Dean growls, tucking the blanket up against his ear.
“Mother fucking bird,” he mutters, trying again to press the blanket to his ear and block the sound.
“I’m gonna kill the son of a bitch!” Dean flings the blankets off himself stumbling out of bed and glancing at the clock on his nightstand.
“Oh it’s on now,” he marches out of his room thundering down his stairs and right through the kitchen to the back porch.
He catches sight of the bird from hell perched on his Adirondack chair by his fire pit. Feathers shine in the early morning light and it flaps its wings before letting out another loud crow.
Dean snatches up an old snow shovel sitting on the porch and runs, yelling out a war cry as he descends on his foe. His nemesis waits till Dean is right upon him before flying off with a squawk and a hurried flap of wings. He chases after the bird as it runs and darts away from every swing.
“Get the hell out of here, you menace!” he huffs and pants as the bird flys up over a stone wall and retreats toward his next-door neighbor's farm. Placing his hands on his knees he catches his breath and realizes he’s run out into the backyard in nothing but his boxer briefs. The chill of the morning air makes him shiver and scowl off toward the offending fowl before heading back inside.
This has become a far too frequent routine the past month. Ever since his new neighbor bought the old run-down property next to him and decided to play old McDonald he has been woken up by the demon bird every other morning. He hasn’t even met the man yet, likely since they have opposing schedules. Dean works at his bar most nights, meaning he frequently doesn’t come home till three AM. He’ll just be falling into a good solid sleep when the rooster will startle him awake.
He flops back down in his bed and struggles to fall back asleep, heart still pounding from his recent battle. He can’t keep doing this, it's fraying his nerves.
When Dean finally gets up a few hours later and dresses, he marches over to his neighbor's, and yeah he is gonna be that guy. After knocking on the old farmhouse door a few times with no answer he scribbles out a quick note and tucks it under the door.
Dear wannabe farmer,
Please keep your god damn cock in your own yard.
Your very tired neighbor
He smiles, hoping that he’s made himself clear and heads off to work.
“You have got to be kidding me.” Dean is really pissed now. He’d stayed late at the bar to clean up a mess in the bathroom, and had only just managed to fall asleep when the cursed bird wakes him up.
Bleary-eyed, he stumbles out of bed and thunders down the stairs completely oblivious to anything but getting that damn bird to shut up. He slips into his work boots before bursting out the back door, snatching up his shovel. The cool morning air prickles his skin as he blinks around for his feathered nemesis.
“You’ve yeed your last yaw!” he yells out across the yard, finally catching sight of the bird sitting atop his shed. “You feathered son of a bitch,” he adds, striding across the grass when he hears a shocked gasp. Turning in that direction, he sees a man standing by the stone wall, eyes wide and staring at him. A shock of dark brown hair and stubbled jaw tilt as blue eyes move over him.
He glances down and takes in with horror what he’s wearing, which is to say nothing but his boots, and a pair of cotton teal boyshort panties with lace-trimmed top. He feels the heat rise in his cheeks and clutches the shovel over himself for what little modesty it offers.
“Sorry to intrude,” the man says in a deep, rough voice, clearing his throat. Dean scowls at the man whose eyes keep darting over all his exposed skin. If he’s not mistaken there’s some serious interest in that look. Huh, gay farmer neighbor then. “If you don’t mind ceasing your attack, I’ll grab Romeo and be out of your hair.”
“Your goddamn bird has been waking me up every morning.” Dean pushes the shovel into the ground and squares his shoulders, cause fuck if he is gonna hide. He’s Dean fucking Winchester and sometimes he wears panties, and sometimes he is forced to chase after trespassing fowl in said underwear and that is nothing he is ashamed of. The morning wood pushing at his panties, however, does make him blush a little harder.
“Roosters are hard to contain, I am working on fixing the holes in the coop,” the man replies, hopping over the fence and managing to grab the bird in question with a quick jump. He hushes the bird, pressing it to his side and petting the top of its head.
“Just keep that menace out of my yard,” Dean wags a finger at the man.
The man smirks at him a moment. “I’ll do my best but it seems I’m not the only one who has trouble containing their cock.”
Why that little motherfucker . Dean realizes too late that he has absolutely no reply to that. The man smirks again and throws him a wink before hopping over the wall and heading back toward his farm. Dean stands flabbergasted another moment before turning on his heels and marching back into his house.
