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The sun was high and merciless, casting sharp shadows across the manicured polo field. Cas gripped the reins with one hand and his mallet with the other, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The horse beneath him shifted, sensing his tension, but Cas barely noticed. He was too busy trying not to think about the engagement, about Daphne, about the life being carved out for him like marble under someone else’s chisel.
He leaned forward and swung hard. The ball shot across the field like a bullet, skimming the grass, ricocheting off the boundary post with a hollow crack . The sound echoed louder than it should have.
Cas didn’t chase it. He just sat there, breathing hard, the mallet dangling from his gloved hand. His tailored riding jacket clung to his back with sweat. He looked every inch the heir his parents had raised: sharp-featured, clean-cut, and composed. But inside, he was a mess of frayed nerves and quiet rebellion.
He had just finished law school, top of his class, of course. Not because he loved studying law, but because it had been chosen for him. Like everything else. His father had said, “A lawyer commands respect. A lawyer understands power.” His mother had nodded, already planning the announcement party.
And now, Daphne.
She was fine. Sweet, even. He’d spoken to her twice, once at a charity gala, once at a family brunch. She’d smiled politely, asked about his studies. There was nothing wrong with her. But that was the problem. She was just another checkbox. Another step in the blueprint of a life he hadn’t designed.
He didn’t want to get married. Not like this. Not to her.
Cas turned his head sharply, drawn by a flicker of movement at the edge of the field. Under the shade of a sprawling oak, someone was lounging against the trunk, legs stretched out, arms folded in his chest.
Dean.
Cas’s breath caught, just for a second.
Dean raised a hand lazily in greeting, not really smiling. Cas looked away quickly, heart thudding in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the game.
Every time he imagined that future, Daphne, the house, the parties, the polite smiles, he couldn’t see himself in it. Not really. But when he looked at Dean, something shifted. Something real.
Dean was the stable hand. His job was to take care of the family’s horses; feeding them, grooming them, mucking out stalls, checking for injuries, and making sure the tack was clean and in good condition. He handled deliveries, kept track of feed schedules, and managed the day-to-day upkeep of the stables. He also exercised the horses regularly, especially the ones used for polo, and was usually the one to saddle them up when the family had guests.
He’d been working there for a few years now, and it showed. He knew the horses better than anyone; how to calm them when they were spooked, which ones liked to be scratched behind the ears, which ones had bad tempers. He didn’t talk much, but he was good at what he did. Confident in a way that didn’t feel showy.
Cas had been twenty when Dean first arrived. He remembered the day vividly, how he’d looked out his bedroom window and seen him for the first time, shirt damp with sweat, muscles flexing as he led a restless mare into the paddock.
There was something hypnotic about the way Dean moved. Cas noticed that right away. Dean was older, maybe five or six years, and carried himself like someone who didn’t need anyone’s approval. He didn’t try to impress the family or suck up to the guests. He just did his job, kept to himself, and rode like he’d been doing it his whole life.
That day, Cas had stared so long he nearly missed his final exam. He’d rushed out the door with his notes half-studied, heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with jurisprudence.
He was deep in the closet then. He still is, to be completely fair, but it was worse back then. No one knew. Not his friends, not his family, not even himself, really. Not until Dean. And Dean hadn’t seemed to notice him at first. Or maybe he had and just didn’t care. That was worse. Cas had spent weeks creating excuses to be near the stables, pretending to take an interest in the horses again. He’d begged his father to let him resume polo lessons, claiming he wanted to reconnect with tradition. His father had been thrilled. Cas had been desperate.
He wasn’t out of practice. He remembered perfectly how to ride. But he’d lied, said he needed to relearn the basics. And who better to teach him than Dean?
That was how it started. Awkward lessons that turned into lingering touches. Flirting that turned into something heavier, hotter. They’d kissed in the tack room, fucked in the hayloft, stolen moments in the early morning when the estate was still asleep. Cas had never felt anything like it. Dean was experienced, unhurried, and utterly unbothered by the rules Cas lived under. He made Cas feel like a person, not a product.
And now, with marriage looming, Cas felt like he was being asked to erase all of it. To pretend Dean had never happened. That he hadn’t spent the last few years building something secret and sacred in the quiet corners of the estate.
He looked back toward the tree. Dean was still there, watching him with that unreadable expression. Cas’s chest tightened.
He didn’t want Daphne. He didn’t want the townhouse or the legacy or the polite smiles.
