It had taken some creative welding to accomplish, which had been difficult at first since apparently being supervised by your stupidly hot husband should be in the safety instructions as a big NO. Maybe just “Don’t weld with a hard on.” Either way, there was welding, grinding and polishing, and eventually, small screws fitted in place and Dean stared at Cas’s new torture device, lying oh-so-innocently on his work bench.
“Excellent,” said a dark voice into his ear and Dean suppressed a shudder.
Cas reached past him, picked up the device and that was the last time Dean saw it for months.
Until now, when it’s suddenly in Cas’s hand. Which would be fine, except they’ve been at this shitty cabin with Sam and Eileen for the past week, and the walls are insanely thin. Dean’s never been this jealous of sign language. Cas had quickly forbidden Dean any orgasms, citing the thin walls as a reason. He’d had no issue whatsoever with choking Dean on his own cock though, pinching Dean’s nose shut and holding him down as he struggled for air, or laying him out on the bed for a slow throat fuck, entirely ignoring Dean’s weeping cock and desperate shivering. Sam had even asked if he was coming down with something after that one, he’d been that hoarse after.
“Clothes off,” Cas says quietly.
Dean shakes himself out of his stupor, stripping quickly and stepping in between Cas’s legs. The hand on his balls makes him jerk, but Cas only closes his fist tight around them, a proprietary squeeze that makes Dean swallow with a click.
“I miss seeing you hurt,” Cas murmurs, looking up at him. “As fun as using you is, it’s much more fun to play with you, and you know how it goes, don’t you, baby?”
Dean nods. “You always get what you want, Daddy,” he whispers, glancing nervously at the wall behind Cas.
Cas smiles widely. “I do.” He kneads Dean’s balls, tugs on them just enough to make Dean’s breath catch. “So I’m going to play, and you’re going to be a good boy and be very, very quiet, aren’t you?”
Dean nods again, not daring to answer.
The cold smile on Cas’s face tells him it’s the right choice, then his balls are pulled away from his body and a heavy steel ring fitted around them, slotting a small plastic box snugly against his perineum. Dean pants, eyes wide. Cock hard. Stupid cock. Cas pets it with a single finger, but his eyebrow is mocking Dean, blood rushing to his face as he struggles not to hide.
“Now,” Cas murmurs so quietly that Dean can barely hear him over the blood rushing in his ears. “I’m going to hurt you, boy, and you’re going to stay so quiet for me. You’re going to let me play. Not a peep, or you won’t be coming any time soon.”
Dean nods again.
Then he nearly bites his tongue as pain erupts from between his legs at the same moment as Cas swallows his cock whole. His knees try buckle, his teeth clenched together as he arches, away from the pain and into the hot wet of Cas’s mouth. The pain recedes as Cas keeps sucking him, tight and tortuously slow, exactly the way that never fails to make Dean’s thighs tremble. By the time Cas pulls off with a soft pop, Dean has thrown his head back, sweat breaking out from how bad he wants to move, wants to come.
Cas grabs the cover from their bed and dumps it on the floor, before grabbing Dean by the shoulder and shoving him down, onto his knees. Dean goes gracelessly, tumbling down before managing to straighten up. He’s barely stable when Cas pinches his nipple and hauls him up by it.
“Look at you,” Cas breathes in his ear. “Cock hard and ready for me. You’re going to try so hard, aren’t you? Don’t worry, baby. So will I.”
Dean’s eyes are glued to the little black box in Cas’s hand and when Cas releases his nipple, it’s only to press on the little button there. Pain shoots through him and Dean wants to whimper, but he can’t. Instead he stares up at Cas, who hits the button again, and again, and again. Each time, he has to fight not to scream. It’s as though someone is slapping him, but somewhere inside, so all his muscles contract and buzz. He loses himself in an effort to stay quiet, to breathe.
When he comes back to himself, Cas is bent over him, fingers gentle on Dean’s forehead and Dean blinks wearily. He’s trembling and sweating, his mouth dry.
“Up you go,” Cas says oh-so-quietly, no hint of compassion in his voice.
Shaking, Dean crawls up onto his knees again, face to face with the hard bulge in Cas’s pants. He gets so lost in staring at it that he’s caught unprepared by the next shock. He flinches, shuddering, teeth clicking together. His eyes sting. His own cock is small, soft, any turn on long since gone in the haze of pain.
Cas grabs his head, shoves Dean face first into that bulge, the heedy scent of Cas’s arousal seeping through his pants, and zaps him again. And again. Dean’s tears soak into the material.
“When we get home,” Cas whispers, fingers twisting in Dean’s hair. “I’m going to tie you up in the garden, set this at its highest, and watch you crawl. You’ll try run from me, boy, I know you will. I’ll find you. I’ll bring you back.”
Dean manages a pathetic nod. He belongs here. Cas grinds himself into Dean’s face, smearing tears and snot everywhere and Dean wants him so bad, wants him in his mouth, in his throat, wants to be speared on Cas’s cock in any way possible. When Cas pulls him away, he opens his mouth and stretches his tongue out, trying to beg with his entire body.
Cas huffs silently. “So desperate,” he murmurs. “Like a bitch in heat. Really, boy, I’ve never met anyone as cockhungry.”
Dean’s cheeks flame.
“Could stick my cock anywhere inside you and you’d be so happy, wouldn’t you?”
Slowly, Dean closes his mouth and looks down. How Cas can be so mocking while barely speaking above a whisper is insane.
“I could have you anywhere I chose, couldn’t I? Bend you over a trashcan in the street and you’d let me, because you need my cock so bad.”
Shame burning through him, Dean nods. Cas could. Anywhere, anytime, Dean would welcome him, stare at strangers walking past as Cas uses him like he’s supposed to.
Cas bends close to his ear. “Greedy boy.”
Dean nods again, hangs his head, a lone tear dripping off the tip of his nose.
“Up against the wall,” Cas whispers.
It takes a moment for them to sort out how Cas wants him to sit, made difficult by the need to be as silent as possible, but eventually Dean’s sitting with his legs splayed, butt and heels on the floor, knees bent, shoulders and knuckles pressing against the wall. Damn Cas and his fucking stress positions.
“Don’t move,” Cas warns him, pressing a finger against Dean’s lips.
The shock sends a jolt through him, but Cas must have lowered the intensity, because Dean maintains position even as his eyes water and limbs tremble. Cas keeps going, hitting the button over and over again, until tears are streaming freely down Dean’s cheeks, his breath shuddering, nose clogged. There is no way in hell he looks any kind of pretty.
Cas’s zipper is loud in the quiet room, and Dean forces his eyes open to see Cas stroking himself. He wants to whine for it, but the next shock overtakes him and it’s all he can do to keep his hands raised. They shake. His chest heaves. Once, he’s about to tumble to the side and has to scramble back into position, Cas’s cruel grin a constant threat. The shocks come closer and closer together, and Dean loses track of everything but the pain, wanting to crawl out of his own skin. His balls are on fire. His cock has all but disappeared.
Mutely, in utter misery, he stares up at his husband, who towers over him, one large hand wrapping around Dean’s and pinning them both to the wall. Dean turns his face upward, as if seeking grace, and Cas makes this punched out sound as he gives it, coming in long stripes over Dean’s face.
Dean cries. From pain, from gratitude.
Cas drops down, gathers him close, murmuring praise as those clever fingers ghost over Dean’s cock. He brings it to life, making Dean gasp and arch from it. His weight pins Dean down onto the floor, Cas effectively sitting in his lap, and Dean struggles against him for a moment before Cas gathers his hands up again and forces them up above Dean’s head.
“So good,” Cas murmurs against Dean’s lips.
“Daddy,” Dean breathes, and comes over Cas’s fist.
He’s barely conscious as Cas moves them to the bed, removes the device and wipes them down before tucking them in. All he knows, all he cares about, are Cas’s arms securely wrapped around him as Cas presses Dean against the wall.
In the morning, Dean wakes with the first light. He pads out into the kitchen, splashes a bit of water on his face. He’s sore, beyond sore. It feels like he’s spent a whole day demoing with nothing but a sledgehammer. He smiles into his coffee, then takes it outside to watch the sunrise.
Some time later, once the sun is peeking through the trees at the edge of the property, a giant mop of hair sits down next to him on the porch step.
“The wall are thin,” Sam grumbles, rubbing tiredly at his face.
“Yep,” Dean agrees, looking towards the lake.
“Yep,” Dean repeats, smugly, and sips his coffee.
Sam huffs and makes a face. They watch the sun rise over the lake, birds singing in the trees. When Dean’s coffee runs out, he claps Sam’s shoulder, then goes back to his bed and his husband.
Turns out he was right. He does suck. Quite well, to boot.
Dean hates stress positions, which sucks for him, because Cas adores them. That in turn is why he’s naked on their back porch, hands raised straight above his head, up on his tippy toes. It’s chilly, the spring sun warming only those spots it can reach, the wind still cool against Dean’s skin. It gives him goosebumps.
It also conveniently makes his nipples perk, which in turn makes Cas pay attention to them, which means they’re now throbbing painfully. Cas’s hands may be large, and Dean’s nipples may be small, but when Cas pinches one of them between his thumb and his knuckle, Dean keens from the pain. His legs shake.
“Good boy,” Cas murmurs as he lets go, stroking a hand down Dean’s side. “Not flinching anymore, are you?”
“No,” Dean shakes his head.
“No, daddy, no!” he shouts half a second later as Cas pinches him again, hard, merciless. “Daddy, please! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
“Arms straight,” is all Cas replies and Dean struggles to straighten his tired arms.
Cas rolls his nipples, twists them, pinches them, pulls at them, and Dean’s eyes burn.
“Daddy,” he whimpers, but doesn’t fight it.
They’ve been here for a while, and his nipples are swollen and sensitive by now. Dean’s eye fly open when hot breath ghosts over them, before Cas licks at his nipple, a soft gentle tongue sending shivers down Dean’s spine. Small kitten licks barely touch his sore flesh, first on the left side, then his right side, until Dean’s quivering with something else than pain.
Cas blows at his hard cock. “I didn’t ask for that one, did I?”
“Why does your cock always want to play?” Cas prods it with a finger and Dean’s cheeks heat. “It’s as though it thinks it’s important. Heels up.”
“I’m sorry,” Dean says, breath hitching as he rises higher onto his toes. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I guess it’s a pretty little cock,” Cas muses. “I should put a bow on it some day. Maybe a pink one. Wouldn’t that be nice? Every time you would get hard, it’d wave around. Everyone could see it.”
Dean stares at him, entirely lost for words.
Cas pats his cock fondly. “Another day,” he tells it.
His fingers seek out Dean’s nipples again, this time trailing over them as Dean fights not to squirm.
“Good, I think you’re ready,” Cas says. “You can let go.”
Gingerly, Dean sinks down onto his heels. Blood floods back into his arms and they burn as he lowers them. He wipes his face and nose with his hands, calves still shaking. Cas steps in close, and even Cas’s shirt against his nipples makes Dean shiver, but he leans into Cas’s hand when Cas cups his cheek. Cas looks at him for a long moment, leaving Dean feeling much smaller, despite having a good inch on his husband. He’s drawn in for a kiss, because apparently Cas is a sappy sadist, but that’s okay. Dean sighs, pleased, when Cas fucks his tongue into his mouth, familiar and just right. He presses himself closer, wrapping his arms around Cas’s shoulders and melting into him as large hands stroke along his sides.
“I’m going to make you cry now,” Cas whispers against his lips. “Objections?”
“None,” Dean whispers back, then shouts as his head gets pulled back, Cas’s fingers wrapped tight in his hair as Cas bites his shoulder.
“Hands behind your back, chest out,” Cas orders, and Dean scrambles to clasp his elbows behind his back.
Cas bites him. In no time, tears spring to Dean’s eyes as bite after bite covers his chest, dull throbbing spreading from his shoulders to his pecs. His fingers dig into his elbows. Cas moves slow, nibbling, licking, almost as if he’s priming each spot before sinking his teeth in. Breathing becomes difficult when every breath pushes his chest into Cas’s mouth, and every exhale drags him away from it, tugging at where Cas’s biting him.
The nipple bites are the worst, because Cas spends an age licking at them, blowing puffs of cool air, until Dean is hard and leaking without a single touch to his cock, shivering and whimpering, sobbing because he knows this isn’t going anywhere. Sharp, merciless teeth prove him right as Cas bites him, drags off slow as Dean shakes and tears run down his nose.
Of course, Cas then does the exact same thing to his other nipple, then returns to the first one. When he lets go of Dean’s other nipple for the second time, Dean’s knees buckle and Cas has to catch him. Huge sobs wreck through Dean as he clings.
“Daddy, please,” he manages. “Please.”
“Shh,” Cas hushes him, leading him over to the patio table. “I’m not done yet, pet.”Dean cries in resignation as Cas bends him over the table, pressing him chest first into the rough wood. His fingers scratch the old wood, his nipples feeling like he’s laying on sandpaper. When Cas sinks his teeth into the meat of Dean’s ass, he screams and bucks.
“Pet,” Cas warns behind him. “Behave.”
He can’t. When the next bite comes, Dean bucks again, then nearly shoots off the table as Cas pinches his balls.
“We’ve talked about this,” Cas says, and Dean wants to shrivel up and die at the disappointed tone. “Last warning.”
Hickuping, Dean steels himself, and with Cas’s hand tugging at his balls, he stays put through the next bite, and the one after that, and the one after that. Cas bites his inner thighs, scrapes his teeth over Dean’s balls and nibbles at them, before returning to his ass. Bite after bite, he covers the entire surface, until Dean loses track of time inside a blinding mass of pain and relief.
The slick fingers rubbing at his ass jolt him out of it, and he pushes back at them, eager to feel something but pain. His fingers are stiff against the edges of the table, where he’s dug in inorder not to flinch, but pushing back makes his chest drag against the wood and he groans.
“So pretty when you cry,” Cas mutters behind him. “I wonder how good you’ll squeeze my cock.”
“I’ll be good,” Dean says at once. “I swear I’ll be good for you, Daddy.”
Cas hums. “Going to be a good fucktoy?”
“Yes,” Dean whispers, his cheeks reddening.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t go buy a fleshlight,” Cas says, fingertips dipping inside of him.
“Please don’t,” Dean begs. “I’ll be so good for you, Daddy.”
Shame burns in Dean’s chest. “I have more holes,” he forces out. “You can fuck me whenever and wherever, and I can prep myself when you don’t want to bother.”
“I guess.” Cas keeps dipping his fingers inside, pulling them out, thumb rubbing over Dean’s perineum.
“You can hurt me too, Daddy,” Dean’s voice is small. “I can scream for you, and cry for you, and beg for you.”
“Appealing.” The fingers press in further and Dean groans with the stretch.
“You can play with my cock if you like,” Dean offers, breathless, “but you don’t have to, you can ignore it if you want, or hurt it. My tits too.”
“And you can use my hands however you want,” Dean rambles, Cas’s fingertips now pressing against his prostate. “It’s like you get an extra pair of hands, Daddy.”
“You’re forgetting something,” Cas says and twists his fingers. “You’re forgetting how hungry your holes are, how greedy, how much they need to be filled.”
“They do,” Dean sobs. “Daddy, please, please help me, I’ll be your fucktoy, the best, just fill me, please, Daddy .”
“As you wish,” Cas says, and his fingers withdraw only to be replaced by his cock.
He sinks in smoothly, but Dean’s fingers scrabble against the wood from the stretch. Cas doesn’t give him a chance to adjust, simply grabs Dean’s hips and fucks into him, hips slamming against the bruises forming on Dean’s ass. His thumbs dig into bitemarks on each of Dean’s cheeks, holding him open, which makes spring air wash over his hole every time Cas pulls back.
Dean’s own cock digs against the wood of the table, and Dean pushes up slightly, lifting himself onto his hands as his nipples rub uncomfortable against the table.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Cas growls and yanks at his hands.
Dean yelps as he faceplants back down on the table, his hands pinned high on his back, his entire body shaking as Cas fucks him viciously.
“Daddy, please,” Dean whispers. “It hurts.”
“Good,” Cas grunts, thrusting hard.
Tears trickle down Dean’s cheeks again as his cock wilts yet again, his balls throbbing dully, even as pleasure flares every time Cas hits his prostate just right.
He screams and tries to get away when Cas bites his neck, coming inside of him. Cas’s teeth dig into his skin, his wrists squeezed in Cas’s hands, Cas’s cock pulsing inside of him. Dean kicks out, but even that gets thwarted by one of Cas’s legs, and in the end, he sags down onto the table, exhausted and sobbing quietly, limp as a ragdoll.
“There you go, pet,” Cas mutters as he releases Dean’s shoulder. “Now you know your place.”
Dean nods weakly, but doesn’t manage a reply. Cas leaves him there for a minute, the sliding patio door opening and closing behind him, and Dean closes his eyes in shame. He’s covered in bitemarks, eyes red and wet, come trickling out of his ass, still spread out as if he’s waiting for the next person.
It’s awful. Embarrassment burns through him, the flames licking his insides, which of course makes his cock try perk up again, but there’s too much pain. He lets his tears fall, doesn’t do more than blink to release them, hands still on the small of his back.
A soft blanket covers him a moment later, then Cas is guiding him up onto shaking legs. He stumbles, but Cas is firm and doesn’t even blink at taking more of Dean’s weight. They get over to the couch and Cas tries to pull Dean into his lap, but Dean slides onto the floor, taking his blanket with him. For a moment, Dean stares at his husband in silent amazement.
“Hi, baby,” Cas murmurs, carding fingers through Dean’s hair. “You sure you don’t want to come up here?”
Dean shakes his head and, suddenly feeling very heavy, he lays down with his temple against Cas’s foot, a hand curled around his ankle, and closes his eyes.
“Dude,” he says later. “Cas. Buddy. We gotta talk.”
“What?” Cas sticks his head into the bathroom and Dean turns towards him and drops his towel, gesturing at his chest.
“I look like I got mauled by a wild animal!” he says, dismayed.
His entire chest is covered in oval rings, purple, green and yellow bleeding together. His ass sports a few dark blue ones, and his inner thighs are ruined. The bite on his neck throbs.
Cas’s eyes glint. “I don’t see anything wrong with that.”
Then he disappears back into their bedroom.
“And my nipples are sore!” Dean shouts after him, as he has to bend to pick his towel up again.
“Come to bed!” Cas shouts back.
“Gotta find clothes first.”
“No, you don’t. Let me show you what sore nipples feel like.”
Dean meets his own eyes in the mirror, wide and scared. “Fuck.”
He goes to bed naked.
“We have to talk,” Dean says a week later.
Cas’s eyes flick nervously towards their bedroom door.
“We do?” he says, then clears his throat.
Cas sighs, as though Dean is about to make him walk the plank, puts a bookmark between the pages of his book and set it aside. They shuffle around on the bed a little, until they’re face to face.
“Okay,” Cas says, with the voice of someone doomed. “What about?”
Dean pokes him.
“What the everloving fuck is up with you and my nipples?”
Cas blinks at him, his eyes dark blue in the dimly lit bedroom, the lamp behind him giving him a halo.
“What?” Dean says, gesturing down towards his chest. “Look, I know you love my nips, but dude. I could barely put a shirt on today. The high vis jacket at work sucked balls, and not the good kind of balls, but more like the really hairy, sweaty, ones, you know, from like old dudes that don’t know how showers work?”
“I’m sure they know how showers work,” Cas says.
“Why don’t they use them then?!”
Cas’s hand sneaks in beneath the covers, and Dean sucks in a breath as a thumb ghosts over his nipple. They’re swollen and raw from several nights of abuse, and even Cas’s thumb is enough to make him shiver.