Dean is poised, ready for his finishing move. He leans back and flips the bottle in the air, twirls on his heel and catches it to raucous applause. He tosses in the mint with a twirl of his fingers and slides the drinks down the bar. Dean turns the volume up on Elton John’s Saturday Night , and shimmies to the music as he serves up a few beers. Renovating the old roadhouse and making it a gay bar has been the best idea he’s ever had. He found that the local LGBTQ community had been desperately needing a space and he is happy to oblige.
He loves his job, Rocky’s is flourishing and he knows he doesn’t need to tend the bar anymore but he likes doing it, likes being in the thick of things. Pam smiles and winks at him as she brings in another case of hard cider. That stuff practically flies off the shelves. He wiggles his eyebrows at her before twirling a glass in his hand and filling it with the Guinness stout for his friend Benny at the end of the bar.
Being at work is just what he needs to shake off this morning's embarrassment. He finds work is always a bit of an ego boost, he gets hit on more than a Boxer's punching bag. He’s always been a bit of a show-off, though he doesn’t take many people up on their offers. Very few can give Dean what he really needs and he simply isn’t willing to settle.
That's when he catches sight of him. His neighbor is weaving his way through the crowd. He’s wearing a pair of light wash jeans and a simple navy t-shirt. Dean’s pretty sure he’s never seen the guy in here before. Then he sees it. He thinks maybe it’s a trick of his eyes, that he’s seeing things. Surely that can’t be intentional. The man has a black handkerchief tucked halfway into his back left pocket of his jeans. Dean’s eyes zero in on the dark fabric laying across a very fine ass.
He’s fairly certain he knows what it means. Benny had given him the rundown one night back when he was new to the scene. Different colored handkerchiefs in different pockets were a way to let people know what you were into. He’s pretty sure it started somewhere on the west coast. He hasn’t seen much of that anymore though. He pulls up his phone and searches quickly 'cause he has to know if he’s remembering it correctly. Then he finds it, Heavy S/M Top . He’s a dom, Farmer Joe is a fucking dom, and a hardcore one at that.
Someone clears their throat and Dean looks up to see the man in question staring at him. A brow raised in question. “Whiskey, on the rocks.”
He gapes at the man in question, taking in the stubbled jaw and bright blue eyes. The fucker is grinning at him now, both brows raised. “I don’t like to repeat myself,” he says coolly and it shocks Dean out of his momentary paralysis.
“Uh yeah,” he mumbles, reaching behind him and stretching up to grab a whiskey glass. He grabs the tin cup and pours it over two large square ice cubes he makes for cocktails. He hands over the glass and shivers as the man’s fingers brush over his.
“Thank you, it’s been a long day,” the man sighs taking a sip of his drink.
“Yeah I know the feeling, even longer when you get woken up at the crack of dawn by your neighbor’s livestock.” He leans on his hands spread across the bar.
The guy has the good graces to look ashamed at least. “I apologize again for his waking you. I spent the morning trying to secure his enclosure. I only hope it holds this time.”
Dean nods, still feeling pissed off and embarrassed all at once. This hot as hell dom saw him in panties and a ratty pair of boots chasing down a rooster with a shovel. Figures the first attractive guy he meets who suits his taste and he makes an utter fool of himself. He excuses himself and moves toward the other end of the bar toward Benny. He feels the guy's eyes on him the whole way and he’s kinda glad he wore his almost too tight grey washed jeans.
“What’s up brother? You look…frazzled,” Benny hums in his Cajun drawl.
“Just that jerk at the end of the bar there—turns out he’s my neighbor with the fucking rooster,” Dean scowls, wiping up a wet spot on the counter and refilling the napkin holder.
“Oh really? That shouldn’t have you all wound up though. You thinking about more than one of his cocks?” Benny grins at him and Dean shoots him a death glare. His friend is utterly unimpressed. “I saw the guy's back pocket, he could be just your type.”
“Fuck, I know,” he groans, leaning his face into his hands. “Haven’t been able to find a dom I click with in what, two years? And here walks in the first fresh meat and he’s a jerk.”
He pouts, he knows its pouting but fuck it, he’s frustrated and horny, and been told he’s adorable when he pouts anyway.
“Stop it with that face. Go over there and play nice. Do you even know his name?”
“Yeah, it’s Old McDonald,” Dean huffs a laugh.