He wanted Dean.
The only person who knew about them was Gabriel, Cas’s older brother. He’d stumbled on them once, deep in the woods behind the estate, where Cas had thought they were safe, hidden by trees and silence and the thrill of secrecy. Gabriel had been out looking for his lost drone, of all things, and instead found his little brother with his pants around his ankles, pressed up against a tree with Dean on top of him.
He hadn’t told anyone.
Gabriel was a prankster, sure; always teasing, always pushing boundaries, but he had lines he didn’t cross. And outing his brother was one of them. He’d just raised an eyebrow, made a crude joke that Cas didn’t quite get as he was dying of embarrassment trying to pull his pants back on, and walked away. Cas had been mortified. Dean had laughed.
But things had changed since the engagement was announced.
Dean had started pulling away. He didn’t come to their usual spots anymore, the hayloft, the old tack shed, the quiet grove behind the stables where they used to lie in the grass and talk until the sun came up. He didn’t answer when Cas tried to joke with him, didn’t meet his eyes when they passed in the courtyard. It was like he’d vanished without leaving.
And now, here he was. Watching.
Cas straightened his back instinctively, heart thudding. He reached up and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, letting the collar gape just slightly. It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. But he also knew Dean liked him like that; rumpled, flushed, hair messy from the wind. Not polished. Not perfect. Not the version of him his parents paraded around.
He hated the polo helmet. It was ugly and stiff and made his head itch. And it covered his hair, the one thing Dean always reached for first, fingers threading through it like he was trying to memorize the shape of him.
Cas gritted his teeth and swung at the ball again, harder than necessary. It skidded across the field, and he didn’t chase it. He just glanced sideways, hoping Dean would look away.
But he didn’t.
Dean just kept staring.
Cas kept playing, pushing himself harder than usual. His horse responded to every cue, but his mind was half on the game, half on the figure leaning against the tree. Gabriel cracked jokes between plays, Anna, his sister, rode with her usual elegance, and their trainer barked instructions like they were preparing for a championship. Cas barely registered any of it.
Eventually, the practice wound down. The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the field. Cas dismounted, boots hitting the ground with a thud. He yanked off his helmet and immediately ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it until it looked deliberately undone. He didn’t care if it was obvious. Dean liked him like this.
They exchanged quick congratulations, Gabriel clapped him on the back, Anna gave him a nod, the trainer muttered something about his swing improving. Cas smiled, barely.
Dean had moved. He was no longer under the tree. Now he stood at the stable entrance, arms crossed, waiting. His expression was unreadable, but Cas felt the weight of it like a stone in his chest.
They led the horses over, reins in hand. One by one, they passed them off to Dean, who took each animal with practiced ease, guiding them toward their stalls. Cas lingered behind, watching the way Dean moved, efficient, quiet, focused. He knew every stall by heart, every horse’s quirks. Dean knew everything about this place.
Gabriel and Anna didn’t stick around. The trainer left too, already on his phone. Cas stayed. He stepped closer, brushing dust from his gloves, trying to look casual.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Dean didn’t look at him. Just grunted, low and noncommittal, as he unbuckled a saddle and slung it over the rack.
Still grumpy.
Cas leaned against the stable wall, watching him work.
“I can help,” he offered, even though Dean didn’t need it.
Dean didn’t answer. Just kept moving, guiding the horse into its stall, checking the water bucket, brushing down its flank with steady strokes.
Cas didn’t leave. He waited. He lingered by the stall, watching Dean move with that same quiet efficiency that used to drive him crazy in the best way. He leaned a little closer, voice low and teasing.
“You’re really not gonna talk to me?” he said, brushing his fingers along the edge of the saddle rack. “I thought we were past the silent treatment phase.”
Dean didn’t look up. Just kept brushing down the horse, his jaw tight.
“I’m working,” he muttered.
“You used to like when I distracted you.” Cas tilted his head, letting a slow smile creep across his face.
Dean paused for half a second, then kept brushing. No reaction. Or maybe just enough of one to make Cas push further.
He sighed dramatically and stepped back, pretending to give up. As he turned, his eyes landed on something hanging from a hook near the room door; a worn, sun-faded cowboy hat. Dean’s favorite. The one he always wore when riding out alone. The one Cas had stolen once, just to see his reaction. The one Dean had growled at him to keep on while they fucked in the hayloft, breath hot against his neck, fingers digging into his hips.