“I may have been a bit overenthusiastic,” Cas admits.
“No shit,” Dean mutters, “but why?”
Cas’s thumb circles his nipple, gentle as anything.
Dean frowns. “Are you blushing?”
“No,” Cas says. “Definitely not.”
“You’re blushing!” Dean gapes. “Why?”
Ever so gently, Cas pinches his nipple, just shy of painful. Dean closes his eyes to take a deep breath.
“I keep thinking,” Cas says when he looks up again, and that’s definitely a blush staining Cas’s cheeks.
Dean waits quietly, as Cas licks his lips, his hand falling away from Dean’s chest. Dean misses it at once.
“I keep thinking,” Cas tries again, “about,” and he mumbles something into his pillow.
Dean wriggles closer. “Tell me,” he whispers.
“I keep thinking about what you said during our honeymoon, about having your nipples pierced,” Cas says, slightly louder.
Dean sucks in a breath and holds it, but Cas doesn’t say anything else, averting his eyes. He looks up when Dean shuffles even closer, so they’re forehead against forehead.
“You mean that?” Dean says.
Cas nods. “I looked it up, I can’t just learn to do it at home, so it would have to be someone else doing it.”
“Okay,” Dean says.
“Okay? But Dean, you said…”
Dean shushes him with a kiss.
“As long as it’s your choice,” he says after, and it’s possible one kiss became two and five, but who’s counting.
Cas blanches. “It’s your body.”
“No,” Dean shakes his head, struggling to find the words. “I mean, it is, but it’s yours too. If you can’t be the one with the needle, then it’ll be you setting it up for me; you having me pierced because you want me to be.”
His dick is awkwardly poking into Cas’s thigh by now, and his cheeks are red, but Dean doesn’t look away. Cas stares at him in awe.
“I’m yours,” Dean whispers. “All the way.”
Cas surges forward, rolling him onto his back and climbing up to sit across his hips.
“You mean that,” he says, searching Dean’s eyes.
Dean swallows, and nods. “Yeah.”
Cas’s eyes darken. “Let’s try that again.”
“I’m yours, Daddy,” Dean says, and gets rewarded by Cas kissing him, deep and possessive.
“Yes, you are,” Cas says when he comes up for air. “All mine, such a good boy, such a wonderful pet.”
His fingers find Dean’s nipples again, and Dean keens and arches as Cas pinches them, again and again until Dean is writhing and crying beneath him. Wearing his high vis jacket at work the next day is even worse, but Dean smiles all day anyway.
Cas creeps up behind him while Dean’s cooking, warm arms snaking around his waist as Cas plasters himself to Dean’s back.
“Are you sneaking?” Dean asks, amused.
“I’m very sneaky,” Cas mutters against his neck.
“You’ll never see me coming.”
“I’ll just appear.”
“Out of nowhere?”
“You’re very clingy for a sneak...er… snake,” Dean frowns down at the meat in his hands. “That didn’t work like I wanted it to.”
“I’m an octopus,” Cas says and hugs him tighter.
“Ah. Castiel, the sneaky octopus.”
“I’ll show you,” Cas grumps into the back of his neck. “I’ll appear from the shadows and grab onto you, and spear you on my mighty tentacle.”
Dean tries. He really, really tries, but his shoulder shake as he hunches forward, then Cas makes a disgruntled sound, and Dean breaks, laughing so hard he has to clutch at the counter to keep standing. He’s pretty sure Cas is laughing as well, but when he turns around Cas makes for a grumpy face.
“Hi,” he says and, careful not to touch anything with his still meat contaminated hands, wraps his arms around Cas’s shoulders and kisses him.
That gets him a pleased sound, and chapped lips against his own.
“Long day?” he asks.
Cas nods. “I swear, everyone I met had a I need to talk to the manager -haircut.”
“Three of them were actually named Karen,” Cas says and glowers. "I don't like it when stereotypes come true. There's nothing wrong with being named Karen."
Dean kisses him again.
“Go take a bath,” he suggests. “Dinner will be a while. I’ll bring you tea.”
“Tea in the bath? You heathen!” Cas smiles though. “That sounds… Thank you.”
So Castiel, mighty octopus of Poseidon, disappears up the stairs and Dean grins as he finishes the meat, preps the potatoes and boils water for Cas’s tea. In a kettle, on the stove, because no matter what Cas says, he isn’t a heathen. Cas might be, considering his tea smells like dry grass and dirt. Dean brews it and brings it to him anyway.
Cas is dozing in the tub, submerged so his nose is barely above water, though his feet stick up awkwardly and Dean makes a mental note to see if there’s enough money for bathroom reno and a bigger tub.
“Cas,” he says quietly.
Cas opens his eyes slowly, then smiles and reaches for the mug in Dean’s hands.
“Thank you, boy,” he murmurs, and Dean lowers his eyes, heat zipping through him.
“Dinner will be soon,” he says, and returns downstairs.
The potatoes goes in the oven, the meat gets seared, and the rabbit food goes in a bowl, and the table gets set, but that’s where Dean pauses. He clears his place setting, leaving only Cas’s at the table. Then he fetches himself a pillow and a rumpled Cas, damp hair fluffy and wearing an old bathrobe that Dean swore he’s thrown out. Twice.
Cas doesn’t even look at him as Dean kneels down on his pillow, entirely focused on his meal. Long minutes pass, where the only thing Dean can hear is the clinking of Cas’s utensils on the plate and soft chewing. Eventually, Cas puts his plate down on the floor, pieces of meat and potato covered with bits of salad.
Dean reaches out, only to yelp as Cas twists his ear.
“Wait for permission,” Cas says.
He settles back on his heels, staring at the plate.
“Go ahead,” Cas says. “Hands behind your back, boy, mind your manners.”
Spreading his knees for stability, Dean bends down. He has to close his eyes from embarrassment, because now Cas is looking. He even turns his chair so Dean is practically eating from between his feet, and every time he looks up, Cas’s calm eyes stare back at him.
By the time he’s finished, he’s intensely grateful for it not being pasta night, because a stubborn arugula leaf clings to his cheek and his abs ache. He’s almost face-planted into the plate twice. He licks it clean, just to be on the safe side, before sitting up again.
Cas plucks the leaf from his cheek when he sits up again, and feeds it to him. Dean stares up at him as he chews the bitter leaf, brain gone entirely blank.
Cas strokes his cheek, a gentle thumb over his cheekbone.
“Naked now,” he murmurs, and Dean scrambles to get his clothes off.
He doesn’t dare get off his knees though.
“Good. Go kneel on the living room table for me.”
When he makes to get up, Cas presses his shoulder and Dean drops down again, pressing a quick kiss to Cas’s bare foot before crawling into the living room. He kneels on the table, and worries for a moment about whether he should press his forehead to the wood or not, but in the end he chooses not to because Cas didn’t specify.
Cas fucking pets him. He comes in the room, still in his stupid bathrobe, walks over to Dean and pets him. His hair, his back, his arms, even his ass. It goes on and on, and Dean’s feeling very fuzzy and warm by the time Cas guides him down, face to the wood. Something hard and slick prods at his ass, and Dean jumps a little before tilting his hips up. Cas hums, pleased, and presses what must be a small plug further into his ass. It settles after a minute, solid and heavy, and Cas guides him around to sit on it, feet on the floor.
Dean stares down as Cas nudges his knees apart and ties a ribbon around the base of his cock, in a pale pink satin.
“I got you a gift,” Cas says, making him look up. “Isn’t it pretty?”
Dean nods dumbly, looking down again.
“What do you say?”
“Thank you, Daddy,” Dean whispers, and watches his dick twitch at the word.
Cas lies down on the couch in front of him and picks up the remote. He turns on the TV. Dean stares at him. Then down at his cock, which is unfailingly rising. His skin tingles. The room feels huge, his nakedness like a giant flag. It’s not that he’s never naked, but usually it’s at Cas’s feet, or … oh. Outside. On display, just like he is right now.
His cock pokes resolutely out from between his legs, the pink ribbon having revealed a bow beneath it, visible now that he’s hard. Cas looks over, and runs a finger along the satin, before going back to whatever the hell he’s watching. Dean doesn’t know. He doesn’t care.
After some indeterminate time, his cock softens again, because permanent hard ons are not a thing. Cas looks over at him, and then nimble fingers pet at him again. Over and over, Cas’s hand strokes down his side, along his legs, there’s even soft fingers on his balls. That makes his cock take notice again, hardening as Cas’s fingertips trace over him. Eventually, Cas frowns a little, and undoes the bow from the base of Dean’s cock, fastening it again right under the head. He makes sure the knot is sitting against Dean’s frenulum, the bow waving delicately in the air as Dean breathes and his cock throbs.
“There,” Cas says. “Now everyone can see what a needy pet I have.”
Dean flushes and looks down.
“Get up on the table.”
Cas gestures, and Dean climbs up, standing on the sturdy wood, his cock sticking straight out with the pink bow so clearly visible. He’s blushing now, awkwardly clearing his throat and fisting his hands behind his back. Of course, Cas doesn’t even blink, just lays down on the couch again and goes back to the TV.
After a minute, there’s a gentle gust of wind against Dean’s balls. He shudders, trying to figure out what window they left open. Then it comes again, travelling along his cock until it catches on the bow and makes it bob. He looks down, and Cas grins up at him before blowing again.
“Look at that,” he says. “I’m making it wave at me. Such a pretty, needy little thing.”
Dean absolutely does not get weak in the knees from that.
Cas blows at him again.
“Please,” Dean whimpers, because it’s not enough.
“No, you stay there,” Cas says. “I want you desperate.”
“Yes, Daddy.” Dean hangs his head.
Cas hums, pleased, and goes back to making Dean’s cock wave. The gentle ghosting of air does nothing to actually keep Dean hard. The shame curling in his stomach, the embarassement staining his cheeks - they’re doing it all on their own.
“Oh, now the pet is humping the air,” Cas says and okay, yeah, maybe he’d been rocking slightly. “Why’s that?”
“I need more, Daddy,” Dean says, licking his lips. “I want you to touch me.”
“Hmm, no,” Cas says. “But you can turn around and show me that plug of yours.”
Dean shuffles around until he can bend over.
“Get on your knees again,” Cas says. “I can’t see from here. Do you expect me to move for your sake?”
Dean shakes his head and sinks slowly, carefully onto his knees, making sure to tilt his ass up so Cas can see properly.
“Better,” Cas says. “Now clench around it. I want to see you work your ass, show me how greedy it is.”
Whimpering, Dean clenches, and clenches, and clenches. The plug isn’t nearly large enough to do anything but be a constant, heavy weight inside him. It must be the steel one, with the diamond, because it doesn’t reach his prostate, just hovering somewhere in the near vicinity. Cas blows at him again, his breath ghosting over Dean’s ass and balls.
“Daddy,” he whispers. “Daddy, please.”
Cas shushes him. Dean keeps clenching rhythmically, fucking the tiny plug into himself. Before long, he’s shaking with it, definitely humping the air again.
“Use the plug to push more lube inside you,” Cas says, and a lube bottle appears near Dean’s hands.
Fingers shaking, he grabs the lube, awkwardly reaching back and pulling the plug out to coat it, then pushing it inside again. He does it a few times, whimpering quietly as the plug pushes in through his muscles. It’s small, barely a finger and a half in width, but now he’s hyper aware of his hole.
“More,” Cas says, and grabs the lube. “Pull it out, slowly. There, lean it to the side, open for me.”
Cas pushes more and and more lube inside him, and Dean shakes as he fucks it in with the plug.
“Good. Now, come here.”
Dean clambers off the table, and let’s Cas pull the plug out, before seating Dean in his lap, the bathrobe pulled aside so he can sink down on Cas’s cock. Slowly, Cas pushes inside him, a steel grip on Dean’s hips and tears stinging Dean’s eyes from the stretch. He hiccups when he’s finally seated, Cas feeling huge and hot and hard inside him
“Good boy,” Cas murmurs. “Now, clench.”
Whimpering, Dean clenches. Cas groans and relaxes back onto the couch.
“Just like that, keep going,” he murmurs.
Dean has no idea how long he sits like that, speared on Cas’s cock, clenching around him as Cas lies with his eyes closed, occasionally humming in pleasure. It’s torture. Dean’s muscles ache, sweat gathers on his back, and Cas’s cock feels so good inside him. Cas keeps ignoring him, which is awful, making Dean’s insides knot with tension. What if he’s not doing it right?
He clenches harder.
Cas groans, tilting his head back. “Such a good fuck toy. That’s it. Milk my cock.”
Okay. So he’s probably doing the right thing. Hopefully.
Eventually, Cas’s hands guide him into a gentle rock, and this Dean knows. This is familiar. He makes slow figure eights and keeps clenching, watching as Cas’s abs contract, feeling his legs tense. He’s gorgeous as he comes with a grunt and a soft sigh, fingers tensing and relaxing on Dean’s hips. Dean wants to kiss him, wants to lick the sigh out of his mouth and into his own so he can swallow it and keep it safe.
A hand trails up over his side, reaches up to the nape of his neck and Cas pulls him in, kissing Dean’s sweaty forehead before tucking him in against Cas’s neck. His balls trob, his cock is hard as rock and the bow keeps snagging on Cas’s treasure trail, but even as Cas slowly slips out of him, Dean can’t find the energy to care.
Cas’s got him. That’s all that matters.
what are these idiots doing?? i just wanted to write some hardcore smut and they're feelsing all over the place
(i love them)
There’s no rule about cursing, exactly, but perhaps Dean could have phrased himself differently. Probably. Maybe.
Okay, fine, but yelling “Fuck off with that fucking bullshit, do I look like a fucking blushing virgin to you?” at Cas’s face hadn’t been the high point of his day.
Granted, his day had fucking sucked. He’d woken up in a mood, had a headache from the fucking jackhammer by noon, and it hadn’t gone away with painkillers. A throbbing band has settled around his head, dulled into fuzzy not-pain by the tablets.
So he might have overreacted.
“What did you say?” Cas asks, eyes cold.
Dean swallows, but he’s never really known when to quit, has he?
“You can take those fucking things and shove them up your ass for all I care, but I’m not fucking wearing them,” he spits.
Cas raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Did I fucking stutter?” Dean demands.
“No, you didn’t,” Cas muses, and then he’s stepping forward in a way that makes Dean step back, blanching.
“Now, hold on a fucking minute,” he starts, but the grip on his neck is firm and he yelps.
“I don’t think so,” Cas says in his ear. “I think someone here has forgotten his place. Let’s fix that.”
Dean wrenches free and glares. “No, I’m going to bed.”
Cas grabs his wrist and twists his arm behind his back. “You either take a walk, right now, or I’m dealing with this in any way I see fit.”
“Ow! Let go of my fucking elbow,” Dean snaps back.
“Alright,” Cas says, and twists his arm higher. “Have it your way.”
He marches Dean into the kitchen, where he presses Dean up against one of the walls. Fingers yank at his belt, then he’s swiftly stripped. When he tries to wrench away, Cas forces his face back to the wall, pressing his entire body against Dean’s.
“Stay - still,” Cas hisses in his ear. “If you have any self-preservation left today, boy, you will stay still in that corner over there. On your knees now.”
Cas pushes him over to the corner and shoves him down, Dean’s nose pressing tightly against the wall. He glares at it, eyes crossing from how close it is. It doesn’t react.
A minute ticks by.
“This is fucking stupid,” Dean mutters, and gets up.
Only to turn and face Cas, who stares back at him expressionless.
Dean bolts. He gets about four feet before a shove sends him sprawling on the floor, knocking his elbow on one of the chairs by the breakfast nook. Cas sits down on top of him, strong thighs over his ass, feet hooked over his thighs, fingers digging into his biceps.
“You will stay in that corner until I let you out,” Cas says. “You will not move an inch. You will not speak a word.”
“Fuck you,” Dean grunts, even as tears sting his eyes.
Cas hauls him up, spins him right back into the corner and pushes his nose back against the dusty plaster.
“Knees apart,” kick, “Ass out. There. Do not move.”
Of course Dean moves. He lasts until his knees start aching, then he scrambles backwards and aims for the patio door. This time, Cas drags him back by his ear, and cold metal clicks into place around his wrists.
“I put you in the corner,” Cas says and his eyes blaze with anger. “You will stay in the corner, boy, whether you like it or not.”
“Like hell I will,” Dean snarls.
Cas wrenches his head back, fingers painfully digging into Dean’s jaw and then the acrid scent of bar soap assaults Dean’s nostrils, so he tries to get away, but the only thing that happens is the soap getting jammed in between his teeth. He tries spitting it out, but only succeeds in coating his tongue with the awful taste.
“I suggest you don’t swallow,” Cas says, then backs off.
Hands cuffed behind his back, soap stuck between his teeth and body hurting, Dean surrenders to the corner. Tears drip slowly down his cheeks as he stays there, nose clogging and foam running down his chin. It takes forever before Cas pulls him up and tells him to spit in the sink. Dean spits, and rinses, and spits and rinses, but Cas refuses him a toothbrush even as he begs.
He follows into the living room, where Cas again shows him the offending object.
Dean glares and shakes his head mutely.
“These will go on today,” Cas says. “This is not up for debate. This is not your choice.”
Dean glares some more, but his mouth still tastes foul and his knees hurt, so he slowly balances on one leg, then the other, letting Cas put them on. Vaguely desperate, he looks down at Cas before he pulls them all the way up, but all he gets is a nod. Once they’re seated, Dean focuses on the floor. There is no way in hell he’s looking at Cas while wearing petal pink panties. It’s just not happening.
“Upstairs now,” Cas mutters. “Yes. Definitely.”
Then he’s being herded upstairs, to their bedroom, where Cas immediately heads for The Closet of Evil and Doom. Dean glares at it from the corner of his eye.
“Over my knee,” Cas says, sitting down on the bed.
“No way!” Dean objects before he can even think about it. “This is stupid, I’m not doing it.”
Cas sighs. “I can see we still have some way to go.”
He gets up, hauls Dean over by the arm, and Dean yelps as he’s manhandled over Cas’s leg. Face down in the duvet, Cas’s leg hooked over his own, he struggles. He doesn’t get anywhere, which makes him sob from frustration. Of course, that’s when the first smack lands.
“Ow!” he shouts, “You fucker!”
They come fast after that, raining down in a flurry over his ass. Cas’s hand is solid for someone who spends his days behind a counter. When he pauses, Dean’s hiccuping, snot clogging his nose.
“Please,” he says. “Cas, man, please.”
Undeterred, Cas taps his ass cheek with what must be a wood paddle, and Dean flinches.
“You can’t!” He wails. “Cas, I can’t, I can’t, please!”
Cas does not pull his punches. He picks two spots and goes after them without mercy. Pain crashes through Dean until he’s vibrating with it, face surely as red as his ass, screaming into the duvet as he tries to fight it. The blows keep coming, with occasional pauses for Cas adjusting his grip on Dean’s hip, or the leg he’s thrown over where Dean’s trying to kick free.
It doesn’t end. Dean screams from rage and pain, before slumping down, tears falling freely.
“Daddy,” he sobs. “Daddy, please stop, m’sorry, m’sorry.”
“You should be,” is all Cas says, before going after Dean’s thighs.
Dean wails brokenly, too wrung out to fight it, as the paddle lands hard blows on skin that hasn’t been warmed up. The pain flickers and burns through him, and distantly, he’s aware of how hard Cas is against his hip, but not even that matters.
“I’m sorry!” he whimpers. “Daddy, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Cas pushes him off his lap and Dean goes sprawling onto the floor before Cas is grabbing his head and shoving it into his crotch.
“You’re sorry?” Cas says. “You know your place, boy.”
Dean tries nodding, but it’s hard when Cas is rubbing his crotch all over his face.