“Go on, don’t be a chicken,” Benny grins and takes Dean a second to get the joke and smack Benny upside the head while he laughs.
Grumbling, he goes about pouring a few more drinks before he returns to check on farmer boy. The man has finished half his drink and there is some blond twink chatting him up. Dean scowls, not that he cares, he’s not interested in the guy, the guy is a jerk who can’t contain his cock. Either one, apparently.
“So what do you say, handsome?” the twink stage whispers to the man, hand skimming over his broad shoulder.
Dean can’t help but smirk as the man gives a small conciliatory smile as he plucks the hand off of him. “Sorry, you are a very beautiful young man, but not tonight.”
It’s a pretty polite brush off but the kid frowns at him. “Come on, you didn’t wear this,” the kid tugs on the handkerchief, “without wanting to take someone home. Please, daddy?” the kid whines.
The man glances up at Dean then, their eyes meeting. Blue eyes stay locked on his, even though he’s talking to the kid. “Sorry, you’re just not my type.”
With a hiss, the twink twirls on his stool and marches off through the crowd. The man visibly relaxes and Dean grabs the tin cup whiskey to refill his glass. “Not your type, huh?”
The man glances up at him, blue eyes lighting over his face. “No, he wasn’t what I was looking for.”
Dean swallows hard, ignoring the obnoxious customer trying to flag him down. “But you're looking for someone? Kid’s right, you don’t wear something like that in my bar if you aren’t sending out a signal.”
The man smiles, taking a sip of his fresh drink and licking his lips. Dean can’t help but follow the movement, the guy is hotter than sin. “I am looking.” The man shrugs like it's no big thing. And fuck, is he going to drag it out of Dean?
“And what exactly are you looking for? I mean, if you want some help getting pointed in the right direction.” He shrugs, wondering what the hell is he even saying. Is he trying to get Farmer Joe laid?
He tips his head, and leans across the bar till he’s right up in Dean’s space. Dean feels the strong impulse to grab the man’s shirt and haul him over the bar right on top of himself. Where the hell did that come from? Control yourself, Winchester.
“Pretty sure I’m looking at what I want,” the man replies in a softer richer tone.
“Umm,” is all that comes out, feeling lost in the man’s gaze.
“But if you’re not interested,” the man shrugs, leaning back a bit and Dean sucks in a breath like he can finally get air in.
“I didn’t say that,” he snaps, he’s totally off his game, this guy has him all kinds of flustered. He needs to gain some control back here. Right, control, he can do this. “I’m not that easy though, farmer boy.”
The man smirks at him then with a twinkle of mischief in his eye, and Dean’s stomach does a little happy flip. “And what can I do to win you over then?”
Dean hesitates, thinks about the black handkerchief still dangling from his back pocket. He slowly licks his lips before leaning across the bar. “I’ll make you a deal if you’re game?”
“Alright, what do you propose?” the man matches him, leaning across the bar.
He looks to either side to make sure no one is listening in on them. Leaning in just a hair closer he whispers softly to him, “If you can keep your cock caged for a week, I’ll let you cage mine.”
There’s a small, satisfying gasp from the man and Dean holds his gaze, letting him see the sincerity and the trust he’s putting out there. It’s going out on a limb to engage in that kind of play with someone he hardly knows. He’s always had a knack for reading people, though, and his gut is telling him to get on his knees for this beautiful man.
“That is a reasonable challenge. I hope I can earn the honor.”
“Same here, uh…” he lets it linger realizing he doesn’t even know the man’s name.
“Castiel Novak,” he reaches out a hand to him.
He takes it, feeling the rough calluses against his skin and the firm grip of those elegant fingers. “Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you, neighbor.”
“Very nice indeed,” Castiel flashes a warm grin at him before releasing his hand. They make a quick swap of numbers and he notices Castiel tuck his handkerchief out of sight deep into his pocket. It gives him a warm, fluttering feeling in his chest. He watches as the man takes his leave, weaving back through the throngs of Saturday night bar goers. Dean thinks this will likely be one of the longest weeks can remember.
Dean wakes early every morning…to the sound of silence. He peeks out the window, listens hard but there is no sign of said demon bird all week. He feels the nerves building through the week, a constant fluttering in his chest as the end of the week with no signs of the rooster approaching. It’s going to be time to put up or shut up. Near the end of the week Castiel sends him a picture via text message showing what appears to be a brand new coup and the bird in question behind the chicken wire.
