Chapter Text
Dean and Cas were sitting at the rickety table in the motel kitchenette. Dean was shirtless, clad only in worn jeans undone at the waist, and Cas was eating a sandwich and reading, occasionally feeding Dean a bite.
It would have been a tender scene, Dean thought with a snort, if his hands weren’t bound to the chair behind his back and his ankles tied tight to the legs, and his cock rock-hard in his jeans.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," Cas called without looking up, and Dean twitched, glaring daggers at him.
"Hey," Sam said, poking his head into the room. "So get this. So there's…"
He trailed off, glancing between Dean and Cas in confusion. Dean's jaw was clenched and he was staring at the floor, while Cas looked up at Sam innocently with a smirk playing at his lips. They were both clearly paying him no heed.
Sam's eyes strayed from the blush on Dean's face -- studiously not looking at him -- to the awkward positioning of his arms, and finally to his legs.
"Oh my God," he said, stumbling back. "Cas! I thought we were trying not to scar each other! Am I the only sane one in this fucking place? And that's fucking saying something." He spun away and slammed the door. Cas just stared after him absently.
"You get off on that, don't you," Dean growled. "When Sammy and Gabe see me under your control."
"Yes," Cas said simply, turning a page of his book. "I do."
"Figures. Kinky fucking angel," he snarled.
Cas sighed. He marked his page and closed the book, the picture of nonchalance, and crossed to the bed to pick up another tie, then leaned down and kissed Dean, soft and sweet.
"You can't just let go, can you, Dean?" he whispered. He wrapped the tie around his mouth and knotted it behind his head, then sat back down to finish his sandwich, while Dean glowered.
Dean had experienced many things in his thirty-odd years, but he had never expected to be dealing with an angel of the fucking Lord exploring his sexuality. Let alone going along for the ride.
He had yet to figure out any way to anticipate Cas' moods on a given day: whether he'd find himself flat on his back while the angel worshipped his body with his mouth, or thrown up against the wall getting fucked into oblivion, or --
Or tied half-naked to a kitchen chair while the smug fucker sat across the table, calmly finishing his lunch.
It was, Dean thought, biting back a whine, almost as disconcerting as it was really goddamn hot.
Finally Cas got up, cleaned the crumbs off the table and straddled Dean's legs, settling on his thighs. He didn't speak, only traced a thumb over Dean's lip, smoothing a hand down his stomach, twisting fingers hard in his hair. He watched as the expressions flickered across his features: frustration into lust, pleasure into aggravation.
"You know you do the same to me," he said, kissing his jaw. "You've had me under your control as well. I don't understand why it bothers you."
Dean made a high, incoherent noise behind the silk in his mouth, and Cas smiled. He bent over, lips slipping down his throat and his chest, then sliding off until he was kneeling on the floor between his legs, looking up. He rested his cheek on Dean's knee.
"Don't you like this?" he continued. "I like this. You're the one restrained, but I'm on my knees, and I'm going to suck your cock." He paused. "It's like what we've done before, isn't it? Juxtaposition, contrast?"
Dean whined, and Cas pressed his mouth into his crotch before pulling back. He yanked the jeans down, then the boxers, until they were pooled at Dean's feet, then sat back on his heels, staring up.
"I love to take you apart," he said, tracing his fingers up Dean's calves. "I love it when you take me apart." He bit down hard on the inside of a thigh, making Dean yelp.
He reached up and twisted a finger into the makeshift gag, and Dean's breathing hitched.
"You're so fascinating, Dean," he murmured. "You're so strong, yet so malleable." He bent down, dragging his tongue along Dean's cock. "You love it when I do this to you, don't you?"
He sat back slightly, waiting. Dean hissed, flushing. Even if the state of his hard and dripping cock wasn't confirmation enough, he had stopped trying to deny to himself how much he loved the angel taking control. Admittedly, his favorite mood of Castiel's tended to change in accordance with whatever he happened to be doing to Dean at any particular moment, but nothing, Dean had discovered, pushed his buttons quite so hard as when Cas' eyes went feral and dangerous and his voice dropped even lower into dark and filthy tones.
He nodded reluctantly.
Cas smiled. "Good," he said, and swallowed him down.
Dean jerked, trying to thrust into Cas' throat, but his binds kept him still.
"Do you want me to untie you?" Cas asked. "I will. But I don't want to."