“What gave you the right to behave like that?”
Cas pulls him back by the hair, landing a smack right on Dean’s wet cheek.
“Nothing,” Dean says.
“Exactly. I must have been too nice to you, if you manage to forget it like that.”
Silently, cheek burning, Dean nods. Because Cas has been. He’s been achingly sweet, even when they’ve been playing, and suddenly the ground under him wasn’t solid anymore.
“I can fix that.” Cas says, and nods. “On the bed, face down, ass up.”
Dean scurries to obey, landing heavily on his stomach without the use of his hands, and he hurries up into position. Cas joins him, climbs in behind him and shoves Dean down further, until his legs are spread wide enough for it to hurt.
“You look just as good in these as I thought you would, pet,” Cas says, but all Dean hears is the slick sound of Cas’s hand on his cock.
“Let me,” he whispers, “Daddy, please let me.”
“Good pets get the privilege, you don’t.”
Dean buries his head in the duvet in shame. He’s not a good pet. He’s not been good at all today. It tears at him and he cries quietly as Cas paints his ass and panties with his come, grunting.
When Cas puts him back in the corner with the big steel plug up his ass, panties stretched over the handle, Dean goes quietly, shamefaced and ass on fire. Cas doesn’t let him sleep in the bed that night, throwing their lumpiest pillow onto the floor along with a scratchy blanket. Dean sleeps better than he has in weeks. He bends willingly over the kitchen table the next morning, allowing Cas to smack him with the paddle. Cas hits hard, showing no mercy for the bruises already there, igniting the fire and soreness. Then, he removes the plug and kisses Dean’s forehead.
“You’re forgiven, pet,” he says, and Dean clings to him for a long moment.
The last thing he says before they head off to work is a quiet, “Thank you, Daddy.”
Cas is on his ass after that. When he’s not inside it, that is. Heh.
Then Cas goes on a business trip, some stupid conference for bank tellers because that’s apparently a thing that exists? What the actual fuck. Whatever. Dean’s not upset. Of course he can do a weekend without Cas. He’s done it before. He’s an adult, capable of his own goddamn choices.
Cas goes on Friday morning, leaving Dean with bruises from a few days worth of paddling. He even gets in a last pinch on Dean’s nipples, and Jesus, they gotta have that talk again.
The house is quiet when Dean gets home after work. He orders pizza, because Cas has been on some sort of health binge lately and it’s been all bbq chicken breasts and roasted vegetables. He drinks beer. He goes to sleep feeling pretty decent, hugging Cas’s pillow tight.
Saturday is long. Far too long. It’s not that Dean doesn’t have friends, he does, but they’re all busy or don’t live in town. He heads out into the garden and trims the bushes, weeds the flower beds, even mows the lawn, all of the chores they’ve been putting off all spring. If he’s more careful around Cas’s lavender and honeysuckle, nobody needs to know.
Leftovers make a good lunch. It rains, so he putters about inside, cleaning up and tidying, going over the finances - no bathroom reno, but a second hand tub is doable, so he goes to measure the bathroom and spends a few hours on Craigslist. One guy lists a good tub for free, but demands $50 when Dean emails him. An hour later, he’s scheduled to pick up a tub on Sunday. Which means the old tub has to come out, but that’s not a one man job.
When evening rolls around, he grabs a few beers and his fishing gear, and heads out. The sun sets over Kansas while he drinks the beer on a small pier, fishing rod in his other hand, Cas’s voice in his ear (and thank god for headsets).
All in all, it’s a good day.
Sunday, he calls Sam. Then he chats with Charlie for a bit.
Then it’s quiet again. Cas’ll be back later tonight, but Dean’s itching now. Internally, that is. He fetches the damn tub and tips the guy for helping him load it onto the trailer, then covers it with a tarp at home so Cas can help him move it inside later on.
The itch grows.
He’s a goddamn grown man, an actual responsible adult with his shit reasonably together and he’s pretty much acting like a dog, waiting for it’s owner to come home. He actually looks out the door four times, even though he knows Cas’s plane doesn’t even land for another two hours, and then he curses the stupidity of Cas having to drive himself to the airport because Dean had to go to work.
Actually, fuck everything.
He sets some bread rising, because carbs will help, and then he oils all the doors in the house for no goddamn reason. He checks on Baby, but she’s already top notch and he’s changed the oil just a few weeks ago. So he oils all the locks on the doors, because why not, bakes the bread and checks the condition of the house from the outside, ending up on his stomach under the patio, clearing out leaves and shit. The shed in the back might need some paint too, come to think of it. Maybe they should get a privacy fence too, instead of just the--
He doesn’t quite run to the driveway when he hears Cas’s car, but it’s damn close. He does practically drag Cas out of the driver’s seat only to manhandle him into a hug. Cas doesn’t need much manhandling. Dean tucks in close, nose against Cas’s neck, pressing in just enough to feel Cas’s heartbeat.
“Hi, baby,” Cas says.
“Hi,” Dean mutters. “You’re my favourite human.”
Cas huffs. “I love you too.”
That’s when the tears come. Silently and suddenly, Dean blinks and finds he’s leaking all over Cas’s shoulder. He can’t stop. He doesn’t even have words for it, but he’s shaking, breath hitching in quiet sobs.
“Oh, pet,” is all Cas says, and hugs him closer.
They stand there for a long while, before Cas leads him inside. There, he undresses Dean, pushes him gently but firmly to the floor by the couch until Dean’s kneeling face down on the carpet. Cas disappears for a moment, but it’s alright, Dean can hear him in the shower. When he comes back barefoot, he lets Dean curl up on his side and places one large foot over the back of Dean’s head, holding him down.
His vision blurs with tears. He lets them fall while Cas flicks on the TV, eats his sandwich and drinks his tea, wearing his fugly bathrobe.
!!! BEWARE: NEW TAGS HAVE BEEN ADDED !!!
For information about these tags, see end notes.
This chapter is for Darmys: soft!Cas, you say?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
“You think I’m fucked up?” Dean asks.
“What?” Cas says, from where he’s checking boxes of strawberries.
“Not that one, there’s a bad one on this side,” Dean says. “Fucked up, like when you came home?”
“I thought it was sweet.” Cas puts the strawberries in their cart and heads off for the cherries.
“But,” Dean presses. “Shouldn’t I be ok without you for a weekend?”
Cas pauses and frowns at him, bag of cherries in his hand. “Weren’t you?”
“I was, until you came home,” Dean mutters. “It wasn’t fun or anything, and I got a lot done… but it didn’t feel good.”
“Baby,” Cas says, and who the fuck taught him to say it all sweet like that? “You did good. You ate and dressed yourself, you got a lot of work done, you talked to your brother and a friend, and you did something for yourself. You held it together. Just because you can do it on your own, doesn’t mean you have to or want to.”
“Oh,” Dean says.
“What about these?”
Dean plucks the bag of cherries from his hand and pecks Cas on the lips. “Perfect.”
An woman by the apples scoffs at them and Dean obnoxiously grabs Cas’s hand because fuck that lady, he’s going to kiss his goddamn husband wherever he pleases, thank you very much.
They get to the cleaning aisle before Dean has to ask again,
“Isn’t it unfair to you?”
“I don’t clean the toilets, did you mind not getting the citrus toilet cleaner?” Cas raises his eyebrows.
Dean rolls his eyes. “No, I mean, me leaning on you like that. About… all the things.”
“I don’t mind,” Cas says earnestly, and puts the unscented one in the cart. “Is the laundry detergent that way or this way?”
“This way,” Dean says.
“I like it when you lean on me,” Cas says quietly. “I like being needed. I like caring for you. It takes a lot out of you to do what you do too, Dean. Please don’t disregard that. You give yourself so beautifully to me, you do what I say like it’s easy. I know it’s not easy, so I want you to know I appreciate that, a lot. Even when you brat and fight me, you do it for a reason. Don’t sell yourself short.”
Dean’s not blushing. He’s not. He grabs laundry detergent like a shield.
Cas frowns. “That’s not the eco-friendly one.”
Dean swaps it. He’s definitely blushing now.
Cas frowns at the scent pearls. “Why do people want these? They have perfume in the detergent, and in the fabric softener, why do they need even more scent?”
“We’re not talking about the evils of fabric softener again,” Dean warns him.
Cas waves a hand, they’ve had that debate a few times before. “I wonder if all the scents confuse the bees.”
“If everyone smells like spring flowers, don’t bees get confused?”
“Ohmygod,” Dean mutters. “I’m leaving now.”
“Bees are very important, Dean!” Cas says behind him. “Don’t go that way, that’s the snack aisle.”
“I know it’s the snack aisle.”
“You’re not having any snacks.”
Dean turns to gwap at Cas.
“Come on, freezers next.”
“Like hell, I want chocolate.”
Cas fixes him with a look. “We’re going to the freezers now, and no, we’re not buying ice cream.”
Glowering, Dean follows him. “What about a small tub?”
“Pie? There’s this frozen one that’s delicious!”
“None of those.”
“... hot pockets?”
Dean wakes up with a dick poking at his mouth.
“Good morning,” Cas says and shoves it.
He fucks Dean’s mouth like that for a bit, before crawling over to kneel across Dean’s face. Sleep still chasing at Dean’s mind, he can’t do much more than open around the assault, Cas’s cock slipping far into his throat.
“God,” Cas groans, grabs his hair and fucks him, slow and hard and deep.
To say Dean’s turned on would be a underselling it. For one, Cas’s cock is probably one of his favourite things in the universe, but also because Cas’s casual use of his mouth, his hands, his ass, will never cease to be a party in Dean’s pants. Case in point, he’s now rock hard.
He also needs to piss. Badly.
He tries suckling at Cas’s cock every time Cas pulls out, which makes Cas pant and shiver. Spit coats Dean’s jaw, pubic hair tickling his nose. His eyes water.
“Daddy,” he manages when Cas pulls out and smears his cock all over Dean’s cheeks. “Daddy, please.”
“What’s that?” Cas murmurs.
“I need to pee,” Dean says.
Cas’s eyes darken. “Do you, now?”
He clambers off the bed and extends a hand to Dean.
“Why don’t we go do that, pet?”
A firm grip around Dean’s wrist tows him out of the warm bed and outside, where the grass is still covered in dew and the early summer morning air has a bite to it. Cas kicks him behind his knee and sends him down to his knees, before grabbing his hair and shoving his cock right down Dean’s throat.
“Go on,” Cas says.
Dean frowns in confusion.
Cas threads his fingers together behind his head, jams his cock as far into Dean’s throat as possible and grunts. “Piss, pet.”
Apparently, pissing while choking on cock is harder than it seems. Dean tries, but he’s entirely occupied by the tension gathering in his body from not being able to breathe. When Cas finally allows him air, he coughs and gags.
Cas shoves right back in.
“I’m not going to stop fucking you, just because you need to piss,” he says. “I want that warm, wet mouth choking on my cock, and I’ll have it.”
Dean’s eyes are watering, tears leaking out as he fights for air, fights to piss. It doesn’t help that his cock is really, really hard. Actually, if Cas could stop pressing all his buttons, Dean could probably piss. Maybe.
Cas groans. “Fuck, that’s good.”
A hand comes down to cup the front of his throat, and Dean feels the head of Cas’s dick moving against it, a heavy weight on his tongue and in the back of his throat. His own cock throbs. Cas pins him as far down as possible and pinches his nose shut, and for a moment, Dean lets him, blood rushing in his ears as his heart pounds. Before long, he’s fighting to get back, choking, coughing, gagging, trying to get air as his body rebels. Blunt fingernails scrabble uselessly against Cas’s thighs.
Cas pulls back, gives him half a breath, then shoves back in. Dean’s crying for real now, and if he could, he’d be begging. For air. For mercy.
All Cas gives him is two breaths, then he goes back in there and stays.
“Such a good fuck toy,” he mutters, head tilted back. “Jesus, yes, gag on it, just like that, feels so good.”
Darkness creeps in around the edges of Dean’s vision and instinctively, he shoves at Cas’s hips in desperation. Cas stumbles a step back and Dean falls to the side, coughing and sputtering. Cas recovers fast and Dean shouts as a hard kick lands on his thigh.
“You shoved me,” Cas hisses. “That’s not what a good fuck toy does.”
“M’sorry,” Dean rasps, and Cas kicks him again. “Daddy, m’sorry, I was gonna pass out!”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Cas says, and his bare foot shoves Dean onto his back.
Cas sits on top of him, knees tight around Dean’s ribs, a hand over his nose and mouth. Blearily, Dean stares up at him.
“Hand up.” Cas orders, and Dean obediently raises one hand into the air.
Cas closes off his airways entirely. Dean’s skull digs into the grass as he stares up at Cas, suspended without air. Cas raises his hand, letting Dean breathe out and in, then closes it off again. Tears leak out of his eyes, snot smearing on his cheeks. Blood rushes in his ears again, his heartbeat vibrating through his head. Darkness starts creeping in as he tenses and tenses, invisible pressure building inside him.
Cas gives him a breath. Then nothing. Seconds pass.
The panic returns, and Dean wrenches his head to the side, but Cas’s hand follows. He coughs, but the air doesn’t have anywhere to go. He tries opening his mouth wider, but Cas’s hand is too tight on him. His hands fly up to where Cas is holding him, and the dark spots dance before his eyes.
Cas leans down and kisses away a tear, as Dean goes limp.
Then he’s on his side, coughing and wheezing. Cas drags him up and he stumbles, drinking down air as though he’s never had anything as good before, head spinning. He gets shoved up against the patio railing, and Cas’s hand returns.
Dean whimpers. He tries pleading with his eyes.
Cas pinches his nose shut again. His other hand closes over Dean’s cock, and it’s like a jolt of electricity, making Dean’s back bow as he arches into one touch, away from the other. He fights it, but Cas has him effectively pinned. The spots return faster now, the tension immense as his blood fights for more oxygen while also trying to go south.
Orgasm slams through him right as Cas lets go, fresh air rushing into his lungs and Dean gasps, and comes, and comes, and the world spins, and then there’s a palm over his bladder and Cas presses down, and he’s pissing and coming at the same time.
When it’s over, his knees buckle and he goes down hard on his knees. Cas shoves into his lax mouth and comes in three thrusts, bitter salty come gathering on Dean’s tongue.
“Show me,” Cas demands, panting, even as he wrings out the last of it from his cock.
Dean opens his mouth.
“Swallow,” Cas orders, and Dean does.
The world spins slower.
Cas pulls him in, Dean’s forehead against his hip, as Dean sobs.
“You did good,” Cas says. “I’ve got you, pet.”
Eventually, Cas steps back and tells him to stay, and Dean does, awkwardly slumped on the side Cas didn’t kick, utterly exhausted. Cas brings back a bucket of warm water and pours it over him, and Dean thanks him, voice hoarse. Then, Cas slips the dog collar around his neck and ties a piece of rope from it to the patio railing.
“You can dry out here,” Cas says. “I won’t have wet, filthy pets in my house.”
Water drips down Dean’s back. He nods mutely.
“Rest, pet. I’ll come play with you later.”
Cas disappears inside, and a bit after that, Dean hears him on the patio, smells coffee and toast. Cas brings him oatmeal in a bowl, and Dean’s grateful for the smooth consistency and warmth. He feels raw, as though Cas has stripped in bare and flogged him into a bloody mess, but on the inside. Vaguely, he thinks about death as he eats, hands behind his back like a good pet.
There’s no doubt in his mind that Cas could have killed him. There’s also no doubt at all that Cas didn’t want to, wouldn’t have, and would have done everything to save him if something went wrong. The idea that he’s alright with death, if it’s by Cas’s hands, by Cas’s choice, is far too big for him, and he pushes it away.
“Daddy,” he calls out weakly, and his owner leans over the patio with his coffee in hand.
“When’re you gonna to mark me?” Dean asks, with a mouth that feels foreign to him.
“My nipples,” Dean clarifies. “When’m’I gonna be yours?”
Cas smiles. “Soon. Don’t worry about it, pet. Eat your breakfast.”
So Dean does, because Daddy told him to, and that’s all he needs to do: What Daddy says.
Desperation play: Dean needs to piss.
Watersports: Dean pisses.
Breathplay: Cas chokes Dean.
This chapter got a bit heavy at the end, and I want to reiterate: This is not a snuff fic. Dean's not going to get hurt (any more than Cas intends to hurt him). Make no mistake, breathplay is dangerous. DO NOT DO THIS AT HOME. I mean it, THIS IS SERIOUSLY DANGEROUS. But, it's fictional, so Imma go with nothing bad happening, because I'm allowed to.
Dean could also have safeworded out at any point in time, but chose not to. As in Surrender, there are safety measures in place that Dean chooses to ignore the existence of (until he needs them). Everyone is a capable, consenting adult, but we're apparently edging into the territory of "What can a person consent to?", and that m'dears, is entirely for you to decide. Heed your comfort levels, please. The consensual non-consent tag is there for a reason.
Target practice, Cas said.
It’ll be fun, Cas said.
For me, Cas said.
He was right, because this isn’t fun at all and Dean regrets ever mentioning his damn nipples, because now there’s clothes pegs on them. Plastic ones. Dean hates the plastic ones. They have far more bite than the wood ones, which of course is why Cas loves them.
The thin wail is all the warning he gets, and then the switch tears the peg from his skin and Dean whimpers. Flick, flick. Off they go.
“Put them back on.”
Dean bends, fingers shaking, and picks the pegs up. He plucks at a nipple, swollen and sore, the skin marred with stripe after stripe of thin red lines. The pegs have been attached to his stomach and thighs, the soft inside of his arm, and Cas has ripped them off, over and over, before zeroing in on his nipples.
He pinches, and hisses.
“Put it on.”
“Make sure it’s on good.”
He flicks it with a finger, then pinches it shut harder, breath trembling.
“The other one.”
The process repeats for the other side.
He shakes too bad at the end, and Cas comes over and grinds his nipples between his fingers.
“Please,” Dean says.
“Hmm… no.” Cas steps back and
“Do they hurt?” Cas asks, coming over and stroking a gentle thumb over one nipple. Dean nods, and keens.
“Ev’ry’thin’ hurts,” he mumbles.
“Everything? Well, I don’t think that’s true.”
A hand grips his balls, snug and firm, and Dean shudders.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” he chants, thrusting his hips forward.
Cas lets go and grabs Dean’s entire package. His hand so warm on Dean’s cool skin, soft cock nestled into Cas’s palm. His brain wants to melt out of his ears at the power in Cas’s grip, in the firmness of the body pressed against him. His cock tries to harden, pulsing against Cas’s hand, but Cas’s grip stays firm.
“Maybe I should get you a cage,” Cas says. “Force your cock to stay soft all the time. Only let it out when I want to play with it.”
Dean shudders again, the pressure painful where it’s restricting him.
“Yes,” he gasps. “Daddy, please.”
“Oh, you like that?” Cas’s tone is mildly amused.
Dean nods. “It’s so needy,” he breathes. “It wants to play all the time. I nearly touched myself while you were gone, Daddy.”
“Did you now?” Cas’s tone is dark.
Dean nods again, frantic as Cas’s hand squeezes a bit tighter.
“Yes! But I didn’t! I swear, Daddy, I didn’t!”
Cas releases his balls and unties the rope from the patio railing.
“Inside,” he says, and leaves all the clothes pegs on the ground, hauling Dean by the neck behind him.
The air inside the house is hot against Dean’s cooled skin.
“Where?” he asks Dean.
“Bed,” Dean answers.
Cas drags him upstairs and tells him to get on the bed.
“Show me,” he says. “Show me what your little cock wanted you to do. Show me everything.”
Dean stares at him.
“ Now, pet.”