Saturday night comes and he can barely think through his shift. Pouring the wrong drinks and dropping two glasses, one of them shattering. He ends up sequestering himself to the back office till he finally decides to head home early. He texts Castiel and they agree to meet over at Castiel’s house after Dean is off his shift.
Dean hurries into the shower, scrubbing himself down as the nerves tremble through him. He leaves his hair ungelled and soft and gives himself a quick shave before tossing a wink in the mirror. He frets over what to wear, which is silly since he is likely going to be naked fairly quickly. He pulls on a pair of black lace boyshort panties, his favorite dark wash jeans and his old Zeppelin tee.
The moon is bright and he decides not to bother with a flashlight as he walks next door. The front porch lights are all lit up and the crickets are in full chorus as he climbs the steps. He takes a deep steadying breath before knocking on the door. He hears the thump of footsteps approaching and the squeak of old farmhouse floorboards.
The door swings open and he stares wide-eyed at the man before him. Just as rugged and handsome as he remembers. Soft denim hangs off his hips, and he’s wearing a white tee shirt with a simple red plaid shirt. He looks like a brawny paper towel commercial. “Hello, Dean.”
“Hey Cas.” He licks his lips, eyes unable to pick one thing to focus on.
“Come on in.” Cas steps back, gesturing toward the house and Dean steps inside the warm and inviting space. The house is cozy and has more books in it than the local library. He looks around at the soft lighting and nearly jumps as he feels a heavy hand land on his shoulder. Dark blue eyes meet his own and he thinks he might melt under the stare. This guy exudes confidence, something Dean normally has in spades, and yet it seems to be draining out of him.
“Come, let me fix you a drink and we can…chat.” He smiles warmly at Dean, maybe sensing his nerves and walks him toward the kitchen. His hand stays on Dean’s shoulder, guiding him, and it’s a comforting touch.
“Nice place, you really fixed it up,” he says just to fill the quiet in the room as Castiel reaches up to pull two glasses from the cabinet. Dean already feels the loss of his hand on him.
“Thank you, it was always a dream of mine to have a farm. Finally gave up the big city life when I saw this place come up for sale.” His deep voice takes on a fond tone as he grabs ice cubes and pulls down a Mad River whiskey off the top of the fridge. Dean nods his approval as the man pours two glasses and hands him one. “I’m glad you came over tonight,” his voice drops as he looks at Dean, eyes flicking down lips to his eyes.
“Yeah, me too. Wasn’t sure you were gonna earn it,” he teases, getting a mischievous grin in return.
“I had very, very good motivation.” The man winks, pointing at Dean’s note stuck to the front of the fridge. He huffs a laugh.
“Yeah well, I had to make sure you got the message,” he cocks his brow and takes a long sip from his whiskey.
“Oh I got the message, and glad I did.” Cas moves toward his counter and leans back against it, legs crossed and arms propped up. “Before things go any further, I think we should clarify a few things.”
“Lay it on me, McDonald,” Dean grins.
“It's Novak,” Castiel corrects with a confused furrow to his brow. Dean can’t contain the laugh that bubbles up out of his chest and only grows as Castiel’s brow sinks lower still.
“Oh gosh, stop, you’re killing me,” Dean wipes a tear from his eye, looking up at Cas who is seemingly studying him now.
“I don’t understand what’s so comical about my last name, but if it makes you laugh like that looking so happy, I’d say it again,” Castiel offers.
Dean composes himself and feels a bit flushed from the comment. “It’s fine. Sorry, you wanted to clarify some things?”
“Yes I did. First, and most importantly, Dean, just because I won our little bet doesn’t mean you have to be here, you’re under no real obligation to me. I only want you here if you want to be here.”
Dean smiles, walking closer to the man and resting his palms on his broad chest, feeling the rise and fall of his slow breath. “I understand, I want to be here.” That earns him a wide smile that lights up the man's face.
“Alright then, and are you going to be a good boy for me tonight? Going to tell me what you like?” he whispers, leaning in a little.
Dean hums happily at the good boy, always one of his favorite names, and he has a bit of a praise kink. “I like when you call me that, good boy, that is.” The man nods and nuzzles in by his throat, breathing him in. Dean’s cock twitches in his jeans. “I uh, also like a little pain, like things a little rough but uh, no blood. Just intense, you know?” He gets a soft noise of approval and swallows hard, trying to steady his heartbeat as he feels breath across his collarbone. “And uh, I like a lot of touch, I don’t like feeling alone, I need to know you’re there.”