Cas grinned.
He walked over slowly, deliberately, and took the hat off the hook. He turned it in his hands, then placed it on his head with a practiced tilt, letting it shadow his eyes just enough to look dangerous.
Then he walked back toward Dean, hips loose, smile lazy and wicked.
“You know,” he said, voice low and honey-smooth, “I was thinking about that time in the loft. You remember? You said I looked good in this.”
Dean didn’t respond, but his hand stilled on the horse’s flank. Cas stepped closer, just enough to invade his space.
“You said I looked like trouble.”
Dean’s jaw flexed. He didn’t look at him, but Cas could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his grip tightened on the brush. Cas leaned in, close enough to smell the sweat and leather and hay.
“You like trouble, don’t you?”
Dean finally looked at him. Just a glance. But it was sharp, hot, and full of something Cas hadn’t seen in days.
Then he turned away again, brushing the horse with renewed focus. Castiel rolled his eyes but didn’t step away. Instead, he placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, letting it drift slowly down the length of his arm. His fingers traced the curve of muscle with deliberate ease, and he smiled, he’d always loved how solid Dean felt beneath his touch.
“Did you like watching me play, big guy?” he murmured, voice low and teasing. His hand kept moving, slow and intentional. “What was your favorite part, hm? The goal I scored… or me bouncing on the horse?”
That did it.
In a flash, Dean grabbed him and shoved him back against the stable wall. It wasn’t gentle. Cas grunted at the impact, breath catching in his throat. Dean pressed their bodies together, full contact, heat and tension crackling between them. Cas let out a soft moan at the sensation, hips instinctively shifting closer.
But just as Dean leaned in, mouth hovering near his, Cas brought his hands up and gently covered Dean’s lips. He seemed confused by that, but Cas just smiled.
“Oh, now you want to kiss me, huh?” He said, teasing. “Well, you’ll have to wait. Take this as a punishment for ignoring me the whole week.”
“Cas, you know that-”
“No talking either, Dean. I’m still mad at you.”
Dean looked like he wanted to argue, jaw twitching with the effort to hold back. But before he could speak, Castiel reached for his belt, fingers curling around the leather and tugging him closer. His touch was slow, deliberate, playing with the hem of Dean’s pants, slipping his index finger just beneath the waistband to graze warm skin.
Dean inhaled sharply.
Cas withdrew his finger, then brought both hands to the buckle, unfastening it with unhurried precision. His eyes never left Dean’s, even when he glanced down to watch. Cas smiled at that and lowered his face until their gazes locked again.
Dean looked up, and Cas smirked.
“It’s sad, really,” Cas murmured, continuing to work the belt loose, letting the metal catch and slide with quiet clicks. “We have so much fun together. So why did you ignore me?”
“You know why,” Dean said, voice tight.
Cas hummed, finally slipping the belt free. He held both ends in his hands, wrapping them around his fists like reins, and pulled Dean in until their lips hovered, barely touching, not quite kissing. The tension was electric. Dean’s cheeks were flushed, but he still wore that stubborn, guarded look, trying to keep his cool.
“I don’t want to share you,” Dean said, voice low, eyes locked on Cas’s mouth.
“I know,” Cas whispered, keeping him close, the belt still taut between them. “So tell me, Dean. What do you want to do to me?”
His voice dropped to a velvet hush.
“Do you want to fuck me right here? Leave marks on every inch of skin you touch? Make sure everyone knows I’m off limits? That I’m yours?”
Cas releases one end of the belt, freeing a hand to slide down Dean’s front. His palm presses firmly against the bulge straining beneath the denim, fingers curving to cup the heat of Dean’s arousal. He hums in satisfaction, eyes flicking up to meet Dean’s.
“Well, someone’s happy to see me,” he says, voice thick with amusement.
Dean’s breath stutters, his body leaning forward instinctively, drawn to the promise in Cas’s touch. Just as he’s about to close the distance, mouth parted, ready to kiss him, Cas steps back abruptly, letting go. Dean stumbles, caught off guard by the sudden withdrawal.
“What the…?” he starts, confused and flushed.
Cas doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches up and plucks the cowboy hat from his own head, placing it deliberately atop Dean’s tousled hair. The gesture is slow, almost reverent, but his eyes are sharp.
“I really don’t like being ignored, Dean,” he says, voice low and dangerous.