“I was--” Dean starts, flushing. “I was on the bed, and going to sleep.”
He lays down and drags Cas’s pillow into his arms, laying half over it.
“I was gonna sleep, but…”
“But your cock was all needy,” Cas says softly.
Dean nods. “It kept poking up.”
He adjusts so Cas can see his cock, now fully hard and poking the pillow.
Cas hums. “Did you hump my pillow?”
Dean blanches. “No! No, Daddy, I swear!”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything, I was good!”
Cas smiles. “What a good boy.”
Dean blushes. “I was thinking of you, Daddy. I kept thinking that maybe you’d come home early. Maybe you’d strip off over here, and go shower, while I was sleeping, and I wanted your smell.” He buries his face in Cas’s pillow, breathing deep. “Wasn’t enough though.”
“Got up,” and now Dean’s cheeks are burning. “Took your briefs.”
Cas’s eyebrows rise. “Naughty boy,” is all he says.
“I like the way you smell.” He says it low, as though Cas can’t hear him if he does.
Cas does, though, and snags a pair of briefs from his hamper.
“Here, go on,” he says.
Dean grabs them and clutches them for a minute. “I was uh,” he says.
Cas watches him.
“I was empty without you here, Daddy,” Dean says. “I need you. Inside me.”
“Grab what you need. I want you to show me everything you thought of,” Cas gestures to the nightstand, and Dean reaches for the lube and a dildo they never use, short and fat.
“I wanted to sit on this,” he admits. “When you weren’t here. Not even get off, I wanted to sit on it and just be filled.”
Cas’s eyes glint, but he doesn’t say anything.
“I thought of laying like this,” Dean arranges himself over the bed, “and touching my nipples.” His breath hitches as he touches the sore nubs, fingers ghosting over them. “They don’t feel right, Daddy. I wanted you to bite them.”
Cas breathes out hard, somewhere beyond what Dean can see.
“Kept thinking of your mouth on them. The shower being on, opening myself up for you so you could come in and just fuck me, use your fuckhole. I’d open myself up while sucking this,” he lets his hand trail over the dildo, “so you couldn’t hear me. So I’d be used to it, in case you want my mouth.”
“Do it,” Cas breathes.
Dean turns on his belly, his sore nipples dragging over the cotton, shoves his face into Cas’s underwear, and breathes. Then he pushes the tip of the dildo inside his mouth, sucks on it, while spreading his legs wide. He gets lube on his fingers, and rubs slow over his hole. His cock presses against the soft duvet. The backs of his thighs hurt from the switch, and he knows without looking that the inside of his thighs is a mess of stripes. Cas had been thorough.
He groans as his fingertip pushes inside, teasing himself for a moment more before grabbing more slick and pressing two fingers in at once. It burns, and it’s so good he hiccups, sucking hard on the dildo.
“You look so desperate,” Cas muses. “Fingers in your ass, sucking that cock like it’s a pacifier.”
Dean tries hiding his face.
“Maybe it’s time we bought a gag. One of those cock shaped ones, I think. I could gag you for hours, you’d be so pleased, being able to suck on it all the time.”
Oh god, he’s burning up. He’s actually going to combust. Dean yanks his fingers out of his ass and shoves himself off the bed, panting desperately.
“Daddy, I can’t,” he whimpers. “I’m gonna come.”
“Go ahead,” Cas says. “You can come whenever you want to, but I’m going to fuck you anyway.”
That’s not exactly helping; the idea of being spread on Cas’s cock, oversensitive and sore. Dean breathes for a minute, then drops down again. The fingers go back in his ass, he fumbles with more lube and adds a third one, twisting them.
“I,” he gasps. “I--the dildo now, Daddy, can I?”
He turns around, hoping the lack of cotton against his cock will make it better. Easier to stand it. Just the jolt from the glimpse he catches of Cas is enough to make his balls tighten, Cas’s dark blue eyes and hand moving slowly in his pants.
Dean pushes the dildo against his hole. “I’d be like this,” he says, then keens as he pushes it inside. “Fucking myself, keeping it down so you can shower in peace. Wanna be good for you, Daddy, always. Wanna be a good fucktoy. S’hard-- oh-- ” the dildo brushes his prostate and Dean writhes, already shoving his hips back to get it further inside “--m’so greedy, Daddy, I wanna be good for you but I need it all the time, need you inside me, need you fucking my mouth and my ass, need you hurting me and reminding me I’m yours.”
The dildo drags inside him, pressing, pushing, the thrusts as hard as he can and it’s not enough.
“Daddy, help me,” Dean pleads, tears in his eyes. “Fill me, fill me, fuck me, make me yours, please, Daddy, please. I need you, please.”
“Shh,” Cas murmurs, taking the dildo from Dean’s hand.
He thrusts hard, a slow pace that makes Dean sag back in relief.
“Thank you, thank you,” he sobs. “Want you to use me, hurt me, own me. Need you, need you, please, Daddy, don’be nice, please. Take it, take everything, please, oh-- ”
“I will,” Cas promises, and kisses his lips before shoving the briefs into Dean’s mouth and tears of gratitude leak from Dean’s eyes.
Cas shoves the dildo in hard, all the way, then punches the bottom of it. Dean wails. Cas does it again, and again, and again, and the punches reverberate through Dean until he thinks he’s going to fly to pieces. Cool lube dribbles over his cock and then Cas closes a fist around it before he knees the dildo into Dean, over and over again, until Dean shakes and shatters. He’s barely aware when Cas rolls him over, takes the dildo out and pushes into him, fucking him hard as he cries into the duvet, bruising Dean's hips with his fingers as he comes.
When it’s over, Cas leaves him there, before coming back with a warm cloth. He wipes Dean down, from tears and snot to the lube, then tugs Dean in to his arm.
“Mmn… ‘addy?” he mutters.
Cas hums. “Yes, pet?”
“Bag?” Dean asks, hopeful.
Cas smiles. “Yes, let’s.”
He fetches the bag from their honeymoon, and kisses Dean’s nose before pulling it over his head. The world goes dark and fuzzy, and when Cas adds the handcuffs, Dean snuggles into the warm chest below him.
“Yours,” he says.
“Mine,” Cas confirms and hugs him close.
“You’re wrong, you know,” Dean says over dinner on Tuesday.
Cas frowns. “I’m often wrong.”
“About me not being fucked up.”
“No, listen.” Dean puts his fork down and fixes his husband with a stare. “I get what you’re saying, but you gotta realise, I’m not joking when I say I don’t want nice. I wanna be yours. Do you hear me?”
Cas moves a leaf around on his plate.
“You… don’t want cuddles?” he asks, looking slightly lost.
Dean huffs. “I want cuddles,” he says, a slight blush on his cheeks, “but I gotta know you’re cuddling me cause you wanna.”
“I always wanna cuddle you!” Cas looks frustrated.
Dean grabs his hand. “Babe. Remember when I asked you to hurt me forever?”
That gets him a smile, and Cas strokes Dean’s wedding ring with a thumb. “Always,” he says, so sincerely that Dean absolutely does not choke up.
Something just got caught in his throat and that’s why he needs to clear it.
“I said, I wanted you to hurt me forever. I meant that, I still do. Babe, I love you.” Crap, now he’s really blushing, and Cas has gone doe eyed. “I need … more.” Dean searches for words. “I need all of you. I know you’re one sadistic, controlling bastard, and I love all of that. Can you… stop holding back?”
Cas’s eyes widen.
Dean nods. “That. What you thought of now, I want you to do all of that.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cas says, voice tight.
“Yeah, I do.”
Cas stands, chair scraping over the floor. “I need to,” he says. “Dean, I--”
Dean lets his hand go.
“I’ll be back,” Cas says, and his eyes are haunted.
“Go,” Dean says, though his heart hurts.
Cas doesn’t come back until long after dark, sliding into bed next to Dean like a scared cat seeking shelter. That night, Dean lays a hand on his back, and Cas shakes. They don’t talk, as Dean pulls him close, tucking Cas’s head against his neck. His shirt is soon damp and occasionally there’s a wet snivelling sound breaking the quiet.
They fall asleep like that.
They don’t talk about it over breakfast.
They don’t talk about it over dinner.
They don’t talk about it.
Dean walks into a bar.
It’s a dingy, dark place, and he parks the Impala near a street light first, but then, he walks into a bar. There, he orders a whiskey, neat, two fingers, and pays cash. The man sitting at a table near the door calls out,
“Didn’t think I’d ever see your face again.”
“Neither did I,” Dean says, and walks over.
“You realise this is not my office, I’m not on the clock, and this is highly unprofessional of me,” the man says. “Fuck off.”
“Oh, shove it, Crowley,” Dean replies.
Crowley frowns into his drink. “How did you even know where to find me?”
Dean grins obnoxiously. “I have daddy issues.”
Crowley groans and drinks deeply. “How’s that puppy love going for you?”
Dean flashes his ring. “Dear reader, I married him.”
“Congratulations, Jane,” Crowley deadpans.
“Did you tell him?”
He drinks. “A week ago.”
Some idiot belts out Don’t stop believing over by the karaoke machine.
“Seriously? A week ago? How daft are you--No, don’t answer that.”
Dean puts his head in his hands. “I fucked up, Crowley.”
“Clearly. You’re here, aren’t you?”
“What do I do?” Dean asks the table.
“Look at me. No, for real, look at me or so help me, I will throw that drink in your eyes--Good. Thank you,” Crowley sneers at him. “You’re a dick and an idiot, Winchester, and a coward.”
“Wow, why don’t you tell me how you really feel,” Dean mutters.
“Off. The. Clock,” Crowley enunciates. “Shithead.”
“Yes. Yes, I am. Now, fuck off back to whence you came and for God's sake, talk to your owner, puppy. Shoo.”
Dean swallows the last of his drink, hisses at the burn and gets up. Crowley stops him.
“On second thought: You better pay for a drink first. I’m not running a charity.”
Dean buys a ridiculously sweet drink with a small umbrella and enough alcohol to kill a rhino. He hands it to Crowley with one hand and gives him the middle finger with the other.
Then he drives home.
Cas is waiting for him in the living room. It takes one look before he’s in right Dean’s face, pushing him back so he hits the door. One hand grips his jaw, Cas’s entire arm pressing down his chest, his elbow digging into Dean’s sternum. Cas leans in close and sniffs.
“Did you drive home?” he growls.
Cas’s hands shake as he smears mayo on the bread. Dean eyes the corner. He’d much rather be there, nose against the plaster, than here, on a chair by the counter, watching Cas struggle to keep it together.
“Dadd--” he starts.
“No!” Cas barks and slaps the two pieces of bread together. “You don’t call me that right now, Dean. You sit there, and you drink your water, and you eat your sandwich, and you sober. up.”
Cas shoves the plate at him. Dean takes the sandwich, but it tastes like dust. He eyes the corner again, as Cas turns to grab his tea mug. He leans back against the counter, both hands clasped around the mug, and watches Dean eat.
Each bite takes forever.
“Tell me,” Cas demands, when the sandwich is gone and Dean’s halfway through his water.
“I went to see Crowley,” Dean starts. Cas snorts. “Yeah, at a bar. He goes there after work.”
“How do you even know that?”
Dean shrugs, looking down at his empty plate. “I did my research before our second appointment. You know, all the stuff Dad would’ve done.”
Cas breathes out hard.
“Saw him, talked to him, bought him a drink, and left.”
“You left something out.” Cas’s eyes are narrow.
“Bought myself a whiskey,” Dean says, and now he’s staring at the corner, longing. “Two fingers, nothing extreme.”
“You drank it, and then…”
“I drove home.”
“You drove.” Cas's voice is entirely flat, but his hands tremble, jaw clenching.
“Babe, a whiskey isn’t that much for me! It hadn’t even kicked in before I left!” Dean objects. “I’ve done this before, Cas, I swear I was safe to drive.”
“No! You weren’t!” Cas barks.
His tea mug goes flying, shattering on the floor, the hot liquid spraying Cas’s pants and soaking into his socks. Cas ignores it.
“It hadn’t even hit,” Cas bites out. “Which means it did while you were driving. I don’t give a flying fuck if you felt safe to drive; a whiskey puts you above the legal limit and I could have lost you!”
The last bit comes out as a shout, and Dean flinches.
“You could have swerved off the road!” Cas goes on shouting. “You could have hit someone else! You could have hit the brakes too late and gone straight into the back of a truck, and I would have had to bury you!”
Tears are streaming down Cas cheeks and Dean gets up, but the shards of ceramic stop him. He turns to go for the dustpan, but Cas stops him, angrily wiping a hand over his face.
“No, sit, I’ve got it,” he says hoarsely, and Dean sits down again as Cas gingerly steps over the shards.
He watches mutely as Cas sweeps up the mess and wipes off the tea. Cas never stops crying, wiping away tears with the back of his hand as he works. When Cas steps up to him after, Dean’s hands reach automatically for him, clinging to the sides of Cas’s shirt. Gentle hands, still trembling, cup Dean’s jaw and Cas’s thumbs stroke over his cheekbones.
“I love you,” he says, choked up. “I love you. I can’t stand the idea of something happening to you.”
“I’m okay,” Dean says through numb lips.
“Dean,” Cas says, as though his name is benediction. “What if--what if you’d driven home, swerved for a cat, and hit me?”
Cold-hot tears spill over Dean’s cheeks.
“No,” he breathes.
“Yes,” Cas says, mercilessly and Dean shatters the same way Cas's mug did.
Suddenly, Cas is holding him close and Dean’s crying into his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, and yeah, he’s not entirely sober, his veins hotter than usual. “Cas, I’m sorry I scared you.”
“You’re mine, pet,” Cas says, and tears splash into Dean’s hair. “I won’t have you be a danger to yourself or someone else. I won’t lose you.”
They stand there for what feels like an age.
“Will you punish me?” Dean whispers some time later.
Cas nods. “Tomorrow. Tonight, I just need to hold you close.”
“Thank you,” Dean says, relief sending more tears to soak into Cas’s shirt. “Thank you, Daddy.”
Cas clutches him tighter. “Tomorrow, you’ll tell me everything.”
Sleeping next to Cas is surprisingly hard, because all Dean wants is to slide down on the floor. He misses his cage. He misses his bag. He misses chains tethering him to reality. It helps that Cas is octopusing all over him, holding him tight and sleeping more or less on top of him, sleep-heavy breaths against Dean’s collarbone. He still lays awake the majority of the night, eyes swollen from all the crying. He’s not done this much crying outside of their sessions in years, and Cas… Cas hardly ever cries. Dean can count the times on his right hand.
He made Cas cry.
The guilt eats at him, winds him tighter and tighter, and as much as he tries to relax, it’s a battle. He sleeps fitfully and wakes early, Cas snoring against his neck, an arm and a leg slung over him. Dean turns as gently as he can and studies Cas’s face. The soft lips, the stubble, the bridge of nose, forehead smoothed out in sleep.
Dean loves him so much he doesn’t know what to do with all the feelings. When they got together… he’d no idea this dorky idiot with his sharp wit would become one of his favourite human beings. Granted, what if I’d rather fuck you? was perhaps not the first words he expected to hear from the love of his life, but in retrospect, he really should have guessed. And yes, Cas is that, one of his favourite humans, next to Sam and Bobby and a select few others. There can’t be anyone else like this for Dean, it’s impossible; he feels far, far too much for Cas for that. The idea that someone else could rival would mean Dean’s heart would explode, and he’d much rather stay here with Cas.
A small frown mars Cas’s forehead, and Dean reaches up with a thumb to smooth it out. Cas’s eyes move behind his eyelids, but he doesn’t stir, and Dean thinks of cardigans with tissues in the sleeves, of popcorn and scorch marks, of the ugliest damn bathrobe in the world, of the man who would and could and wanted to beat him black and blue and choke him ‘till he passed out, but also worried about perfume confusing bees.
“What?” Cas murmurs without opening his eyes, sleepy gravel in his voice.
“I love you,” Dean says, and presses in closer.
Cas smiles softly and rubs his nose against Dean’s own. “I love you too, baby.”
A minute passes before Dean manages to squeeze words past the lump in his throat. “I hurt you.”
Cas’s eyes open, and he frowns a little, before something seems to click for him.
“Baby,” Cas says, dragging a hand up to Dean’s cheek. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Some,” Dean says.
“Alright, we’ll deal with this in a minute. I promise.”
Dean nods. They take turns in the bathroom. Cas makes him eat breakfast, too, but it’s all sawdust to Dean. Then, they move to the living room, sitting silently next to each other on the couch.
“Tell me,” Cas says, eventually.
Dean draws a breath. “No, fuck you, you start.”
Shit, that’s not where he was going to start.
Cas’s eyes snap to his. “Dean--” he starts in warning.
“Come on, man,” Dean interrupts. “You left!”
Cas’s eyes widen. “I owe you an explanation.”
“A real fucking good one,” Dean agrees angrily, crossing his arms and leaning back.
“Take that tone one more time, boy, and I’ll explain everything, in detail, real slow, while you suck on that soap bar.” Cas’s spine is straight, his shoulders back.
Dean swallows, but doesn’t move. “Noted.”
There’s silence for a long, long moment.
“You say you don’t want nice,” Cas starts slowly. “You want me to do, to be, sadistic and controlling. You want me to stop holding back.”
“You’re assuming I’ve been holding back, that there’s more cruelty in me.” Cas’s eyes search his. “You’re wrong. I’m giving you all I’ve got. I love hurting you, Dean. I love seeing you cry for me, seeing you beg and blush.” There’s heat in his eyes. “You bruise so pretty, boy. I will never grow tired of listening to you scream. Every time I think it can’t get better, you make it better. You go so deep, you take so much. I had no idea that was possible. It makes me feel amazing--you make me feel amazing.”
Dean can't help the blush that creeps onto his cheeks.
Cas hums. “Like that, just like that. You’re so responsive.”
Silence lingers and Dean fights not to cover his face.
“I don’t want more cruelty,” Cas picks up after a while. “But you’re right, I love controlling you, and Dean - that scares me.”
Dean sits up and leans over to grab Cas’s hand as Cas keeps talking.
“How do I know when I go too far? What if I restrict you too much?” Cas’s face pales. “What if I kill all the things I love about you? What if soon, you’re but a shadow of what you are today?”
“You couldn’t - you wouldn’t,” Dean says, convinced.
“Our honeymoon--” Cas says and breaks off. “I loved that. You were so far down, the entire time. It was like I had you under my thumb and was mashing you to pieces, until nothing existed but my pet, the only thing I allowed to remain.”
Okay, fine, now Dean’s cock is twitching in his pants.This is a serious talk, dammit. Not the time to eye Cas’s pants and consider pausing for blowjobs.
He does anyway. Consider it, that is.
“I can’t live like that,” Cas says, and now his eyes are brimming with tears. “I love you too much.”
Cold shower. Dick successfully calmed. Shrivelled. Gone.
“I can’t either!” Dean blurts, squeezing Cas's hands. “That’s not what I mean!”
Cas’s hand closes over where Dean has clasped his. “I know, baby, but if we start down that track, could we stop?”
Dean laughs, unable to stop it. “You’d never let it get to that point.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Cas. Look around you.”
Cas, like a nerd, takes it literally and Dean fondly rolls his eyes.
“We have a house,” he says. “A mortgage. Cars. Family. Friends. Jobs. There’s no way you could keep me that far down for a long period of time. A week, tops.”
“Then what?” Cas looks helplessly confused. “If that’s not it, what do you want?”
“In a moment, babe. Tell me why you left?” Dean makes his voice soft.
“I thought… I thought of you like that, living under my thumb, forever… and I wanted it. I wanted to be your everything; your king, your ruler, your God. It was terrifying. It felt as though you were asking the world of me and I wanted to give it to you, but what’s the cost of something like that? I left, because I could have taken it, taken you, and crushed you. I thought...” Cas stops himself again and studies their hands. “I would rather leave you as you are, than ruin you.”