“I can do that for you, handsome. May I touch you now?” he asks and Dean nods excitedly. Lips brush against his skin and he arches into the touch. “Safe words?”
“Red, yellow, green, work for you?” he asks on a little gasp as the man’s stubble tickles his neck.
“Yes, that works perfectly.” He kisses and sucks against Dean's skin, making him whimper and rock his erection against the man’s thigh, getting a chuckle. “One more question then.”
“O-okay,” he squirms as the man’s hands grip his hips holding him still. He’s desperate for more contact, but he's enjoying the firm hold he has on him, rocking a little to test it.
“Are you wearing pretty panties for me?”
“Ungh,” Dean groans as he feels fingers dance along the top of his jeans, tugging at his belt loops. “You’ll have to find out for yourself, sir.”
“Follow me,” he growls. Pushing off the counter and grasping Dean’s hand in his own, he leads them out of the kitchen and down a back hallway to what appears to be the master bedroom. Dean grips the man’s hand a bit harder than he should but he doesn’t say anything or call him on being clingy. The closer he gets to a subspace the needier he gets.
“Alright, my good boy, I want you to strip for me, let me see what I won, hmm?” Castiel turns to him finally letting his hand go so he can begin taking off his clothes.
Dean pulls off his shirts and places them on a chair tucked in the corner behind him. He has Castiel’s full attention as he unbuttons his jeans, and he draws it out a little as he slowly drags down the zipper, revealing just a hint of the black lace panties he’d picked out. Sticking his thumbs in his jeans, he shoves them down his legs, stepping out of them and turning to look up at the man.
He knows Castiel has seen him in panties before, and he was obviously interested but still he feels a twinge of self-consciousness. That is, until Castiel hums approval deep in his throat, walking right up to him.
“So beautiful,” Castiel purrs, running his hands along his hips again feeling the lace under his calloused fingers. “You have been a little naughty, haven’t you sweet boy?”
Dean suppresses a shiver, “N-naughty?”
“Yes, chasing after the wrong cock, weren’t you?” He chuckles, pressing his denim-clad erection against Dean's lace-covered one.
“Fuck, yes sir,” he whimpers.
“Only one cock you need to worry about right now. Come.” He draws Dean toward the bed like a moth to a flame. The man sits down on the bed and with a firm tug Dean stumbles forward, falling over the man’s lap. He gasps a little as the man adjusts him so his cock slots between his thighs, legs stretched out behind him. His hands grip the soft quilt as he presses his forehead to his knuckles. A forearm presses against his back, holding him tucked close against the man. His breathing is labored and they haven’t even started yet.
“Now be a good boy and repeat after me.” Castiel rubs a hand over his ass cheeks, giving them a hard squeeze that makes Dean whimper. “I will not chase after a cock in my pretty panties.”
Dean feels the blush creeping into his cheeks. A hard smack lands on his right cheek, causing him to arch and squeak but Castiel’s hand holds him still. “I-I will not chase after a cock in my pretty panties,” he whispers out. Two more hard smacks sting against his ass, lighting up a fire on his skin.
“Good boy, now again, I will not chase after a cock in my pretty panties.” Dean blushes but he repeats the line again as Castiel’s hand rains down more hard slaps to his ass. He whimpers at the burn, his cock swelling and pushing against the lace. “Again,” Cas commands.
“I will n-n-not chase after cock in my pretty panties,” he gasps the words out as the smacks burn lower now across his thighs and back up his sensitive seat bones.
Smack! “I will—” Smack! “Not chase after cock—” Smack! “In my pretty—” Smack! “Panties!” he cries out the last one as a well placed hit rocks him forward. He squirms and desperately wants to rut against the man, cock aching and needy for more. “Please, please, please,” he whines, wiggling and earning himself another smack.
“Easy now, keep being my good boy, and that means knowing how to wait,” Castiel coos at him, rubbing his calloused fingers gently over his burning skin. His nerve endings feel raw and tingling. He takes a few calming breaths to try and still himself. Be good, be good, be good, he chants in his head.
He feels so exposed like this, it’s humiliating to be a grown ass man in panties being bent over someone’s knee and yet it’s the most turned on he felt in years.