Then he turns on his heel and walks away, boots echoing against the stable floor. Dean stands frozen, the hat still perched on his head, heart pounding, erection aching, mind racing.
At the doorway, Cas pauses. He glances back over his shoulder, just enough for Dean to catch the glint in his eye.
“Are you coming or not?” Cas said, voice light but laced with challenge.
Dean swallowed hard, then moved quickly to follow, fumbling with his belt as he walked. He yanked the cowboy hat off his head and held it low, using it to shield the obvious bulge in his jeans. Cas glanced back, caught sight of the improvised cover, and smirked.
They walked together toward Dean’s quarters.
The staff didn’t live in the main house, that was reserved for the family and their guests. Instead, the workers had their own modest building tucked just beyond the stables. It was small but well-kept, with clean rooms, decent furniture, and enough privacy to breathe. At least when the other staff weren’t around.
Cas preferred visiting when the cleaning ladies were off shift. They were notorious for gossip, and he’d learned the hard way that even a glance could become a scandal by lunchtime.
Dean unlocked the door, still holding the hat awkwardly in front of him. Cas stepped inside first, eyes sweeping the familiar space. It wasn’t grand, but it was theirs. And right now, it was quiet.
Private.
Perfect.
As soon as they stepped inside, Dean reached up and placed the hat back on Cas’s head. Cas was about to laugh, something soft and teasing, but the sound was swallowed by Dean’s mouth.
The kiss landed fast and hungry, all tongue and heat. Cas moaned into it, caught off guard by the intensity, and let himself be pushed back until his shoulders hit the wall. Dean didn’t pause. He stepped in close, nudging Cas’s legs apart with his own, caressing Cas's chaps. Then he lifted one knee until it pressed firmly against Cas’s crotch.
Cas broke the kiss with a startled yelp, hips jerking forward.
“I knew you missed me,” he breathed, voice shaky with arousal.
Dean didn’t answer. He was already trailing kisses down Cas’s neck, finding the hollow of his collarbone and biting just enough to make Cas gasp. His knee shifted slightly, grinding upward, and Cas buckled.
Dean caught him easily, hands sliding down to grip his ass and hold him steady. His fingers dug in, stretching the fabric tight over Cas’s skin, grounding him in the moment.
“Let me finish what I started,” Cas gasped, breath hitching as Dean shifted his knee again, pressing up with just enough force to make his whole body shudder. Dean’s hands lingered for a moment, gripping Cas’s hips, then released him.
Cas dropped to his knees without hesitation, the movement fluid, fast. He spread Dean’s legs apart with confident hands, settling between them like he belonged there. The cowboy hat tilted slightly on his head, and he reached up to adjust it before looking up at Dean with a wicked smile.
Then he reached for the belt.
His fingers worked quickly, unbuckling it with a flick and sliding it free from the loops. He let it fall to the floor with a soft clink of metal against tile, eyes never leaving Dean’s. His pants dropped not long after.
Cas ran his hands up Dean’s thighs, thumbs pressing into the muscle, feeling the heat of his skin. He leaned in, lips brushing just above the waistband of his underwear, teasing, waiting.
“Still want to ignore me?” he murmured, voice low and dangerous.
“Shut up.” Dean answered, smiling.
“Oh I will. It’s improper to talk with your mouth full.” He teased. Cas caressed Dean’s erection for a few lingering seconds, eyes dark with admiration. Dean was big. Thick and heavy in his palm. Cas loved that; loved the way Dean twitched under his touch, the way his breath hitched when Cas pressed just a little harder.
Then he tugged Dean’s underwear down in one swift motion, letting it fall around his thighs. No more teasing. No more waiting.
He needed Dean in his mouth now.
Cas leaned in, licking a slow, deliberate stripe along the length, from base to tip, savoring the heat and weight of him. His tongue traced the vein along the underside, mouth watering, breath hot against flushed skin.
Dean groaned above him, hips jerking forward, and Cas welcomed him into his mouth without hesitation. He started slow, lips stretched around the thick length, moving in steady, measured strokes.
There had been a time when he couldn’t take much, when halfway in had made him gag, eyes watering, throat tightening. But not anymore. He’d learned Dean’s rhythm, his shape, his sounds. Now he could go deeper, almost all the way to the base, breathing through his nose, jaw relaxed, focused.