“I thought I’d asked too much,” Dean’s voice cracks. “Put too much pressure on you. You came back crying, and I thought I’d lose you over it. You didn’t say anything about anything at all this week. You’ve been different lately, too, and I didn’t know what to make of it.”
“Different?” Cas asks.
“Nice,” Dean mutters, then tries to raise his voice a little. “You hurt me, yeah, but you don’t push me. You’ve been… the rules, you’ve let me push, but you didn’t push back as hard. I know I’m a brat, I know it’s exhausting to push me down all the time, and I’m sorry, you’ve no idea, but Cas--I’ve told you, I need this. I need you to. I can’t…”
He stares helplessly at his husband, then tries to explain.
“When you’re on my case, setting up rules and goals, punishments and rewards, I’m free. I keep telling you I’m fucked up, because it’s true. I’m tryna be safe about it, but I need it. I need to answer to someone, to have someone else hold the reins and tell me where to go, how to get there. You’ve been doing it already, I just wanna make it official and clear.”
Cas blinks. “I haven’t--” he says.
“You have,” Dean says, smiling.
“Cas, babe, sweetheart,” Dean’s grinning now. “You always have. Every day.”
“Every day?” Cas echoes, and Dean wants to kiss him.
“You tell me what brand of detergent to buy,” he says instead. “You tell me to get out of the candy aisle. You forbid me snack food, you check that I’m home on time, you control my orgasms, you wash my mouth out with soap because I cuss at you…”
Cas is honest to god blushing now, cheeks stained a dark cherry red. He leans forward and sinks both hands into his hair.
“Oh. I didn't know, Dean, I swear. Oh, God.”
Dean slips down onto the floor, wriggles in between Cas’s knees.
“Yes,” he says. “Be my king, ruler and God. Mark me, control me, own me.”
Cas stares at him. Dean looks around in desperation, then grabs Cas’s knees tight.
“Cas, please,” Dean begs. “Please understand.”
“Why did you go see Crowley?” Cas asks out of the blue.
Dean sags. “I told him,” he says, hollow. “Back then, and he said I should tell you. Before we married. He told me I was a coward, and to tell you that you already own my ass. Always have. I just hadn’t told you, exactly.”
“When did you know?”
“When you beat me with the hazel rod,” Dean answers promptly.
Cas blanches. “I failed you!”
Dean shakes his head. “You were willing to beat me harsh enough to match my feelings, and when you realised there had been a mistake, you fixed it. If anything, you freaking out over the idea of abusing me made me feel safe. Seeing how seriously you took that, how big a thing it was and still is for you, made me feel safe.”
“I still dream about it,” Cas admits. “You scream and scream, and I keep beating you, until you break apart, blood everywhere. I always wake up hard.”
“That should probably not turn me on.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“We’re really fucked up,” Cas says, awed.
They stare at each other. Cas’s mouth quirks, and Dean’s gone, bending over Cas’s lap, giggling. Cas’s arms close around him and he chuckles into Dean’s hair.
“How’d I get so lucky,” he asks, once they’ve calmed down.
“Well, you walked into a bar…”
Cas tugs his ear. “Cheeky.”
Dean backs off.
“Will you do it?” he asks.
Cas strokes a hand over Dean’s cheek, down over his throat, a thumb casually pressing into Dean’s windpipe.
They stare at each other.
“Yes, pet.” Cas says slowly. “I think I will.”
Dean opens his mouth, but he doesn’t get the chance to thank Cas before his hand squeezes tighter in warning.
“Perhaps we’ll start with you explaining why you thought drinking and driving would be acceptable.”
“I didn’t think,” Dean says stupidly.
“Perhaps you should go in the corner and do so, then. I want to know what you were thinking, feeling, why you chose it.” Cas leans close, breath ghosting over Dean’s face. “If I’m going to own you, I’m going to own every single inch of you, from your first waking moment to when, where and how you close your eyes at night. That includes every thought and feeling you have in between then.”
Dean shivers under the weight of it, and Cas kisses his forehead.
“Strip, and into the corner,” he says, and points. “Crawl.”
When Dean’s nose touches the plaster, he feels like sagging in relief. This is safe. This is a net around him, holding him together. This is an old, soft sweater on a cold night. This is the world righting itself after an earthquake, when up becomes up again, and the ground stills beneath his soul.
After a moment, things become a bit fuzzy.
“Daddy,” he mumbles, and the word echoes through him.
“Yes?” Cas says from behind him.
“I’mma space out for a bit,” Dean mumbles. “Can’t stop it.”
Cas rakes his hand through Dean’s hair and Dean’s breath hitches. If he could purr, he would.
“You do that, pet,” Cas says softly. “It’s been a long day. When you come back, we’ll finish this.”
Dean manages a nod, forehead still against paint.
Cas steps away and disappears.
Distantly, he’s still aware he’s in a corner and awaiting punishment, but it doesn’t stop the hazy-soft feel of subspace from wrapping a blanket around him, holding him close, as the idea of being owned settles inside him. Cas accepted. Finally.
Time passes, and then he blinks against the wall, drawing a deep breath as his knees tell him he’s too old for this shit, his neck stiff and sore. Still feeling small and raw, he does actually think about it. Thinks of Cas’s face when he came home, thinks of the shards of ceramic on the floor, thinks of scalding tea seeping into Cas’s socks. Thinks of Cas opening the door for police officers.
He’s crying, he realises suddenly. Breath hitching as tears roll over his face.
“Come here,” Cas says behind him, gentle.
Stiffly, slowly, Dean crawls over to him, unable to look up from the floor as guilt rages in his chest. He settles on his knees by Cas’s feet.
“Why did you do it?”
“I didn’t think,” Dean says, voice cracking. “I’ve driven after a whiskey or two before, no biggie. It’s - it used to be who I was,” he manages a glance up at Cas.
Cas nods, elbows on his knees as he studies Dean’s face. He looks away again, Cas’s gaze too much to bear.
“Booze and girls, and you called me easy, once. I was.” Dean laughs, hollow. “Ain’t nobody gonna care if I come or go, right? Might as well make the moment last. So, I had that whiskey, because I thought,” his eyes brim with tears again, “I thought, that this was it. I had my run, got the guy, the house, the… everything. Figured we’d talk, but I was asking too much.”
“You thought I’d leave,” Cas says, barely above a breath.
Dean nods at the floor.
“I needed to tell you, because I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore, but… you walked out. You left.” He pauses. “We didn’t talk about it - you didn’t talk to me. Not that night, not after. I didn’t know if...”
He trails off, unsure.
“You didn’t know if I’d… let go of you, so to speak?” Cas clarifies.
“Yeah,” Dean nods.
There’s silence for a while.
Cas clears his throat.
“Look at me,” he demands and Dean’s eyes snap up.
Cas stares at him, eyes blazing. Dean flinches.
“I’m never letting you go, boy,” Cas says firmly. “You’ve given yourself to me; you’re mine now, just like my car or this couch.” Dean shudders. “I take care of what’s mine, so I’ll take care of you too.”
“Yes,” Dean breathes.
“Yes, what?” Cas snaps.
“Yes, Daddy,” Dean says and it comes out something like a sob.
“Tell me why you shouldn’t have driven yesterday?”
“I could have hurt someone,” Dean says promptly. “I could have hit someone with my car, if I’d swerved, or not had time to react. Me driving was dangerous.”
“True. What else?”
This is harder. “I could have died. I could have hit something and gotten injured or died.”
Cas nods firmly. “That risk is unacceptable, and taking it is inexcusable.”
“Yes, Daddy,” is all Dean can say.
“I’m going to punish you.”
“Tell me why you deserve it.”
Dean’s eyes well with tears. “Please, Daddy, please! I fucked up, I’m sorry. Please punish me, so I’ll learn. I deserve to be punished, please.”
“Why do I punish you?”
“Because you love me.”
Cas clears his throat, and Dean remembers.
“Daddy punishes me because Daddy loves me,” he says. “Please, make it really hurt, Daddy.”
“What rules did you break?” Cas is merciless.
Dean wipes at his nose with the back of his hand. “I -- I don’t know, Daddy,” he sobs.
“You put yourself and others at risk and you withheld important information from me.”
“Tell me.” Oh God, Cas isn’t giving an inch.
“I put myself and others at risk, Daddy. I withheld important information from you.”
“Why are those rules?”
Dean digs his fingers into the carpet, and he struggles.
“Why?” Cas demands, a hand gripping Dean’s jaw painfully tight and forcing his eyes up.
“Because Daddy loves me and worries about me,” Dean squeezes through his tight throat. How did he forget?
“Please, please, please,” Dean begs, tears and snot running down his face and onto Cas’s hand. “Punish me, please, Daddy, I can’t--” He heaves in air, his entire body shaking as he sobs.
“I will, pet. I will.”
Cas lets him go and Dean sags to the floor, barely able to see. He’s coiled tighter than a spring, guilt and pain mixing and tearing him apart from the inside, a dark beast ripping him limb from limb and nothing makes sense.
“Crawl.” Cas says like a lighthouse from the sea. “Upstairs.”
Dean crawls. It’s slow, because his limbs feel like lead, but he crawls all the way up the stairs, carpet burning at his knees. He makes it to the foot of their bed and collapses there, shaking. The hand in his hair, dragging him up on the bed, makes him moan with gratitude.
“I’ve got you,” Cas says. “We’ll fix this.”
Then he steps away, and there’s sounds behind Dean, but they don’t matter. Daddy will fix this. It’ll hurt, but he deserves it. Daddy loves him, Dean just forgot.
He screams when the first strike connects, the leather strap biting into his ass as though Cas is going to tear his skin off.
“Twenty for withholding information from me,” Cas says, and gets to it.
The strap tears into him over and over again, hitting the same spot on the bottom of Dean’s ass over and over with the thick leather strap, while Dean writhes, screaming. Let’s himself feel it. Let’s himself react.
“Eighteen,” Cas says, and Dean can’t do this, he can’t, he can’t.
“Daddy, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he wails. “I can’t, please, no more, I can’t!”
“Last two with the paddle, just to make sure my point will sink--” the paddle connects with Dean’s left ass cheek, punching deep and hard and Dean screams straight out, fingers scrabbling at the duvet,
“-- in.” Right ass cheek, just as hard, and Dean wants to hurl himself from his own body.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he chants, choking as he tries to breathe.
“Tell me why I punished you,” Cas demands, a hand dragging Dean’s head up by his hair.
“I withheld information from you, Daddy, ‘n I shouldn’t, ‘cause you love me and worry about me,” Dean squeezes out between sobs. “I won’t do it again! I won’t, m’sorry!”
Cas steps away and Dean wants to follow, wants to keep begging. He freezes when the cane taps at the back of his thighs.
“Thirty, for putting yourself at risk,” Cas says and Dean shakes his head, mouthing no at the duvet.
It’s useless and he knows it. He wants this, needs it, but the pain is terrible.
The first ten across his thighs obliterate any thoughts from his mind. It’s all pain, and he knows he’s screaming even if he can’t quite hear it. Cas gives him a break to catch his breath, then rains down another ten, far down on his thighs, where they bite into sensitive and thin skin. Dean kicks and wails, throat raw.
The last ten are hell.
Cas pries his hands off of the duvet, after, dragging Dean up and into his arms.
“Tell me why I punished you,” he says into Dean’s hair.
It takes a long, long time before Dean manages to find words.
“I put myself and others at risk,” he says, drawing in a shuddering breath. “I shouldn’t ‘cause you love me and worry about me.”
Cas kisses his forehead. “I do. I love you so, so very much, pet. You’re forgiven.”
Dean’s hands feel like lead, but being curled up in Cas’s lap is kind of nice, even if his ass and thighs are on fire, throbbing with pain. When he calms, Cas rolls him over and runs his fingers along what must be spectacular bruises. He dabs alcohol over a few spots where the cane broke skin, making Dean hiss. He arches his back, inviting. A finger slides between his cheeks, rubs over Dean's hole and he knows Cas must be so hard in his pants.
"I won't be nice," Cas warns.
"Don'wan'nice," Dean mumbles.
Then there’s lube-slick fingers between his cheeks and Dean whimpers as Cas presses them inside, working quick to stretch him.
“Daddy,” Dean pleads when Cas nudges in between his legs, making Dean spread his own uncomfortably wide, his back arched as Cas pushes inside.
Oh god, Cas is hot and hard, so very hard, and his hips against Dean's abused ass and thighs is awful. He's crying again, pleading with Cas in broken words, entirely unable to move.
“Shhh,” Cas hushes, then his hands grab Dean’s ass, opening him wide, and Dean keens, tensing. "So beautiful like this, pet."
He lies there crying quietly as Cas fucks him, hard and deep. Cas shifts his hands, pressing Dean’s shoulders down even as he fucks Dean so hard his back bows. It hurt, of course it hurts, every time Cas’s hips slam down on the bruises, but all Dean kan think as he cries into the duvet once more, is that these are good tears. This is where he’s supposed to be. This is who he’s supposed to be. Cas’s pet, being used for Cas’s pleasure.
Cas groans loudly as he comes, fingers digging into Dean’s muscles, making Dean tense and flinch from the pain.
“Mine,” he breathes into Dean’s neck when he slumps down, and bites. Hard.
That’s one bruise Dean wears with pride.
Some things change after that, some things don’t. Cas takes to it like a fish to water. He requires that Dean texts where he is and where he’s going, and instead of feeling inconvenienced and oppressed, Dean feels safe. Cas starts plating his food, and Dean’s startled to find it makes him acutely aware of who Cas is to him. To his dismay, his portions of rabbit food grow. He really should have guessed.
He totally still wins at Mario Kart, even if he’s laying between Cas’s knees. By his own choice, mind, because Cas hasn’t forbidden him any furniture and Dean’s too old to keep this up, but for now, he’s revelling in the chance to be beneath Cas. On his stomach and three pillows propping him up, because holy crap, his ass.
One thing keeps tripping him up though. It’s mortifying. Even after several days, he still can’t look at Cas when he shuffles over and mutters,
“I gotta go.”
Cas doesn’t even look up from his book when he reaches out and pinches Dean’s side.
“Ow, ow!” Dean yelps. “I mean, may I use the bathroom, Daddy?”
“You may,” Cas says, and turns a page.
Fucking hell. Alright, so when Dean signed up for this thing, he’d no idea what Cas was going to do. He figured there would be a learning curve. Turns out, everything is pretty chill, right up to when Cas casually controls his bathroom habits.
Pissing with a hard-on sucks.
He’s going to object to this, but not until he’s able to sit down comfortably again. To say his ass has been bruised, would be lying. It’s blueblackpurple, a mess of bruises and a few superficial cuts from the cane. Cas can’t keep his hands off of him, which is pretty fucking great actually.
This isn’t helping the hardon situation at all. Awkwardly, he manages to piss and put his pants back on, but it still shows.
“Come sit with me,” Cas calls out.
Dean gets manhandled into laying down, framed by Cas’s legs and head propped up on his stomach. He graciously doesn’t complain, choosing to wrap his arms around Cas instead. A hand settles in his hair and Cas turns the page.
“You can call yourself
whatever you wish,
but I won’t call you mine
only you can do that.
I won’t ask you to,
wouldn’t dream of that infraction, ….”
Cas’s voice is hypnotic, a steady rumble beneath him, and Dean smiles into Cas’s shirt.
Yep. He won the jackpot.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, please,” he keens as he arches back. “More, gimmie more.”
Cas laughter vibrates through him, but all Cas does is go back to the kitten licks, teasing at Dean’s rim. Dean groans in frustration, burying his face back in the pillow beneath him. He knows Cas is on his own schedule here, but come on. He needs it. Needs more than soft, gentle, wet-warm pats and flicks form Cas’s tongue, needs more than hot breath and stubble over his bruises.
Look. Dean’s been rimmed before. Other people. He’d specify, but thinking is a bit hard right now. Anyway. They did it and it didn’t feel like this. Good, yeah, but not enough to make him shake and his toes curl. Cas has no issues taking his sweet time to get him sensitive, winding him up like a toy until Dean’s overwhelmed and oversensitive.
Fireworks crackle outside the house, distant bangs from the open window.
“Why don’t we go look at them?” Cas says against his hole, laving gently.
Dean’s not sure he can stand, but Cas pulls him up and walks him over to the window. Red, white and blue flash over and over outside, their neighbours obviously overjoyed at being allowed to explode shit. Dean’s grateful they live a good half mile away from them, because Cas leads his hands to the window sill and drops down behind him, spreading his cheeks.
He groans, as the tongue returns, knees shaking. A finger joins it, rubbing softly over his hole, dipping just barely inside. Dean whimpers, clutching the window sill hard.
“What if someone could see you now, boy?” Cas says. “They could all see how desperate you are. Have you seen your cock? Look at it.”
Dean glances down to where he’s thick and hard, the tip shining a dull red.
“Do you think they’d be impressed by your cock?” Cas says, and the finger returns. “Or do you think they’d look at it and say What a needy little thing, so desperate. ”
Dean whimpers again, still staring down at his absolutely average sized dick.
“Maybe they’d wanna suck it?” Cas suggests and Dean’s hips move of their own, gently thrusting forward. “Maybe you could find some nice girl to sit on it. You’d have to stay hard, put in a good effort to make her come.”
Dean shakes slightly. What’s Cas playing at?
“Maybe you’re too small for that,” Cas muses, finger dipping deeper into him. “Better not risk it, we wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone, would we?”
He flushes hard, blood rushing to his cheeks.
“Daddy,” he says weakly.
Cas ignores him, slowly dragging his finger in and out of Dean. “I think you’re just too needy for that. I think your little cock could do with some discipline.”
Dean nods fervently.
“But what kind of discipline?” Cas asks, and his finger rubs over Dean’s prostate so perfectly that Dean’s knees threaten to buckle.
“I keep waking up with it poking at me, it’s very inconvenient for a fucktoy. It’s just so… demanding.”
Dean’s shivering now, wanting to thrust back at the finger inside him, fingers white against the wood in front of him.
“Maybe I’m paying to too much attention,” Cas continues. “I have let you come an awful lot, maybe it got the wrong idea. Maybe it thinks it matters.”
“It needs to learn,” Dean whispers, eyes scrunched tight as he vibrates with need, with shame.
Cas stands, his finger still inside Dean, cruelly driving into his prostate. “Yes, I think it does. I think I’ll just ignore it from now on. It’s not like it matters, does it, pet?”
Dean shakes his head, unable to form words.
“Entirely unimportant,” Cas says, and pushes in another finger. “It’s mine to play with when I want, if I want, but until I do, it doesn’t matter, does it?”
Dean shakes his head again, heat coiling in his belly, body shuddering from the way Cas continues to press him from the inside.
“Let’s drain you, then I can use you like a good fucktoy, my own human fleshlight. Not have to bother with your little dick. I could lock it away, small and useless in a little cage, couldn’t I? Shame those cages are so expensive. I don’t want to waste my money on something so insignificant.”
If Dean could, he would come right here and right now, just from those words. Instead, he feels slow pulses of come dribble out of his cock, the orgasm that’s been building softly, teasingly hugging him and fading into the distance. He sobs, wishing he could reach for it, wishing he could come for real, but it disappears and he’s left oversensitive and exhausted.
Cas bends him forward so his head and shoulders hang outside the window. The tears come when Cas’s cock presses slowly inside. His pleasure is pointless. This is what he’s good for. Cas groans and Dean smiles, because he did a good job. Daddy’s enjoying his fuckhole. The cock inside him feels huge, and Dean can’t help but to shake and shudder whenever Daddy passes his sensitive prostate. The fingers digging into his bruises spread a dull ache that makes him writhe.