“Most gorgeous ass I ever saw, like seeing a fantasy come to life watching you charge across that lawn, in those delicate teal panties. Most manly, beautiful thing I ever saw.” Castiel muses as his fingers tease under the hem of Dean’s panties. “Kneel in the middle of the bed for me.” Dean feels a hard smack to his ass and jolts as he moves quickly to obey. Heart hammering in his chest he kneels dead center, knees spread and hands on his thighs. He winces a little when his sore ass makes contact with his heels but holds the position.
Castiel moves to a drawer in his side table and comes back with a soft velvet pair of black cuffs with nylon rope. “Give me your hands, handsome.” Castiel moves to kneel in front of him and Dean notices he is still fully clothed. As much as he’s dying to see more of this guy’s hard body, something about being so exposed while Cas is so covered makes his cock twitch.
He offers up his hands and can’t help but bat his lashes a little at the man. Castiel chuckles, not buying his coy look, apparently. “Cock tease,” the man mutters as he buckles on each cuff. Dean enjoys the soft padded cuff, thinking he can really hang off them without hurting himself.
Cas tugs on both nylon ropes then stands up, pulling them above Dean's head. It's then Dean notices the bars that run across the top of the four-poster bed. It’s ingenious, looking like its meant to hold a canopy. Castiel ties each rope firmly, making Dean need to kneel up. He sees the two tail ends of the rope hanging down and the knot Cas did is strong enough to hold him easily, but he can also undo it himself with a tug on one of the tail ends. He appreciates the safety precaution, Cas is no amateur.
“There we go,” Castiel sounds proud as he sits back, eyes looking over every inch of him. “Turn around my good boy.” He twists where he’s kneeling, putting his back to the man.
“Like this, sir?” he asks, sticking out his ass a little.
“Yes just like that, knees a little wider, there we go,” Castiel’s voice is warm and thick with praise and Dean feels it settle in his chest.
Fingers slide his panties down to rest just below his ass cheeks keeping his hard and bobbing cock still trapped. Hands massage his cheeks and he whines at the burn of his skin. He can’t contain the yelp when a tongue licks right over his twitching hole. Rough stubble tickles against his skin as a tongue teases and licks around his rim. Teeth graze over his cheeks in between soft, wet licks.
He’s a whimpering, whining mess by the time that tongue spears into him. His body lights up as he rocks and whimpers, pulling on his ropes wanting more, no, needing more. He hasn’t been fucked in far too long and his hole is desperate to be filled. “Please,” he whines.
“What is it, my pretty boy?”
“Please, I need,” he whimpers as that talented mouth dives back in. “Fuck, fuck, fuck me please,” he begs, body trembling.
“You do beg so pretty, but have you earned my cock?” Castiel laughs again before burying his face in his ass, pressing in a finger alongside his tongue this time. Dean chokes out any reply, mind wiped blank by the burning tease. The finger presses in further, curled and searching, and then a spark of fireworks crackle through him as Cas presses down, rubbing over that bundle of nerves.
“Fuuuuuck!” he howls out, the bed creaking as he rocks back against the man's face.
Cas pulls back and he hears the deep intake of breath, finger still rubbing over that spot in and out. “I want you to come for me, boy, I want you to soak that pretty lace, if you do that for me I’ll give you my cock.”
Dean moans, rocking back onto the finger as Castiel’s other hand moves around him until it grips his leaking cock, finger swirling over the head. He’s lost to it, thrusting forward and backward into both hands, practically swinging like a pendulum on the ropes, his thighs shaking and back muscles straining to hold him up. Pleasure courses through him as a second finger works its way inside him and the hand on his cock strokes and paws at him through the lace.
He’s at the tipping point, eyes rolled up in his head and mouth hanging open but it’s not until he feels the teeth biting down on his shoulder and that sharp pinch of pain that he finally comes, his body shuddering through his orgasm, jerking and crying out and he isn’t even sure he’s making coherent sense, just making noises.
“Good boy, so good, so perfect,” Castiel praises him as he pants, leaning into his restraints.
“Do I- do I—” he struggles to get the words out, “do I get your cock now?”
Soft kisses are pressed over his spine and he whimpers as the two fingers retreat but are quickly replaced and slick with lube. “Yes, sweet boy, you earned you my cock.” He licks and kisses Dean’s skin, nipping and biting at him as the two fingers slick him up.
