. He belongs to Dean now, and nothing has ever made more sense.

“We start right now. First rule, Cas? I take you whenever I want you,” his smile dripped honey sin promise and Castiel feels the air whip from him with exhilaration. “And I want you all the time.”