“That’s it,” Cas says, breathless. “Let go. This is what you are.”
Dean moans and stares out at the Fourth of July celebrations, where normal people drink and hug and watch fireworks. He closes his eyes. It’s not for him. He’s a good pet, a good fucktoy, being used just like he should.
Cas comes inside him and Dean cries because he’s so happy he made Daddy feel good. When Daddy pulls the bag over his head and chains him to the end of the bed, it’s good. It’s better than good. It’s safe and amazing and perfect.
The poem Cas reads is Typewriter Series #2597 by Tyler Knott Gregson.
!!! BEWARE OF NEW TAGS !!!
This chapter is for Knightfrog1248, who asked all the right questions.
He sits at the kitchen table, like an idiot, staring at his laptop. This is insane. Is he actually going to do this? Is this a thing sane people do? He swallows. Closes the tab. Gets up, fetches some water, sits down again. Opens the tab again.
“Is there a reason you’re sitting by your laptop with a hard-on?” Cas’s voice grates beside him.
It takes everything in Dean’s power not to slam the laptop shut.
“It’s 95 degrees and humid as fuck,” Dean says. “I’m not putting clothes on until I have to, and someone stole all my briefs. Where did the jockstraps even come from?”
Cas hums but doesn’t answer, heading over to the coffee machine. Stupid bathrobe tied around his waist, exposing his stupidly handsome chest. Dean drools a little, but discreetly. He’s still stunned by how he bagged the most handsome guy ever, broad chest and powerful thighs, and that jaw…
“Don’t objectify me,” Cas says in his ear, breath sweet-sour with coffee and sleep.
Dean shivers. “M’not!”
Cas hums, but doesn’t move away, eyes on the screen. “Is this what’s got you so excited?”
Dean doesn’t say anything. The chair sticks to his bare ass.
“I bet it is,” Cas’s voice is low now. “I bet this is what you actually want. Come on, pull up whatever you were looking on that led you here.”
It takes a few taps, Dean’s palms sweating meanwhile. The tinny sound of a man groaning from his speakers seems so loud in the early morning light.
“Bet you he’s so desperate,” Cas says. “Bet you he’s hurting, too. Do you think you’d cry from the frustration, or from the pain?”
Dean licks his lips. “Both,” he says, voice cracking.
“What excites you about it?”
“The power,” Dean says at once. “I couldn’t go anywhere, do anything, without remembering that I’m yours. It’d always be there, when I wake up in the morning, at work… everywhere.”
“What else?” Cas noses his neck.
“Being used,” Dean’s gone hoarse. “Not having a say, not even being able to…”
“Not even being able to get hard,” Cas says for him, and his hand slides down Dean’s bare chest, cupping his cock through the cotton. “Not like this.”
Dean nods, unable to help the slight twitch in his hips.
“You’d be just holes then,” Cas says and Dean whimpers at the thought. “Unless I wanted to play with you. Torture you, reward you - whatever I choose. I’d still have access to these,” Cas squeezes his balls hard and Dean tenses, arching, “but I wouldn’t be bothered by this pesky thing.”
Cas is pinching the underside of his cock now, and Dean rocks restlessly, having entirely lost track of what’s going on. His bare ass against the chair, Cas’s hand dulled by the cotton… what if it was something else? What if… what if he was feeling Cas through steel? Bars locked tight around his cock, keeping it small and useless, making him a real vessel for nothing but Cas’s pleasure?
“Fuck fuck fuck, Imma come, Cas, please, Daddy,” Dean bursts out, heat coiling urgently in his belly.
The hand disappears, and he’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.
“You’re such a mess,” Cas says. “Look a that, just the thought gets you off.”
He whimpers, hands clenching against the table, head hanging.
“Yes, I think a cock cage might be a good thing.” Fingers card gently through his hair, and Dean leans into them. “I’ll take the choice from you, boy. Without access, it won’t be your responsibility at all anymore, it’ll be mine.”
He’s still frustratingly hard, but Dean smiles up at Cas.
“Thank you, Daddy,” he says, and he means it.
Cas kisses him. “Let’s talk details over breakfast. Patio?”
Dean glances down. “In a jockstrap?”
Cas doesn’t answer, but his smile is sharp.
There’s breakfast on the patio, and details hashed out, laptop between them. Cas had been right before, a good quality cage is beyond their current means, but Cas looks at them on a website and says,
“There. That one. Weld me one of those,”
and Dean looks at it and says,
“Jesus Christ, Cas,”
to which Cas smiles and says nothing.
There’s sketching. There’s more research. There’s two damn weeks of Cas popping up everywhere, unzipping Dean’s jeans and pulling his dick out to measure it. At breakfast, when they come home from work, after dinner, before his shower, after his shower, before going to the bathroom, right after he made Dean pee on the compost heap in front of him. Once, Dean wakes up from Cas’s hands on his junk, measuring tape secured snugly around his balls. His stomach aches with heat and anticipation.
There’s a prototype. It’s too big.
There’s another prototype. It lasts a day, a sharp edge pinching him.
A third one. It works for a week, then his stupid balls pop out in the shower.
The fourth one, however, is gleaming and polished steel, an actual cage with bars, that sits snugly around his balls and cock, held in place with a deceptively pin, a few holes and a small padlock.
It looks innocent in Cas’s hand, small and innocuous, but Dean’s cock is already twitching at the heat in Cas’s eyes. He’s on his back on the bed, legs spread wide as Cas kneels between them. A large hand cups Dean’s cock and balls gently, but firmly, and Dean groans.
“Say goodbye to your cock, baby,” Cas says. “It’s all mine now. This will be the last you see of it in a long, long time.”
Dean whimpers, and looks down.
“Go on,” Cas says.
The hand squeezes harder.
“Goodbye!” Dean squeaks, staring down at where his cock is hiding in Cas’s palm.
Cas releases him and Dean’s cock lengthens, standing tall and throbbing. He swallows nervously, glancing at Cas, who looks at him disapprovingly.
“This is why you need the cage,” Cas says. “See? It just can’t behave. It’s too greedy.”
Dean nods, red cheeked. “Yes, Daddy.”
Cas bends down and licks at him, and Dean’s whole body jerks. It’s been two weeks since his last orgasm, and he misses it, misses Cas’s mouth on him, misses large hands wrapped around him.
He’s not prepared for Cas to actually take him in his mouth, but Cas does and it’s agony. Amazing, beautiful, pleasurable agony. Cas’s mouth is hot and wet, and he sucks firmly, long, slow bobs that make Dean’s thighs twitch. A hand on his stomach pins him down, and Dean stares up at the ceiling because he can’t believe this is happening. It’s so good, it’s so, so good. He gasps, throwing his head back and groaning, as Cas winds him tighter and tighter, his pace quickening as he swirls his tongue around the tip, making bright lights flash through Dean’s entire body.
“Daddy,” he whines. “Can I come, Daddy?”
Cas doesn’t answer, just keeps sucking at him, and Dean shudders.
“Daddy, please, please,” he begs. “Daddy!”
No answer. He’s so close. Dean’s back bows as he tries holding back, fingers digging into the sheets, toes curled.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” he’s chanting now. “Imma come, Daddy, please, help, I can’t, I can’t, Daddy!”
Cas’s fingers close around his balls, rolling them, playing with them and Dean can’t breathe.
He screams, shuddering, wrenching, tears streaming down his eyes. His balls hurt, everything hurts, his orgasm wrenched away from him and thrown into a ditch where Cas stomps on it with his heel. His hand is a vice around Dean’s balls.
“Let go of me, boy,” Cas says firmly. “I’m helping.”
Oh. Dean pries his hands off of Cas’s arm, despite the pain still coursing through him.
Cas strokes away a tear.
“I’m just helping, boy,” he says, and doesn’t let go.
“Thank you, Daddy,” Dean hiccups, unable to stop trying to move into Cas’s hand, move away from it, make the pain stop.
Cas lets go. Instinctually, Dean goes to curl up on his side, but Cas stops him, stops his hands from trying to cover his cock, and all Dean can do is watch as Cas pulls his cock and balls through the first ring, then lifts his cock and feeds it into the cage. It’s… strange, very strange. The metal is warm from Cas’s body heat, but it’s snug and solid, and in dismay, Dean watches as his cock tries to thicken even as Cas fiddles with the pins.
The hole in the cage and the pin don’t match up at once, and the cage springs away as Dean’s cock hardens in one second flat.
Cas raises an eyebrow at him.
“I’m sorry, Daddy!” Dean says, blushing.
Cas wraps his hand around him. “Needy,” he strokes, “greedy - demanding - dirty - thing.”
Dean whimpers when he lets go. He wants it to go on. He wants more, wants to get lust drunk off of Cas’s hands and mouth, wants to come and come and come. Frustrated tears leak down his cheeks.
Cas’s hand moves to his balls and he shakes his head, desperate.
“No, no, no, Daddy, please, it’ll go away soon, Daddy, please, no--”
He screams, jerking, writhing, balls aching.
This time, it takes longer before Cas let’s go. Dean’s sweating, sobbing hysterically, begging Cas to lock him away, heels thrumming against the bed. By the time he can find his breath again, it’s over.
There’s a small snick.
He looks down, and there it is. His cock behind bars, small and useless, unable to escape it’s prison, unable to grow hard and demanding. He stares at it. Cas stares at it. Two small keys sit in Cas’s hands, and Dean watches mutely as Cas puts one in an envelope and seals it, sliding it into his sock drawer. The other goes on Cas’s keys.
Then, Cas returns to the bed, looking down at Dean from above.
“It suits you,” he says, low.
Dean doesn’t quite know what to feel, but he nods. Cas crosses over to the headboard, chucks his clothes and spreads out, his cock flush against his stomach.
“Come here,” Cas says, and Dean crawls over.
Cas seats him on his lap, opens Dean up achingly slowly, fingers rubbing and teasing, soft and sweet. Dean breathes against his neck, acutely aware of the steel rubbing against Cas’s belly and cock. His cock wants to get hard. It aches, hurts, but it’s comparable to the dull ache in his balls. Cas slides him down on his cock, and they rock together. Dean’s aware of staring at Cas, because he can’t look away. This man is everything. Dean wants to give him everything. It’s an all consuming, intense desire burning inside him, stronger and hotter than the need for a hard-on or an orgasm. Cas comes with a shudder and a grunt, his hand cupping the cage softly, fingers over Dean’s sensitive balls.
“I love you,” Dean breathes, forehead against forehead.
“I love you too, baby,” Cas says, and his eyes crinkle as he smiles wide, and Dean kisses him, because he can’t not.
The first night in the cage is weird. He’s done this already with one of the prototypes, having worn it for a week, but waking up with his balls throbbing and cock trying to harden will never cease to be a strange sensation. Cas sleeps peacefully next to him and Dean glares at him in the dark. He goes back to sleep, uncomfortable. He wakes up the next morning with Cas’s hand covering his caged cock, which is reassuring and nice, but his cock is still trying to get hard. It hurts, quite a lot.
“It’s trying so hard,” Cas says and pets the cage. “Needy little thing.”
Then Cas gets up and Dean’s left in bed, staring at the steel where his cock should be.
Going to the bathroom requires sitting down. Putting on the briefs that have magically reappeared in his drawer is interesting since the cage lifts his package slightly forward and it feels like the entire world will know.
Working with the cage on is definitely a whole new world. The site they’re contracted to is going to become an office high-rise and there are dozens of dozens of other workers milling about. It’s busy, to say the least. Twice, Dean freaks out and thinks someone knows what’s going on in his pants. Twice, he has to run to the bathroom to discreetly check in the mirror. It doesn’t show. Going into the stalls to have a piss is strange.
They spend a normal night at home, folding laundry together and arguing over if they should watch Dancing with the stars or The Voice.
Wednesday night is tough, because all he does is sleep and wake up, sleep and wake up. That evening, when he gets home, he manhandles Cas into the armchair without a word and sinks onto his knees, forehead against Cas’s lap, grabs Cas’s hand and puts it in his hair. Cas pets him for a long, long while, before sending him off to cook dinner. Dean eats from a bowl at Cas’s feet. He sleeps better after that.
Friday night, Cas fucks him. Slow, grinding, dirty. Dean’s cock strains against the cage and he whimpers the entire time. Cas allows him to hump a pillow for a while after, but it only makes it worse, and he cries himself to sleep in Cas’s arms, a hand cupping his cock.
“Can you give me a maybe-date?” Dean asks through his tears. “Like, maybe on Friday. Doesn’t have to be, it’s up to you, I just need…”
He stalls, unable to explain the need of getting hard, of receiving any type of sexual stimulation, of feeling skin on skin and cotton against his cock, something that isn’t muted by steel bars.
Cas is quiet for a while, then he nods. “Maybe August first,” he says.
It doesn’t help much, but it helps. That’s two weeks. He can do two weeks. He snuggles in closer, and lets the tears fall.
He cannot do two weeks.
Face down and ass up, Cas has been licking at him for what must be an hour now, teasing and taunting him. He begs. He’s been begging for a while now.
“I’ll do anything,” he manages, “please.”
Cas laughs, dark and full of mirth.
“What do you think you can give me, that I can’t take from you, boy?” he says, and goes right back to it.
There’s nothing Dean can give him to get the cage unlocked, to get to even see his own cock hard again. Cas has the keys. It’s not his cock anymore.
To say Dean cries a lot in the first few weeks would be an understatement. Tears become his companion. Tears of pain, when his cock strains to harden and can’t; of frustration, when Cas suckles on the cage and licks through the bars; of anger, when he wants to yank the stupid thing off of himself; of defeat, because he’s stuck in it and there’s nothing he can do about it.
Even at his lowest, Cas gathers him close and guides him through it.
Cas catches him with the small Snickers bar Dean snuck into the cart, but didn’t manage to stop the cashier from sending off with the rest of the groceries. Dean pays, as Cas stares straight at him, eyes cold. Dean drives home, they unpack the groceries, then Cas spins him over the kitchen counter and smashes his face into it.
“Let’s be very clear, pet,” Cas growls in his ear. “When I say no, I mean no. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, fine,” Dean says, and tries to stand.
Cas presses harder. “Still a brat, hm?”
Dean’s about to say fuck you, when the memory of soap coating his teeth returns. He fumes silently, eyes narrowed.
“Listen closely,” Cas says and strokes Dean’s forehead. “If you disobey, I will knock you down and punish you. Every time. You’re mine. I will do whatever I want with you.”
“Whatever,” Dean grunts, and holy crap, his cheek is going to be sore later.
Cas pulls back. “Let’s go outside for this.”
Fifteen minutes later, he’s naked and handcuffed to the patio, while Cas is puttering about behind him. He glares at Cas’s stupid lavender.
“Come on, man,” he says.
“Open up,” Cas says, and waits until Dean reluctantly opens his mouth.
The chocolate is so good.
Cas feeds it to him, piece by piece, until it’s gone.
“I want you to think about it, pet, while we do this. Think about how it tastes.”
A hand on his neck bends him forward. The paddle is no surprise, but it doesn’t make it any easier to bear. Cas goes hard, until Dean’s ass is on fire and he’s screaming, clinging to the patio railing, legs weak. That’s when Cas refastens the handcuffs behind his back, walks him into the garden and ties a single string from his cage to one of the lavender bushes.
“Was it worth it?” he asks.
Dean shakes his head, still sobbing.
“Think about that for a while,” Cas says, and goes back inside.
He does. Naked and tied by a small string from his cock to a plant, hands cuffed behind his back, ass covered in bruises, he thinks about it. Thinks about how small and pointless the chocolate was, in comparison to Cas’s displeasure. Thinks about how dumb he feels, rooted to the spot by a small plant.
Cas finds him on his knees, hunched forward, tears still stinging his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Dean babbles. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I’m sorry, please, please, Daddy, please.”
Moments later, he’s inside, wrapped loosely in a blanket because it’s still July and hot, curled up in Cas’s lap, telling him everything.
“I can’t get it off,” he says. “I tried, I can’t get it off, Daddy, I couldn’t stand it, I need, I need…” he stops and sobs.
“Do you need to safeword?” Cas asks gently.
He considers it. The thing is, the cage isn’t anything like what they’ve done before. It’s so… permanent, constant. Even with the denial they’ve experimented with before, he’s had access to his cock, the ability to get hard. He’s also not in ‘space all the time while it’s on, it’s far more than that. The permeance cuts into the very core of who he is, and all that’s left is a jumble of emotion.
Dean shakes his head, unable to say it.
Cas turns his head until they’re looking at each other.
“You’re allowed to,” he says.
Resolutely, Dean shakes his head again. “No. I can do this. It’s just... hard.”
There’s a beat of silence. Cas’s mouth twitches.
“No, it isn’t,” he says, and they’re off, clinging to each other and giggling.
“Ass,” Dean says.
Cas hums. “Yes.
Dean tucks his head in below Cas’s chin.
Cas pokes him. “You’re closer to the remote; turn on the TV, Grey’s Anatomy is on.”
“Dude, no, why do you even watch that?” Dean flicks it on anyway.
“Shh, that’s Dr Sexy,” Cas murmurs.
“That’s not Dr Sexy, he doesn’t have any cowboy boots.”
“Do you want to watch this from the corner?”
“Shutting up now.”
Dean doesn’t say it, but the fact that Cas shoves his him down onto his knees, back against the wall, and fuck his mouth as though Dean’s nothing more than a convenient hole, probably does more to settle him than anything else.
It’s not like Cas doesn’t already know.
He wakes up a hand on his cage.
It’s Saturday, the first of August, and Cas is already fiddling with the lock.
“Daddy,” Dean says, reaching out to cover Cas’s hand.
Cas looks up.
“You don’t have to,” Dean says, because now that the cage is about to come off, he doesn’t want it off.
He wants it to stay, to keep his cock small, useless, uninteresting and unimportant. He wants to come, of course, the last week has been torture and he’s so horny his eyeballs are vibrating, but the cage is safety. He doesn’t want it off. He wants it off. He doesn’t.
He tells Cas all of it.
“It’s coming off,” Cas says, and that’s that.
The steel bars make it easy to keep clean in the shower, which is a relief, so the only thing Dean can do as the cage comes off and his cock stands proud and throbbing for the first time in weeks. Cas blows at it. Dean whimpers.
“You get two orgasms today,” Cas says, “you can pick when. If you don’t pick, I will make you.”
“One now, one later,” Dean says without thinking. “Please.”
Cas sinks his mouth down over Dean and groans, as though this is the best treat he’s had in forever, as though he’s missed this. Dean’s brain shorts out entirely, the sensation overwhelming after so long without it.
“God,” Cas says, still licking at him. “I’m going to unlock you more often, pet. I missed your cock in my mouth, missed hearing you whimper like this.”
There’s not much talking after that, as Cas blows him just right, wet-hot suction making Dean’s brain melt out of his ears. Seeing the obvious pleasure on Cas’s face, his lips stretched around Dean’s cock which disappears into his mouth over and over again, is too much.
In no time, Dean’s whimpering and shouting “Daddy, Imma come, Imma come, please”, and a hand on his hip encourages him to fuck up into Cas’s movements, and Dean’s gone. It’s a rush, as intense as any orgasm, leaving him shaking and panting after.
Cas swallows. Dean whimpers at the sight.
He's still panting from it when Cas reappears with the damn electric shocker. Dean’s eyes widen and he stares in amazement as Cas grabs his balls and locks them in, calm as a cucumber.
“What the--” he manages.
“I think you may need some incentive to behave today,” Cas says, and fiddles with the remote. “Let’s go to the lumber yard, my garden needs new trellises.”