Just before reaching the end, Cas pulled back, letting his lips drag along the shaft with a wet, teasing slide. Then he began to move, head bobbing in a slow, steady rhythm, mouth warm and slick, tongue working in tandem with every motion.
Dean’s hands found his hair, gripping tight, and Cas moaned around him, sending vibrations through his core.
Cas kept moving, head bobbing in a slow rhythm, letting Dean feel every inch of friction, every swirl of tongue. Sometimes he pulled back entirely, lips slick and parted, and simply licked him, long, wet strokes from base to tip, while holding Dean’s gaze. His eyes were dark, hungry, and full of intent.
He paused with just the head in his mouth, tongue circling lazily, teasing the sensitive underside while his fingers gripped Dean’s thighs. Dean groaned, hips twitching, and Cas smiled around him.
Then Dean started to move, just a little at first, shallow thrusts against Cas’s lips. Cas opened wider, relaxing his jaw, letting Dean take control. He let himself be used, mouth pliant and eager, throat working to accommodate each push. The rhythm built slowly, Dean’s hips rolling with more urgency, and Cas moaned around him, the sound vibrating through Dean’s cock.
When Dean’s movements turned erratic, hips stuttering, Cas pulled back with a gasp, spit slicking his chin. He was panting, flushed, and achingly hard himself.
“Not yet,” Cas said, voice low and wrecked, eyes burning with heat. He leaned in and pressed a final kiss to the tip of Dean’s cock, soft, teasing, possessive, before rising to his feet.
Dean was panting, flushed, his chest rising and falling in uneven waves. His eyes were glassy with want, lips parted, body tense with restraint.
“I hate when you do that,” he muttered.
Cas smirked. “You love it.”
He reached out, fingers trailing lightly down Dean’s chest, tracing the sweat-slick fabric of his shirt. His touch was slow, reverent, pausing at each button like he was savoring the moment. He bit his lip, eyes flicking over the way Dean’s skin glistened from the day’s work; sun, heat, effort. It made him look wild. Real.
“My eyes are up here,” Dean said, half-joking, voice rough.
Cas laughed, low and warm, then leaned in and kissed him hard; mouth open, tongue demanding, body pressing close. Dean responded instantly, hands grabbing his ass, pulling him in.
Then Cas shoved him.
Dean yelped as he fell backward onto the bed, landing with a bounce and a grunt, eyes wide. Cas climbed onto the bed, straddling Dean’s hips with practiced ease, the cowboy hat still perched on his head like a crown. Dean lay beneath him, naked and breathless, eyes locked on Cas like he couldn’t look anywhere else.
Cas moved slowly, letting Dean enjoy the show.
He reached for the buttons of his own shirt, undoing them one by one, fingers teasing the fabric apart with maddening patience. Each inch of exposed skin made Dean’s gaze darken, his hands twitching at his sides like he was fighting the urge to grab.
Cas smirked, dragging the shirt off his shoulders and tossing it aside. His chest was flushed, his skin warm and glowing in the low light. He ran a hand down his own torso, just to watch Dean’s reaction, how his eyes followed every movement, how his breath caught when Cas rolled his hips once, slow and heavy.
Dean tried to reach for his own cock, but as soon as Cas saw the movement, he slapped his hand away.
“You can’t come yet, Dean.” He said as he leaned back slightly, fingers working the buckle of his belt, hips shifting with the motion. He slid the belt free and dropped it to the floor with a soft clink, never breaking eye contact. Dean’s hands gripped the sheets now, knuckles white. “I want you to come inside me.”
Cas stood briefly on the bed, still straddling Dean, and reached back to unbuckle his chaps. His fingers moved with precision, drawing out each motion. He slid them down his thighs, revealing the worn denim underneath, and then began working the button fly of his jeans, hips shifting with deliberate rhythm.
Dean’s mouth parted, his eyes glazed with heat, watching Cas peel himself out of the jeans like it was a ritual meant only for him. When Cas finally stood at the edge of the bed to kick them jeans and chaps off, Dean blurted out, voice rough and unfiltered,
“Can you…can you keep the chaps on?”
Cas paused, one brow arching, then turned slowly, letting Dean see the full effect. His smile curled wickedly, sharp and amused.
“You’re so naughty,” he drawled, voice low and indulgent. “But lucky for you…” He threw the jeans aside and pulled back up his chaps without them, adjusting the belt before climbing into the bed once again. “I like naughty.” He said, settling over Dean with a wicked smile.