Dean stared down at him, spit leaking down his chin, and Cas reached up to swipe it away. Finally he shook his head.
"You're sure?" Cas said, leaning up to kiss Dean over the silk, and Dean moaned.
"Good boy," Cas whispered, and dropped back down to mouth at Dean's cock. "I wish," he said, increasing his pace. "I wish you could give yourself up to me. Not that I mind breaking you down," he added, letting his voice vibrate. "God, I'd have you like this every day. But I want to see what you look like when you finally stop fighting."
He stood up and stripped off his clothes, then sat back on Dean's lap.
"I could do anything to you," he said, conversationally. He slipped his hand between Dean's legs, stroking him gently. "You know that, don't you? I don't even need these," he continued, tugging at the bonds and leaning down to suck on a nipple. "But you know I love seeing you in silk."
He reached down and untied Dean's left wrist, brought it up and sucked on his finger, then pressed it between his own legs, and Dean let out a whimper.
"You don't have to be in control," he whispered, breath stuttering as he pushed Dean's fingers inside himself. He yanked at the knot gagging Dean's mouth and ground down at the same time, leaning in for a wet, filthy kiss.
"I want to hear you," he growled, pulling the tie down to his neck. "I want to feel you inside me."
He kissed Dean again, long and hard, stretching himself on his hand.
"Cas, fuck," Dean groaned, tugging against his remaining binds. "Wanna touch you, wanna feel you."
"No," Cas said, raggedly. He pulled Dean's fingers out, twisting his wrist, and grabbed his cock with his other hand, aligning it with his hole. Dean tried to thrust up and Cas smacked him on the hip.
He sank down slightly and paused, muscles working in his sleek thighs.
"Fuck's sake, Dean," he growled, and Dean wondered distantly when he had developed a kink for angelic profanity.
"Cas," he begged, flexing his wrists. "Cas, please --"
"No, Dean," Cas said again, pinning his hand to the wall. "Don't beg unless you mean it. You don't want me to let you up."
Dean let out a weak sob, tilting his head back, and Cas took the opportunity to suck at his throat, then pressed down further, taking him deeper
"You love it when I curse, don't you?" Cas said, conversationally, and Dean flushed harder.
"Y'know, most people's boyfriends can't read their fucking minds," he mumbled.
"I'm not reading your mind, Dean," Cas said. He bit his lip as he finally sank down all the way, self-control crumbling at the edges. "I've broken you apart and I've pieced you back together. I don't need to read your mind."
"Cas," Dean groaned, straining instinctively.
"Don't fight." He tugged at Dean's hair and locked his ankles around his legs until he stilled. "Good boy," he whispered.
Finally Cas began to move, thighs flexing. He kept one hand in Dean's hair and the other still shoving Dean's free wrist to the wall, gripping it for leverage hard enough to bruise. Dean twisted his hands, but he fought down the urge to struggle.
"Fuck, just like this, Dean," he murmured brokenly, grinding up and down. "Let me have you."
"Yours, I'm yours," Dean hissed. He arched his back, trying to move with the rhythm Cas set, and Cas cried out.
"God, you're so good for me when you let go," he said, and kissed Dean hard and dirty. "You feel so fucking good."
"Cas," Dean moaned, sounding drugged. "Cas, please…"
Cas twisted his hand in Dean's hair once, hard, then brought his hand down to stroke his own cock.
"Fuck, Dean," he growled into his ear, biting at the shell. "Fuck, you're so -- Jesus, Dean -- Jesus fucking Christ --"
He picked up the pace, ignoring the burning in his thigh muscles, no longer preventing Dean from thrusting up to meet him.
"Cas," Dean cried. "Cas, please, I can't -- love you, fuck -- so much -- please, please, let me, please --"
Cas interrupted his litany of pleas and praise with a hand over his mouth.
"Yes, Dean," he whispered brokenly. "Let go."
He shoved himself down as hard as he could and Dean threw back his head, mouth open, his entire body jerking with his orgasm. Cas reached out blindly to cushion Dean's head against the wall, but at the sound of Dean's orgasm he was coming so hard he barely registered his skull pressing into his palm.
Cas sank back down, muscles relaxing, and released Dean's wrist from the wall. Dean tilted his forehead against his shoulder, and brought his hand up behind the angel's neck.
"God," he said, not bothering to struggle with his other hand. "Think you've ruined me."
Cas smiled. "Not God," he whispered, kissing Dean's head. "Not anymore."