It sure as fuck doesn’t, but Dean gets dressed, all the while hoping Cas isn’t going to make him walk into a store with a shock collar around his balls.
That’s exactly what Cas does.
He doesn’t shock Dean once. Not on the drive there, not in the store, not on the way back, not while unloading the lumber. Not even after he makes Dean nail together a trellis for … whatever the heck, Dean doesn’t listen and he doesn’t care, because holy god there’s a steel band around his balls and he could get electrocuted at any point in time.
As soon as he’s put the tools away, Cas tells him to strip and kneel.
Dean kneels on the lawn, the afternoon sun warm on his back.
Then he rocks forward, gasping, grasping at his balls.
“Let go,” Cas says, the remote in hand.
Whimpering, Dean lets go.
“Stay in position,” Cas says, and Dean’s cock twitches valiantly at the way his eyes gleam with pleasure.
The shock makes him grunt and tense, but Dean keeps his hands on his thighs, butt on his heels. The next one makes him whimper and shake. They’re still small, but Cas keeps them coming with regularity; one, two, three, zapp. One, two, three, zapp. It doesn’t take long before Dean’s sweating and shuddering, because there are sensations he never ever wanted by his balls and feeling like he got zapped by touching metal is definitely not on the list. Sweating just makes the shocks more intense, the prongs of the device digging into the skin of his perineum.
Cas grabs his hair and wrenches his head back.
“Look at me,” he demands, and Dean does.
Dean whimpers, fisting his hands.
Cas’s eyes are dark with lust and Dean tries losing himself in them.
He blinks, and Cas’s hand tightens in warning.
Dean’s shuddering, vibrating, hands opening and clenching on his thighs.
Tears well up in his eyes.
He can’t stop whimpering, groaning.
The tears spill over, running down the sides of his face.
He gives in to it.
His body reacts, but it’s doing what Cas wants it to, so he doesn’t care.
He stares at Cas, letting the tears fall, wanting him to see all of it, stare straight into his soul.
“Good boy,” Cas whispers, and Dean sees him hit a few buttons on the remote.
The power makes Dean’s jump, his entire body seizing for one second, thighs trying to close.
“Up straight,” Cas says as Dean hangs from his fist, body going limp as the shock works through him.
“One day, boy,” Cas says, petting him. “We’re going to see if you can outrun the range of this. I’ll let you run, give you a nice head start, then fetch you. I’ve done it before, but maybe you’re forgetting, hm? Wouldn’t want that.”
Dean shivers at the memory of their honeymoon. That's by far the hottest thing he’s ever been through, and he’s spent more than one night telling Cas about how it felt. Telling him everything in detail until Dean’s desperate and horny, rock hard and leaking. Once, Cas let him come by humping his leg again, just like at the cabin, and Dean had come so hard he couldn’t breathe. A few times, Cas has rolled over and left him like that, cock throbbing against his stomach. That had been worse. Better. Staring into the dark and at his sleeping husband, frustrated and body on fire.
Dean shouts as the shock brings him back from his fantasies.
“Did that excite you?” Cas asks. “Your cock decided to try get hard. Do you think I can keep it down with just the shocker?”
This time Dean can’t keep his hands from his crotch, doubling over and keening as the shock works its way through his body.
“Get up,” Cas says, and Dean crawls his way up onto his knees again.
Dirt and grass doesn’t make a terribly comfortable surface to kneel on, digging into his skin.
“Look at me.”
Dean stares up at him.
It sends him sprawling again, writhing.
“Please, no more,” Dean begs.
Sobbing, he pulls himself up onto his knees, locking eyes with Cas. A minute passes. Dean screams when the shock hits, shooting through him like fire. He falls, fingers scrabbling over dirt as he tries working through it.
“I like you like that,” Cas says. “Stay there. Ass up, cheek against the ground.”
Weakly, he rearranges himself, pressing his cheek against the dry-hot grass, ass in the air.
“Tilt,” Cas says and a foot prods his ass, so Dean tilts as best as he can, presenting.
“Not so greedy now, is it,” Cas says, and a hand cups Dean’s balls and cock, fondles them softly.
“No,” Dean says.
There’s a warning squeeze.
“No, Daddy.” he corrects himself.
“Stay here, just like this.”
Cas leaves. Dean stays.
It’s hot out, but the only thing he can think about is how he’s face down, ass up, in the middle of their yard. The breeze strokes between his asscheeks, and he shivers, cheeks burning. Oh god, what if someone is out flying a drone or something? Or stops by the house? What if they see him, naked and open for whatever Cas is going to do to him.
Cas tsks behind him. “It’s all hard again, boy.”
Dean whimpers in shame.
Slick fingers prod his ass, which doesn’t make anything easier. Better, yes, but not easier. Cas finger fucks him open slowly, pausing to zapp him gently.
“You squeeze so good around my fingers. Maybe I should put you on my lap and zapp you until I come,” he muses. “Another time.”
The steel pressing against his opening makes Dean’s eyes widen in shock. This is the big one, the one-point-three pound plug that Cas got for their anniversary, the one they’ve only used a handful of times.
“Daddy,” he keens, fingers digging into the soil.
Cas hushes him, patiently pressing the plug inside until it’s a heavy, solid pressure on Dean’s insides.
Dean yelps, his whole body flinching as the shock travels from his balls and perineum, through the plug and to his prostate, making him clench around the plug.
“Perfect,” Cas mutters, and steps away. “On your feet now.”
At some point, Dean’s muscles have all disappeared and it takes massive effort to stand up. The plug shifts and pulls at him, the weight around his balls heavy and uncomfortable.
Cas grins and holds up the controller. “Let’s go make some lunch.”
Dean forces himself to move across the lawn, forces his feet to lift up to the patio stairs and inside. Thankfully, they’re only having sandwiches for lunch and Cas doesn’t actually shock him while he’s holding a knife, because Cas is sane like that, but weak zapps still send Dean’s hands skittering and jerking as he tries to put lettuce and tomatoes on Cas’s sandwich.
“Honey and mustard, Dean,” Cas says disapprovingly.
“Yes, Daddy,” Dean says to the floor, and goes to fetch the honey.
He gets to eat with his hands and sit on a chair, but the mercy in that is difficult to be grateful for when the handle of the plug and the steel band around his balls clink and rub against the chair. Cas does the dishes, leaving Dean sitting there.
“It’s beautiful outside,” Cas says. “Why don’t we go back outside?”
Dean nods. His mind is small and soft and fuzzy, and words seem a bit beyond him. He stands still as Cas slathers him with sunscreen, which is good, because Dean had entirely forgotten. They go outside, where Cas has him weed and trim and do garden things until there’s soil on Dean’s legs and beneath his nails, and the sun lowers to a warm, late afternoon glow.
“Shower time,” Cas says, leading him back inside yet again.
The plug is removed in the bathroom and the shocker comes off as well, before Cas shoos him gently into the shower. Dean ducks in under the water, then stares in amazement as Cas steps in naked with him, broad chest damp with the steam. His eyes widen even more as Cas nudges him, then sinks to his knees.
“You’re going to fuck my face,” Cas says, and takes Dean’s soft cock in his warm-wet mouth.
It’s not soft for long. When Cas reaches for Dean’s hands, placing them on the back of his head, Dean knots trembling fingers into his hair and fucks his face. This time, when orgasm takes him, it punches through him like white-hot bliss and leaves his knees weak and brain offline. He’s gasping as Cas swallows, shivering at Cas’s tongue licking the last of it from the tip of his cock. Cas rinses him off and wraps him in a towel, trundling them to the bed, where he lays Dean down face first and fucks into where he’s still loose and wet. He keeps hitting Dean’s prostate, which is torture, but all Dean can do is blink stupidly between the pillows, feeling like a limp ragdoll.
When he pulls out, he slides the big plug back in and Dean whimpers weakly from the weight against his abused prostate. There’s chains, and these make him shiver with want, as Cas turns him however he pleases to fasten a chain around his waist, crossing it through the handle of the plug and up between his legs. More chains go around his ankles, his wrists handcuffed to the waist chain. This is familiar, also from their honeymoon, and Dean sinks into them.
“Look at me,” Cas whispers, and strokes his cheek.
Dean pries his eyes open.
“Beautiful,” Cas says, and kisses him, before pulling the cloth bag over Dean’s head.
The only thing missing is the crate, but instead Dean gets Cas’s arms wrapped tight around him, and that’s even better.
Some time later, the plug gets removed and Cas uses his hole again, leaving Dean locked up and bagged while he does. A smaller plug replaces the first, but that’s all right. It must be night time, because it’s dark even inside the bag. He wakes up once during the night, because Cas swings his legs over Dean’s chest, rubbing his cock over the coarse material of the bag until he comes all over it. Come soaks into it and Dean tries to suckle at the material but it doesn’t quite work. He falls asleep again, the scent of Cas all around him.
He doesn’t even notice the cage missing until the next morning, when he wakes up with a raging boner.
He doesn’t freak, but that’s probably because of the chains holding him tight. His erection lays there, hard against his belly, occasionally throbbing. It’s soft and warm under the covers, the bag over his head leaving him fuzzy and confused. He can’t say why his boner bothers him, it’s just that it shouldn’t be there. Cas’s breathing against his neck, an arm slung over him, and Dean tries snuggling in closer. Cas shifts.
“G’mornin’,” he mutters and Dean whimpers.
It’s this tiny, pathetic sound, somewhere between distress and a plea, and it makes him blush under the bag.
“Hmm,” Cas murmurs, smoothing a hand down Dean’s side. “You’re okay.”
Dean’s breath catches as Cas’s hand brushes his cock.
“Oh,” Cas says, letting his fingers ghost over Dean. “Needy.”
Dean shivers, bucking up.
“Does it want to come?” Cas asks, his voice is full of sleep-gravel.
Dean pants into the material of the bag, but doesn’t answer. Words seem difficult, his mouth dry and tongue clumsy.
“Alright.” Cas’s hand closes around him, soft and warm.
He jerks Dean off slowly, his grip light, enough to tease and make Dean thrust restlessly into his hand, searching for more. He doesn’t get it, and the gentle touches are enough to make him keen from frustration, the tension growing until he’s shuddering through an orgasm. It’s white-hot lava in his veins, leaving him gasping and twitching as Cas continues to stroke until he’s tearing up form oversensitivity, writhing, trying to get away. Cas’s thumb rubs circles on the underside of his softening cock, slicking come over him, hushing him.
“Let me,” he says, and Dean tries. He’s crying now, groaning, fighting to stay still, fighting to get away, Cas’s hand pressing his knees down and holding him open, his mouth coming down to suckle at Dean’s cock, licking him clean.
When Cas lets him go, Dean can’t stop trembling, tears streaming down his cheeks inside the bag. Cas unlocks the ankle restraints and helps him out of bed, guiding him. Dean follows blindly, going where Cas leads, until they stop. Cas’s hand cups his cock again and Dean jerks.
“Here we go,” Cas says in his ear. “Let go for me, pet.”
Dean stays still. What?
Cas’s other hand presses low on his belly. “You can go.”
He’s so confused. Where are they? What’s Cas on about?
“I’ve got you,” Cas says. “Come on, pet, time to pee.”
Oh. Now that Cas says it, he does need to pee. Peeing while standing cradled in Cas’s arms is beyond weird though, and that’s not even counting the fact that Cas’s hand is on his dick and Dean can’t see where he’s aiming.
Teeth scrape against his shoulder and Dean shudders.
“Let. Go.” Cas orders, voice deceptively soft for an order.
He tries, he really tries. It takes another minute before he manages though. Relief washes through him as the sound of urine against porcelain and water fills the room. Dazed, he finishes, still confused. Cas leads him over to what must be the sink, where he washes Dean’s junk thoroughly with soap and water, stroking him until Dean’s groaning, dick twitching again.
“Not again, pet,” he says, and Dean flushes bright red inside the bag.
Cas turns on the cold water and rinses his dick, making Dean yelp at the chill. Then, the cage goes back on, the base ring snug around his balls. The small snick when it locks shut leaves Dean weak at the knees. Cas unlocks the restraints from his wrists, undoes the chain around his waist. The last thing to come off is the damp hood, and Dean blinks at the bright light in the bathroom. He wants it back, he needs it back, he’s too raw and open for this.
“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, a hand cupping his cheek.
Dean looks at him, then down at himself where his cock is again small and useless behind the steel bars of his cage. The tears come back, uninvited, and he ends up sobbing into Cas’s shoulder, clinging to him, fingers digging into Cas’s skin.
Cas leads him back to bed, tucks him under the blankets and stays with him until the sobs have died down. Then, he fetches breakfast, and they eat toasted waffles in bed while Cas reads stupid sappy poetry and Dean shivers, burns, and cries through the drop.
There’s pineapple pizza with jalapenos.
The cage stays on, a solid and unforgiving weight between his legs, equal amounts frustrating and comforting.
I'm sorry! There was like... life! and adulting! and crap. It's been forever.
The worst thing is, he can’t do anything about it, in any way, shape or form. That’s also the best thing. Cas is absolutely riveted by the cage, the dork, and spends far too much time with his hand cupped around Dean’s cock, fingers brushing against increasingly sensitive balls. He suckles at the cage, jerks off over it as Dean cries from the pain of not being able to get hard.
“Fuck,” Cas grunts, spilling all over Dean’s cage.
Dean stares down at where his cock strains against the bars.
“Open,” Cas says, swiping his fingers through the come before shoving them into Dean’s mouth.
He fucks them in and out roughly, only gentling to allow Dean to suck them clean. After, he brings a washcloth and wipes Dean down. His cock does not get the message, continuing to try get hard. Cas pets it, then he makes them oatmeal and they set off for work. Working with the cage has become less weird as he’s gotten used to it, but Dean glares at it in the bathroom. Stupid thing, preventing him from standing and pissing.
He’s in a foul mood by the time he gets home. Instead of showering, he collapses face down on the couch, still in his work clothes. It gets warm after a moment, so he pulls the jacket off and flops down again, wriggling a little. Mashing the cage against the couch isn’t comfortable though, so he has to turn onto his back, slinging an arm over his face.
His other hand lands awfully close to his zipper.
Soon, it’s slipping in beneath his waistband, to where he cups himself, feeling steel and soft skin. His balls are sensitive enough to make him shiver, pleasure zinging through him. He’s not even tried touching himself in so long. He pets them, cups and squeezes gently, playing with the sensation.
Maybe… maybe he could…
Suddenly, he’s trudging up the stairs, shedding his clothes in the bedroom until he can pad naked over to the nightstand. The lube is cool and slick over his fingers as he presses them inside himself, twisting until he’s open enough, before reaching for his Nexus. It’s slightly dusty from not having been used in forever, but hums happily to life when he tests the batteries. He tosses the controller aside and sucks the bulb into his mouth, relishing the weight on his tongue.
More lube on his fingers, allowing them to slide back inside and it burns slightly, but that’s alright, more than alright. The angle is shite, but the stretch is amazing and even through his dick is straining against metal, there’s no way in hell Dean’s stopping now. He groans around the toy in his mouth, wishing for Cas’s cock, then his fingers twist and he wishes that was his husband, pressing mercilessly into his ass. The thought makes him pull out, fumble, turn around until he’s ass up and face into Cas’s pillow. Reaching back like this is easier, and he wedges another finger in, whimpering. His other hand seeks out his cage, then beyond it, stroking and cupping his balls, pressing the sensitive spot behind them.
It’s nowhere near enough, but it’s so good he’s fucking himself back on his fingers, into his hand. His cock hurts, a dull throb that’s awfully familiar. He pets it through the bars. If he could only come, even with it on. He needs to. It’s been forever. Even idea of a slick hot fist around his cock makes him shiver, makes him buck enough to get his fingers onto his prostate.
“Fuck,” he mutters, dropping the toy.
It needs to be inside him, now. Trembling fingers hunt for it, find it, and then it’s pushing against his hole and he’s gasping, pressing back as the slim toy fills him. It’s not wide enough, but it slides in smooth and deep, seating itself in just the right position against his prostate. He clenches around it, making it move a little. Pleasure zips and zings through him, his cock drooling useless and pathetic between his legs. The shame makes him clench again, then once more, then he’s honestly fucking himself onto it, wanting more, more.
“Please,” he whimpers into the pillow. “Please, oh, please.”
He’s so close, body shaking with it even as his cock swings in it’s little cage.
Eyes closed he reaches for the remote he dropped on the bed, it’s here. Somewhere. He just can’t stop clenching around the toy, desperate for more. His fingers skid over the sheets, but he can’t find it. Cracking an eye, he scans where it should have landed. It’s not there. Frowning, he pushes himself up, looking around, and freezes.
The controller is in Cas’s hand. Cas, who is leaning against their dresser, face impassive.
For a long, long moment, Dean feels like a deer caught in headlights, heart beating fast and hard in his chest as fear crashes through his veins like ice.
Very slowly, Cas raises his finger and points.
Cas clears his throat, a gentle cough more than anything, but it sends Dean off the bed and crashing into the corner, nose pressing against the paint. The toy presses against his prostate and he whimpers, reaching back to pull it out. Hands stop him, guiding him to grip his own ass and spread his cheeks wide. Cas pushes his nose firmly into the paint, and Dean can barely breathe from fear. He’s hunched awkwardly, half-kneeling, half-squatting, ass on display.
Behind him, there’s soft sounds of cotton, the clinking of a belt opening. The bed doesn’t creak or squeak, because there’s no way in hell Dean’s ever sleeping on another squeaking piece of crap, but he can still tell that Cas is getting into it.
His fingers cramp, but he’s far too scared to let go.
Cas exhales behind him.
Dean’s knees dig into the carpet.
There’s a soft snick, then a rude sound and then slick skin on skin.
Dean whimpers. Cas groans softly.
He can picture him now, Cas spread out over the bed, his stupidly tanned skin against the pale sheets, cock in one hand. It’s obvious Cas is drawing this out, the sounds of his fist slow and languid. Dean knows the rhythm, knows Cas’s other hand is tugging at his balls, cupping them. There’s gentle sighs, sharp breaths, occasional cut-off moans.
Dean’s eyes sting as tears gather and spill over.
Slowly, the movements behind him come faster, Cas’s groans louder.
He’s a wreck by the time Cas comes with a sharp cry. As Cas catches his breath behind him, Dean sobs, knees hurting, thighs on fire, fingers cramping.
He yelps when the toy gets pulled out, something cold and hard pressing into him instead. It must be the smallest of their metal plugs, because it isn’t heavy at all, only a light and constant pressure inside him. Cas wipes his hands on his shoulders, leaving something sticky behind. Spunk and lube, from the smell of it. He pries Dean’s fingers from his ass, letting him clasp his wrist instead, then disappears.
The shower starts in the bathroom.
Dean stays in the corner, shivering now.
The come and lube on his back dries.
Cas comes back in, drying off and getting dressed by the sounds.
When he fastens a chain around Dean’s neck and tugs, Dean goes clumsily. His body screams at him, limbs stiff from exhaustion and trembling. He stumbles, nearly faceplants into the carpet and is saved by Cas gripping his chin.
“Do not try that again,” Cas says coldly.
Dean nods. Then shakes his head, no, no, he won’t do it again.
Cas squeezes his chin harder.
“Good. Over there, boy.”
There’s not even a blanket in the spot Cas usually makes him sleep. Dean crawls over to it, laying down on the floor. It’s not even seven. His stomach growls.
Dean whimpers, pressing his face to the carpet. He’s so cold.
“Pet, come here.”
He pries his eyes open and looks up. The room is hazy in early dawn light, and Cas is holding the duvet open. Slowly, he staggers on all fours over there, the sheets soft and warm as Cas guides him in between his legs and covers him.