“Well,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, “I rode horses all afternoon, figured I’d end the day riding something a little more fun.” Dean groaned, hips twitching beneath him. Cas rolled his hips one last time, then suddenly pulled back, leaving Dean groaning and reaching.
“Cas,” Dean gasped, “you can’t just-”
“I’m getting the lube, silly,” Cas said with a grin, already heading toward the dresser. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
Cas opened the top drawer, grabbed the lube, then paused. Tucked beside it, half-hidden under a pair of socks, was a coiled length of rope, rough, natural fiber, clearly used.
He held it up, brow raised.
“It’s for work,” he said quickly. “I tossed it there last week. Didn’t feel like walking it back to the barn.”
Cas smiled, slow and wicked. “Convenient.”
Cas let the rope dangle from his fingers for a beat, then started toward the bed, eyes locked on Dean.
Dean swallowed hard, sitting up halfway. “Cas…”
Cas didn’t answer. He climbed onto the mattress, straddling Dean again, and with a wicked smile, looped the rope loosely around Dean’s neck and tied the rope around him, not tight, just enough to feel the weight of it, the implication. He leaned in, voice low and smug.
“This’ll make a damn good rein for my ride.”
Dean’s breath hitched, hips twitching beneath him.
“You’re such a menace.” Dean groaned. Cas tugged gently on the rope, guiding Dean back down to the pillows.
“And you,” he murmured, settling his weight with purpose, “are terrible at staying put.” Dean moaned this time, hands already gripping Cas’s thighs.
“Then do something about it.”
Cas smiled, fingers tightening on the rope just enough to make Dean shiver.
“Gladly.”
Cas let go of Dean to pop the cap on the lube, the sound quiet but obscene in the charged silence. He squeezed a dollop into his palm, then reached for the rope again, fingers curling tight around it like he needed the anchor. One slick finger slid into himself slow and deliberate, moaning softly at the stretch. His head tipped back, lips parted, chest rising and falling in uneven waves.
Dean’s voice was low, reverent. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured. “So fucking pretty for me.”
Cas whimpered, adding a second finger after a moment, scissoring them carefully, trying to stretch himself as much as he could. He wanted Dean inside him, now. His body was already aching for it, hips shifting restlessly, thighs trembling with need.
Dean leaned closer, voice rough. “You’re so eager for my cock, aren’t you?” His hand brushed Cas’s knee, possessive. “Such a slut. Come on, prepare yourself properly. I can’t spend another second not being inside you.”
Cas moaned, fingers driving deeper, faster. He loved being in control, loved teasing Dean, making him ache and beg. But he let him talk, savoring the rough edge of his voice, the possessive words spilling out. Cas knew he could stop it at any moment, could easily pull the rope and make Dean shut up, but Cas allowed him to talk. It turned him on more than he’d admit.
Dean’s voice dropped to a growl. “Add another.”
Cas obeyed instantly, sliding in a third finger, stretching himself further, gasping at the burn and the pleasure. His body arched, hips rolling, eyes fluttering shut.
Dean watched him like he was the most sacred thing he’d ever seen.
Cas straddled Dean’s thigh, grinding down slowly, searching for friction as he fucked himself with his fingers. His hips rolled in a steady rhythm, breath hitching with every movement. The heat of Dean’s leg beneath him only made it worse, made it better. He moaned softly, chasing sensation, chasing relief.
Dean didn’t stop him. He just watched, biting his lip, eyes locked on the way Cas moved, so needy, so wrecked, so utterly his.
“Such a whore for me,” Dean murmured, voice low and rough.
Cas whimpered at the words, fingers curling deeper inside himself. He hit that spot, the one that made his whole body jolt, and cried out, louder this time, hips stuttering.
But Dean’s hand shot out, gripping his waist.
“No,” he said, firm but quiet. “Don’t touch yourself there, sweetheart.”
Cas blinked, dazed, lips parted.
“I’m the only one who gets to do that,” Dean continued, voice dark with possession. “Got it? You just stretch yourself for me. That’s your job right now.”
Cas nodded, flushed and trembling, and kept going, obedient, desperate, working his fingers deeper, just the way Dean liked. His other hand reached for the rope looped snug around Dean’s neck, fingers curling around it, not pulling, just holding. A reminder. Dean’s breath hitched at the contact, his body going still beneath him.