Dean uses all his remaining strength to arch his back, even with his orgasm making his mind fuzzy. Every touch on his skin is overwhelming and yet so very good. The fingers pull out and he hears a foil packet tearing before a blunt, thick pressure against his hole. He realizes then he hasn’t even seen the man’s cock. Well, not the one in his pants anyway. He could tell it was decent sized from the way it pushed at his jeans earlier, but a thrill runs through him since he doesn’t know just how big it might be.
Castiel rocks in and out, pushing a little further each time as Dean’s body opens more and more, stretching around his wide girth and filling him up. It just keeps coming and right when Dean isn’t sure he can take any more he feels hips bump against his sore ass and balls flop against his own.
“Holy fuck,” he groans. His own spent cock twitches in his soaked panties at the sensation. Then he’s moving. Castiel wastes no time, pounding into him with hard, brutal thrusts as hands dig into his hips. It’s practically animalistic and so amazingly hot and he wishes he hadn’t just come because he’s sure he could have come on Castiel’s cock alone.
“Fuck, you're so tight, so hot and so tight, that’s it baby,” Cas growls as he pulls Dean back on his cock, grinding up against his prostate and muttering his own string of praises. “Fucking gorgeous, can’t believe how good you feel, oh god!” The thrusts get faster and erratic and Dean slams his body back to meet him, crashing together until he hears Castiel cry out, his forehead pressed to his back as his hips still and Dean feels a warmth deep inside him as Castiel pumps the condom full.
He whimpers, cock twitching as Castiel pulls out of him, and reaches up to undo the ropes from the canopy. Dean nearly collapses onto the bed with an "omf" sound. He feels hands urging him to roll over and fingers tugging his panties down and off his legs. He expects Cas to come up and lie next to him which is why he gasps in surprise when a wet mouth licks at his semi-hard cock.
“What the…?” he says, looking down his stomach to see Castiel kneeling between his splayed out legs licking and sucking and cleaning him up. Dean moans at the sensation. “You're gonna be the death of me,” he sighs, enjoying the warm wet mouth working over him.
“Think you can come one more time for me, good boy?” Castiel asks, lifting his face. “I want to be sure you’re good and sated before I cage this pretty cock of yours.”
Dean looks then at Castiel’s hand where he holds up a shiny metal cock cage. Holy hell… He knew what he had said to Cas, knew he had promised he could cage his cock if he caged his own but he hadn’t really thought he’d go through with it. That was a bit more of a commitment than he figured the guy wanted. That was Cas owning his cock.
“Color, Dean?” Castiel asks, bringing him back to attention.
“Green, sir,” he replies softly, allowing himself to relax back and truly let Cas take the reins.
Castiel sucks him down and brings him back to full hardness. For a dom he’s amazing at sucking cock and Dean melts into the soft quilt. Its an embarrassingly short time before he’s coming for the second time right down Castiel’s throat. He leans up to watch as his dom swallows every last drop he has to give and he’s pretty sure every last coherent thought he ever had has been drained out him now. He closes his eyes and sighs at the soft wiping of a warm cloth over him.
He shivers as the cool metal slides over his soft cock, gently locking in behind his balls and it’s a perfect fit. He looks down at it and runs his fingers over the metal loops with a goofy smile. “I promise I’ll take very good care of this,” Castiel promises, pressing a kiss to the metal before crawling up the bed and pulling Dean into his arms.
“Cock caging extraordinaire,” Dean chuckles as he nuzzles in against the man, breathing in his woodsy scent. Castiel laughs with him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“Stay the night?”
“Hmmm, you’d have to kick me out—this bed is nice.” He wiggles in, pressing them even closer together.
“Good, maybe you’ll even let me take you out on a date tomorrow night?”
Dean lifts his head, blinking up at the man. “You mean that? You really wanna go like on a regular date?”
“Well yes, if you want to that is,” Castiel’s voice is softer now.
“I’d love that, as long as I can still earn my way out of this cage eventually,” he laughs.
“When you do I will make it worth your while.” Castiel cups his chin and pulls him into a soft, warm kiss. He sighs into the gentle kiss, so soft and chaste after such a hard fucking.
“Then you have a deal,” Dean replies once their lips part. He thinks this could be the beginning of something really good and he’s never been so happy for a damn rooster in his whole life. Thank fuck for wandering fowl.