Head on Cas’s hip, Dean closes his eyes. The air beneath the covers is damp and warm, smelling like Cas and stale sleep. A hand grips the back of his head and guides him forward, until Dean’s nosing at Cas’s cock.
“Warm it for me,” Cas mutters somewhere above him, and Dean takes the soft, silky flesh in his mouth, cradling it on his tongue as he relaxes.
Soon, he’s dozing, caught in the softness of the hand petting his head, thawing as Cas’s body warms him. It’s not quite sleep; the soft, vulnerable cock in his mouth keeping him awake enough to want to do his task well. Subspace teases at the edges of his consciousness and Dean embraces it fully, sinking into it. It’s pure relief to let go and float.
Cas is his world, his safety, and being allowed near him feels so good, being trusted to cradle Cas’s cock with his mouth such a privilege that Dean tingles all over. He presses closer, cheek against Cas’s thigh, hand clutching Cas’s hip. He earned this. He broke a rule, he was punished, and now he’s been accepted back, clean and loved.
He’s not aware of crying until Cas pulls him up and his tears smear against Cas’s collarbone, turning the skin sticky and wet against his face. He clings.
“Shh,” Cas soothes. “You’re alright, baby. We’re alright.”
When the tears dry up, Cas pushes him gently down under the covers again, and Dean goes willingly, eagerly. He kisses his way down, holds Cas’s cock in his mouth until his jaw aches and it stiffens, filling his mouth to the point of choking him. Then, he worships it, pouring every ounce of his gratitude into soft lips and slick tongue, licking and teasing until Cas’s thighs tremble and he’s gasping as he comes, legs locked firmly around Dean’s waist.
“Thank you,” Dean whispers, after. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Cas says, lips against Dean’s forehead. “I think my brain just came out my dick.”
Dean grins. “You’re welcome.”
Of course, then Cas makes him talk about it, which is beyond uncomfortable. He sets Dean to bake walnut bread and then asks all sorts of questions. “What were you thinking about when you did it? What did it feel like? Did you drink during the day? How was work? What did you eat? How did sleeping on the floor feel?”
Dean sweats while pounding the dough, very purposefully not looking at Cas as he answers. Cas, being Cas, takes him by the neck when he’s done and watches him piss and shower, even making sure to lather up Dean’s back for him. It’s too hot to eat anything but sandwiches for dinner, so they do that, and Cas gathers him close before the TV, fingers twisted into Dean’s hair.
Cas octopuses all over him that night and Dean stares long-suffering at the ceiling, while thinking there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
There certainly isn’t the next morning, when Cas wakes him up by climbing all over him, his skin damp and water still dripping from his hair. Cas’s hard cock smacks onto his chest, as Cas positions himself on his knees over Dean, and Dean stares at Cas’s ass, suddenly wide awake.
“Spread them,” Cas says from where he’s leaning over Dean’s cock.
Dean spreads his legs, his cock instinctively fighting the bars of his cage as it tries to fill.
Something cold and plastic slides slickly inside him and it only takes one moment for him to recognise their first prostate massager. It’s been years since this has come out to play, and Dean has forgotten how unerringly it narrows in to rub against his prostate. He whimpers, twitching, clenching.
“Good,” Cas mutters, and then he’s sitting up and oh. Oh, shit.
“Lick,” Cas says, his large hands reaching back to spread his own cheeks.
Dean’s cock twitches painfully and he groans as he clenches around the massager. He bunches up the pillow under his head and gets to it, dragging his tongue slow and broad over Cas’s hole. He doesn’t get to do this much, though he wishes he did. Cas is just rarely in the mood it, far preferring to torture him. Coarse hair rubs against his tongue and cheeks, and he groans, tasting the slight perfume of their soap and Cas’s natural musk. He’s thorough, pulling out every trick he knows of, from butterfly light licks to sloppy, sucking kisses to gentle prods and wriggles. Pleasure sings through him as Cas moans above him, as he clenches and clenches around the slim toy in his ass.
“That’s it boy,” Cas says and grinds his ass down on Dean’s face until it’s difficult to breathe. “More.”
He keeps licking, finesse giving way for pure desperation. Cas sounds glorious, and Dean can feel the trembling in Cas’s thighs where they press into his shoulders.
“Your cock is so red,” Cas gasps. “It’s trying so hard, isn’t it? So desperate. Looks like it’s crying now.”
Dean whines, prodding Cas’s hole with his tongue as he fucks into air, hips moving restlessly against the massager. It always did make him leak more than anything else.
“Legs up, show me,” Cas says and Dean lifts his legs, his cheeks flaming as he keeps his nose buried in Cas’s crack.
Cas grabs his thighs, helping him hold them open.
“You can’t stop clenching around it, can you?” Cas pants. “Fuck, yes, do that again. I can see your hungry hole just suckling on it. It’s like it’s nursing it. Isn’t that it? That’s what you need, isn’t it?”
Pressure is building inside him and Dean tries rutting up, tries clenching harder, his thighs trembling as he gasps for air and keeps licking, kisses Cas in the filthiest and best way he knows how.
“Fuck, that’s good, good pet, such a good pet,” Cas grinds down again and Dean shatters, shaking, the massager in his ass shooting him straight into an orgasm - it has to be one, deeper than he’s felt before, so different with his cock locked away.
“Awwh, does the pet come from making me feel good?” Cas lifts up again, lets go of Dean’s legs and leans forward until his cock is rubbing against Dean’s chest and all Dean can do is stare at Cas’s ass flexing in front of him. Cas thrusts, as though Dean’s chest is conveniently there for him to get off on, as if any part of Dean is entirely his to use however he wants and right now he wants to hump Dean’s chest.
Dean’s head swims, soft and fuzzy but also horny enough to make his hair feel like it’s standing on an end. His cock throbs in it’s cage, still small and pointless, not allowed to participate or get in Cas’s way as Cas keeps thrusting against his chest. He can see where saliva glistens slickly between Cas’s cheeks, can still smell him, sees sweat or water beads running down his back. Soon enough, he can feel the tension build in Cas’s thighs, feel the telltale tremble, and then Cas takes himself in hand and stiffens, hot splashes hitting Dean’s chest and belly as Cas covers him in come.
“Fuck,” Dean says, and trembles as he can’t help but squeeze around the toy.
Cas collapses over to the side. “Yeah,” he murmurs.
They pant in silence for a while, before Cas tucks his head over Dean’s thigh. He’s still on his side, his cock softening and sticky near Dean’s shoulder. The come on his stomach is going to dry soon.
“You’re still nursing it,” Cas says, voice low. “I can see it, your ass just suckling away. You haven’t had enough yet, have you, baby?”
“No, you haven’t,” Cas answers himself, voice dark. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to feed that greedy ass of yours until it’s sated.”
Me: I'm totally not going to disappear for months and months this time
Also me: *runs in a circle like a headless chicken for several months*
Yeah, I got nothing.
Cas licks wetly over his nipple and Dean whimpers. He’s a mess of sensation by now, the pounding sensitivity of his nipples, the overwhelming pressure in his ass from the slim prostate massager, the painful throbbing in his cock as it continues to fight against steel bars.
“There you go, baby,” Cas murmurs in his ear. “You’re ready.”
Cas guides him up and then onto his knees, face pressed against the carpeted floor. Dean goes, willing and confused. His entire body is one massive nerve, and leaning forward makes his ass clench again the massager again, making him shiver and groan.
“I know, I know,” Cas says, stroking his sweaty back. “One minute.”
There’s the sound of a drawer opening, then duct tape ripping. Cas’s hand is warm against Dean’s ankle, as he wraps the duct tape around it, attaching something to it. Dean doesn’t care. Nothing really matters. The dusty carpet against his face is comforting, the prickle and drag on his nipples stealing all of his brain power. He groans again, rocks back against the massager, twitching helplessly as it rubs against his prostate.
Cas pulls him up to stand on his knees, locks cuffs around Dean’s wrists behind his back. That’s good. The steel is cool and bites into his wrists, anchoring him when it feels like he’s going to fly apart. Slick fingers trace the rim of his hole and Dean shivers again, violently, as the plug is eased from him. Clenching around nothing feels strange, awkward. Wrong. Distressed, he tries to open his eyes, tries to turn his head against Cas, who must surely know how to fix this.
Dry lips kiss his shoulder, and Cas guides him backwards, letting him sink down onto his heels. Onto something wide, something silicone, something that slides inside him with unyielding pressure and determination. It almost hurts as it passes his prostate, but Dean relaxes, relieved. This is better than the horrifying, empty nothingness.
“You really crave it,” Cas says, voice low and warm.
He’s standing, so Dean presses his face against Cas’s thigh. He can’t quite form words, too overwrought, but he nuzzles the familiar hair, leaves a kiss against Cas’s skin.
“I got you something. Open your mouth for me.”
Dean drops his mouth open and Cas slips something in, slick, smooth and round. It presses his tongue down and his jaw open, and Dean’s head swims pleasantly as Cas fastens a strap behind his head.
“There you go.” Cas sounds pleased. “Something to suck on for a greedy little mouth. Does that feel good, pet?”
Dean nods, cheeks burning. It does feel good. His ass is full, his mouth is full, his hands and cock chained. He can’t believe this is what he needs, this is what he craves. He feels so small, reduced to need and the relentless strain of his cock against steel bars. It wants to grow hard, stand tall and demand attention.
Instead, Cas pokes at the cage with his foot. He tsks, but doesn’t say anything, kneeling instead to stroke over the leather covering Dean’s cheeks, his lips where they stretch around the ball behind his teeth. Dean tries to swallow around the gag, suckling on it. It doesn’t allow for swallowing, but he likes sucking on it.
“Maybe I should plug up your cock too,” Cas murmurs. “You’d be filled everywhere for me.”
Dean whimpers behind the gag, the sound seeming louder than before.
“Fuck yourself on that cock, pet. I want to see you work it.”
Slowly, Dean raises himself off of the dong, feeling it slide out, until he’s as high as he dares, and sinks back on it. It takes a bit of time to find a movement and a pattern that doesn’t make him lose his balance, but he manages, and soon he’s straining, groaning deeply as his thighs burn. It feels so good, and with the inability to speak, he finds himself panting heavily through his nose.
“That’s it,” Cas says from somewhere nearby, and Dean tries to pry his eyes open, but he can’t. “Good, take that cock, just like I want you to. Show me what that ass is good for.”
He bites at the gag, as best he can, keening as his thighs scream and his face feels so hot. Gentle fingers touch his chin.
“Drooling, are you?” Cas asks.
Dean turns his head away, while grinding down on the cock, embarrassment shooting hot and sharp through him. Cas pulls his head back, makes him look up.
“Don’t hide from me,” he says. “I know what a greedy fucktoy you are, pet. I know how much you need it.”
He’s shaking. His cock hurts, it’s pressing so hard against the steel bars of the cage, his balls swinging heavily back and forth as he rocks down on the cock stuck to his heel. Cas towers above him as Dean stares up at him, helpless and lost. A thumb rubs against the slick saliva on his chin.
“Such a desperate fucktoy.” Cas sounds immensely pleased. “Can’t think of anything but cock, can you?”
Dean makes a sound, something raw and pathetic, as the cock in his ass touches his oversensitive prostate.
“Good, keep working it. Make yourself come on it, go on.”
Startled, he looks up again. He’s already come from the prostate massager, that deep whole body orgasm, does Cas really mean…?
“Don’t tell me I never let you come, pet.” Cas’s smile is warm, but his eyes are cold and calculating. “You’re allowed. Show me what a greedy pet you are, how much you love having a cock in your ass.”
The metal biting into his wrists is the only thing keeping Dean from flying apart entirely at Cas’s cruelty, at the mocking tone in his voice, his obvious pleasure at seeing Dean so desperate. Shame curls in his stomach and Cas crouches down next to him again.
“It could be anyone’s cock, couldn’t it, sweetheart? As long as I give them permission, you’d take it and love it, let anyone watch as you fuck yourself on their cocks. I’m not letting them fuck you, that’s my job, but I’d let you use their cocks until you’re sated. I know what a hungry hole you have - no, no, look at me, it’s okay, pet.”
His eyes are filled with tears from shame, because he is, he would. He needs this. Words won’t make it past the gag, but he sucks on it for comfort, the drool dripping down his chin.
“You always want something in that pretty hole of yours, don’t you? Feel so empty when there’s nothing in there?”
Face aflame, Dean nods.
“Love it when I fill you, anyway I like, don’t you?”
He nods again, tears prickling his eyes.
Cas kisses his forehead. “I’ll keep you filled, don’t you worry. Daddy’s got you.”
The orgasm builds sudden and fast, and Dean screams into the gag as he shakes and shivers through it. A few drops of come dribble pathetically from his cock, through the steel bars and onto the floor beneath him. He slumps back, exhausted and still speared on the unforgiving hardness inside him, clenching around it over and over again.
“There you go, well done, pet. Didn’t that feel good?”
Dean nods, panting through his nose.
“I’m going to hurt you now,” Cas says.
“You don’t want that?”
He shakes his head.
“I’m going to hurt you anyway.”
He nods, dejected.
“You’re going to take it.”
He nods again.
“Sit up straight, keep that cock in you.”
Cas moves aside, towards the evil closet of doom, and Dean glares sullenly after him as he straightens, then shivers at how sensitive he is. He wants the cock out, wants a pause, wants relief from the relentless pressure. When Cas comes back, he stares straight ahead, refusing to look at what tools of torture Cas has chosen.
The warm hand cupping his balls makes him whimper in fear. There’s a soft snick, a whirring sound and then Dean jolts, screaming into his gag as Cas presses something against his cage, sending vibrations through his cock. His cock throbs, sensitive, his body screaming at him to get away, to get the cock out of his ass, to make it stop.
“Daddy,” he tries to beg from behind the gag, shaking his head. “Daddy, no.”
Cas ignores his attempt at words, his thumb gentle on Dean’s cheek for a moment before dipping down low, gripping his balls again, and squeezing. Dean screams. All he can think is it hurts, it hurts , but any attempt at wrenching himself away just makes him grind on the cock in his ass.
“You really are desperate for that cock,” Cas remarks, gentling his grip for a second, the vibrations disappearing.
Dean sobs, gulping in air through his nose.
“Still haven’t quit fucking it.”
He hangs his head, shame curling thick inside him, sending heat pooling low in his stomach. Cas is so ruthless about pressing this button, the one that leaves Dean red-faced, weak in the knees and hard as a rock. If he could get hard, that is.
Cas rubs a stubbled cheek against Dean’s own, voice soft in his ear. “You’re going to come for me again, pet, and it’s going to hurt, but you need it, don’t you?”
Dean shakes his head.
“You don’t? Are you sure?” Cas’s nose strokes his cheek.
“But you’re drooling for it,” Cas says, looking pointedly at Dean’s wet chin. “You can’t stop fucking yourself on that cock, even when I hurt you. I think you’re just embarrassed, is that it?”
Dean shakes his head, but oh, his cheeks are so hot.
The hand cups his balls again.
“Are you sure?” Cas asks again. “You wouldn’t want to lie to me, pet.”
Dean sobs again, tears spilling over his cheeks as he stares pleadingly at his husband.
“So, the truth then, pet. Do you need this? Need me to hurt you, make you come again? Need me to force you?”
The shame is overwhelming, debilitating. Dean shakes, tears dripping along his nose from where he’s bowed his head in defeat.
He nods. He does. He needs this, needs Cas.
The vibrations come back, harder, forceful, ripping through his cock harsh enough for him to shriek as his cock strains ever harder against the steel. Cas tugs at his balls, rolling them in his hand, slapping them gently, sending shock after shock through him as the vibations make him fuck back on the cock, grind against it.
It goes on forever. Cas removes the vibration, crushes his balls in his hand, then releases them and shoves the vibrator back, tearing Dean between pleasure and pain so fast that all he can do is shiver and shake, head swimming, nose clogged, shaking, shaking.
He tries walking back on his knees, but it only makes Cas tug harder at his balls. He tries clenching his thighs together, but Cas’s hands are unyielding. He’s screaming into the gag between sobs, drool dripping off his chin, tears from his nose, until finally, finally, the orgasm is forced out through is cock.
Cas keeps going, far beyond pleasure, until his dick has quit dripping come on the floor, until Dean’s hoarse, until he’s throwing his head from side to side desperate for it to stop, just please stop, stop, Daddy, no more, stop.
Dean sags onto the floor, landing awkwardly on his shoulder, the silicone cock slipping out of him. He’s limp, twitching helplessly from aftershocks, exhausted, whimpering behind the gag. He flinches as Cas pushes into him, his cock slick and hot as lava, fucking forcefully into Dean’s used hole, making him sob every time it hits his prostate and sends another wave of pressure through him. He’s caught here, used and abused. Fingers dig into his hips when Cas comes with a grunt, unloading inside him.
He’s left alone for a while after that, splayed over the floor, laying in his own mess and with come leaking out of him. More tears fall. Time seems inconsequential. Warm hands return and remove the duct taped cock, then the hand cuffs, and finally the gag, making him whimper from the loss. His jaw aches, but he’s empty and bereft without it. Something cool slips into his hole, and he groans in gratitude. Then, two thick fingers push past his lips and Dean suckles them gently.
“You with me?” Cas asks softly.
Dean manages to lift his head and Cas slides an arm beneath him, pulls him close. He can’t muster a reply beyond licking softly at the fingertips in his mouth.
“Okay,” Cas says. “We’ll stay here for a bit then.”
I tried, Darmys. Cas had other ideas.
“I want to lodge a complaint,” Dean says, shutting the engine off.
“I didn’t sign up for this.”
“I do not like it, and I will not like it.”
“Noted,” Cas repeats. “You done?”
Dean glares out the car window. He sighs. “Yeah.”
“Good, let’s go.”
Gyms are stupid. Yoga is stupid. Cas enforcing a workout routine on top of the rabbit food is stupid. He slams the car door far harder than necessary. Cas takes him into the changing room, where Dean nips into the bathroom to change because there’s a steel cage between his legs and he’d like to not show it to every Dick, Harry and … whatever hipster names kids have these days. Pulling his pants off, he pauses for a minute, staring at said cage. Because, uh, this isn’t the only thing he’s required to wear these days.
He texts Cas to check.
Of course it isn’t that easy. Grumpily, Dean pulls the tighter boxers up his legs, then his sweatpants. The cage stays on. So does the small plug up his ass. He clenches around it, but it’s entirely appropriate for long-term use, Dean and thus it stays a heavy weight that he can’t ignore. The slim neck and handle of the plug means it doesn’t chafe or stretch him, just sits there. All the time. Apparently, he’s to ask for permission to remove it before using the bathroom or when he gets to work. Working with it in hadn’t panned out, so now he’s pretending he needs the bathroom before clocking in every morning.
Downward dog is interesting with 5 ounces of steel in his ass.
He’s never, ever telling Sam about yoga.
The thing is, Cas is taking this own my ass-thing very seriously… and literally, Jesus. That means more rabbit food on Dean’s plate, enforced bedtimes, yoga, and talking. God, the talking. So much talking. Cas has been constantly picking his brain about what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. Dean’s knees are going to give up if he needs to spend more time in the corner “contemplating.”
Ugh. Stupid brain.
It keeps making him feel warm and fuzzy and happy.
What kind of bullshit is that?
Apparently, it’s the kind that gets him pressed to their front door before they even get inside, a hot line of Cas against him, giving him these slow, deep, drugging kisses and soft nibbles, until there’s no strength left in him. He sags against Cas’s shoulder for a moment, then lets himself be gently manhandled inside, lets himself get fed left-over roasted beetroots and organic goat cheese and herby pasta with chicken, because his kitchen now contains that kind of stuff.
He lets himself go.
Lets himself be loved.