Cas tugged once and Dean groaned, the sound low and wrecked. The rope wasn’t tight, but it was there. Cas leaned in and kissed the corner of Dean’s mouth, soft and possessive.
When Cas felt ready, he slid his fingers out with a soft gasp, chest rising as he tried to steady his breath. He inhaled deeply, then looked up at Dean with a slow, wicked smirk.
Without a word, he pressed a firm hand to Dean’s chest and shoved him down, pinning him flat against the mattress.
“You’re not moving,” he said, voice low and commanding.
Dean blinked up at him, breathless, flushed, wrecked.
Cas adjusted the cowboy hat still perched on his head, straddling Dean like he belonged there.
“Well,” he drawled, hips rolling once, “guess it’s time I show you what a real ride feels like.”
Dean groaned, hands gripping the sheets. Cas reached down, guiding Dean’s cock with practiced ease, the tip slick and hot against his entrance. He held Dean’s gaze as he began to sink down slowly, letting every inch stretch him open.
Dean arched beneath him, a guttural sound escaping his throat, hands moving to hold Cas’s thighs like he was holding on for dear life.
Cas smiled at the way Dean’s body responded, at the way he couldn’t hide how good it felt. He kept lowering himself, inch by inch, until Dean was fully seated inside him, deep and thick and perfect.
Cas rolled his hips once, slow and smooth, letting Dean feel every inch as he rose and sank again. His thighs flexed with the motion, like he had all the time in the world.
Dean groaned, head tipping back, jaw clenched tight. He was aching to set the pace himself, but he didn’t. He let Cas lead.
“You gonna beg for more?” Cas asked, voice low and rough, riding him with maddening control. Dean’s breath hitched.
“Cas…”
But Cas just smiled, wicked and knowing, and did it again, lifted up, slow drag, then dropped down with a soft slap of skin.
Cas kept his rhythm slow, torturously slow, lifting himself just enough to make Dean feel the loss, then sinking back down with a soft, wet slide. His hands rested lightly on Dean’s chest, his expression smug beneath the tilt of the cowboy hat.
Dean could feel every inch of Cas, hot and tight around him, but the pace was maddening. Cas leaned down, breath ghosting over Dean’s lips.
“You like this?” he murmured, voice low and wrecked. “Me taking my time?” He tightened his grip on the rope, moving his arm up and making Dean groan.
Dean didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not with the way Cas was grinding down. Then Cas smirked, just a flicker of it, and Dean snapped.
His hands flew to Cas’s hips, gripping hard, dragging him down with force. Dean shifted beneath him, planting his feet, bracing himself, and then he thrust up, deep and fast, the sudden motion knocking a gasp out of Cas.
“Fuck!” Cas moaned, wrecked.
Dean didn’t stop. He set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping upward with raw, relentless force. Each thrust drove deep, precise, shaking the breath from Cas’s lungs.
Cas clung to Dean’s shoulders, fingers digging in, head thrown back in a silent cry. His body arched, trembling, caught between pleasure and surrender.
The cowboy hat slipped, teetering on the edge of falling. Cas reached up instinctively, one hand leaving Dean’s shoulder to catch it mid-slide. He pressed it back into place, palm flattened against the brim, forced to hold it there as Dean kept driving into him, harder, deeper, with a kind of desperate purpose.
Cas’s breath hitched, his balance thrown off, the hat now a ridiculous anchor as Dean fucked him like he was trying to carve something permanent into him.
Dean’s rhythm broke, no longer precise, no longer controlled. He was thrusting hard and fast, erratic now. His grip on Cas’s hips tightened, fingers bruising, dragging him down to meet each desperate snap of his own.
Cas was gasping, moaning, the cowboy hat still clutched to his head like it was the last shred of dignity he had left.
Dean’s eyes locked onto him, wild and hungry. Then he hit it; Cas’s sweet spot, and Cas choked on a cry, body jolting.
Dean grinned, breathless. “There it is,” he growled. “Fuck, you feel that? Right there, huh?”
“Dean…God! Do it again.” Cas nodded, frantic, voice wrecked, rope forgotten in his hand Dean slammed up into him, right where he knew Cas needed it.
“You like that?” he panted. “You like me fucking you stupid?”
Cas whimpered, hips rolling helplessly. “Yes, yes, fuck, I’m yours-” Dean’s smile twisted into something feral.
“Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” Cas gasped, voice breaking. “Yours, Dean, please-don’t stop…”
Dean didn’t. He kept pounding into him, over and over, hitting that spot with ruthless precision now, his own control long gone. The bed creaked beneath them, the room filled with the sound of skin and breath and desperate, filthy devotion.
“You’re mine,” Dean snarled, thrusting deep. “Mine to fuck, mine to ruin, mine.”
Cas was trembling, wrecked, his body slick with sweat and straining for more. One hand slipped down between them, desperate for friction, for relief, but Dean caught it mid-motion, slapped it away with a sharp smack.
“Uh-uh,” Dean growled, eyes blazing. “Only I can touch you there. Understood?” Cas nodded, or tried to; his head lolling, mouth open, breath ragged.
“Yes. I’m sorry” he gasped, voice barely there.
Dean grinned, dark and hungry. “Good boy.”
He shifted his angle, hips driving up harder, deeper, grinding into that spot that made Cas see stars. Cas cried out, his body arching, hands scrambling for purchase as Dean kept him pinned and pounding. He pulled the rope for a second, making Dean groan.
Cas started to move too, rocking back against Dean’s thrusts, then forward, chasing friction where he could, grinding down with desperate rhythm.
“You gonna come for me? All over my chest? Dean’s voice was low, wrecked.
Cas moaned, nodding frantically, his body trembling on the edge.
“Come on, baby,” Dean whispered, thrusting up hard. “Show me.” He said, as he extended his hand towards Castiel’s aching cock and began to stroke it as fast and rough as possible.
Cas shattered, his body locking up, mouth open in a silent scream as he came, clenching tight around Dean. That was all it took. Dean followed with a broken groan, hips stuttering, burying himself deep as he spilled inside.
Cas collapsed forward, boneless and trembling, his body sinking onto Dean’s chest. His breath came in ragged bursts, warm against Dean’s skin, both of them slick with sweat and still pulsing from the aftershocks. He poked Dean on the chest with the hat by accident
Cas groaned, shifting just enough to grab it.
“Sorry,” he muttered, voice hoarse and wrecked. Dean huffed a laugh, too spent to move.
Cas smiled faintly and, with a shaky hand, placed the hat gently on Dean’s head. It sat crooked, ridiculous, perfect.
“There,” he whispered, breath still uneven. “Now you’re the cowboy.” Dean looked up at him, eyes soft, lips curved in a lazy grin.
“You’re gonna ride me again like this now?”
Cas chuckled, forehead dropping to Dean’s shoulder.
“Give me a minute to remember how my legs work.” They lay tangled in the sheets, the room thick with the scent of sweat and sex and something heavier, something neither of them had named yet. The cowboy hat sat askew on Dean’s head, its brim shadowing his eyes like a half-hearted disguise.
Cas’s fingers moved slowly over Dean’s chest,
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Dean didn’t answer right away. He reached up, adjusted the hat like it was suddenly too tight.
“Figured it was the decent thing to do. You’ve got a wedding coming up.”
Cas’s hand stilled. “I haven’t gone through with it.” Dean snorted, bitter.
“Yet.”
“I’m not going to.”
Dean turned his head sharply, eyes locking onto Cas’s.
“What?”
“I’m calling it off,” Cas said, voice low but unwavering. Dean stared at him, heart thudding.
“Cas, you can’t just-”
“Shut up,” Cas interrupted, not angry, just tired. “For once, let me decide for myself. I want you. I want this. Let’s run away. Let’s elope.” Dean let out a shaky breath, half a laugh.
“Is that a marriage proposal?”
Cas smiled, slow and wrecked.
“Maybe.”
Dean surged up, catching Cas’s mouth in a kiss, hungry, disbelieving, full of everything he hadn’t let himself hope for. His hand slid down Cas’s back, fingers curling around his ass with instinctive ease. Cas groaned into the kiss, pulling back just enough to mutter:
“Must you ruin the moment?”
Dean grinned, breathless. “Cowboys don’t do quiet declarations, Cas. We do dramatic exits and inappropriate groping.” Cas snorted, the sound half laugh, half disbelief.
“You’re insufferable.”
Dean tipped the hat forward like he was tipping it to an audience.
“And yet, you want to marry me.”
Cas shook his head, smiling as he leaned in, their foreheads touching, breath mingling.
“God help me, I do.”
Outside, the world kept turning. But in that room, tangled in sheets and promises, they were still, two men choosing each other, against all odds.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.