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He doesn't expect Castiel to be the one to answer the religious freak's prayer. He doesn't have the time to be surprised before the angel knocks out the poor bastard and turns his harsh gaze towards him. It's not that he forgot how powerful Cas can be, but it's been a long time since he has been on the receiving end of his wrath. He'd be lying if he said that righteousness didn't look good on him. Before he can explore that thought, he is gripped tightly and thrown into a side alley.
"I rebelled for this?"
"Cas, are you crazy?" He barely has time to utter these words before the punches start rolling in.
"So that you could surrender to them?" Castiel is lifting him up and keeping him pinned to the wall like he's made of nothing, so close that he can feel his breath hot on his skin. He decides right there and then that this is good enough. Fuck it. He deserves this. He doesn't really care right now if the self-destruct comes from saying yes to Michael or Cas annihilating him. He'd prefer to be the one to say yes to Michael over the kid, but he thinks that deep down, he's not that concerned, as long as Michael has a vessel to fight Lucifer and that he's not around to see it happen. He's glad that at least he'll be in control of his own body when Death comes for him. He's glad that it's in the hands of an angel he knows and trusts. When he takes stock of his life, Cas is probably the closest thing he has to a friend. Probably his best friend, actually. It feels fitting, cause a Winchester relationship can't be legitimate if not fucked up beyond repair, right?
"Cas, please," he utters between punches. He's begging for respite, in a way, but not from the blows, more from this whole mess. He's begging for mercy. He's begging for things to finally come to an end.
"I gave everything to you, and this is what you give to me?" The blows keep raining on him. This feels good, this feels right. The pain anchors him in the moment; it makes things easier to bear. He welcomes it. He feels a rush of adrenaline and happiness wash over his body as he hits the floor. He doesn't even care that much that he's hurting his friend by giving up; he revels in it. There's some comfort in often-walked places, and being a disappointment to all is a path he knows so well. It feels like a homecoming, a return to form, Winchester style.
Castiel is full of wrath and righteousness, breath heavy from the force of the blows. Dean knows he's holding back; he could put him down without any effort, barely a flick of his wrist or a click of his fingers. He's holding back to hurt Dean just enough so he learns a lesson, so he knows the disappointment he's caused, so he knows not to try it again.
Dean preens at the attention given to him: he's worth the effort to get beaten up when he could just be killed. Someone out there cares enough about him to beat him up for not meeting their expectations, someone that's not related to him by blood or responsibilities, someone that knows him for him, not through being a son or a brother or a hunter. Someone expected good things from Dean. To him, this is the highest praise he's ever received. He chuckles internally at how fucked up that is. How fucked up he is. And also at Cas, because Cas is there, beating the shit out of him instead of walking away. It might be the concussion, but he feels a bit giddy at it. Castiel, Angel Of The Lord, cares about Dean Winchester, high-school dropout and precursor to the Apocalypse. He should have probably realized that sooner, seeing as the guy literally fell for him. That doesn't change a thing through. Dean wants out, and if Castiel is willing to provide that for him, then be it.
"Do it," he encourages the angel. " Just do it". He can see Cas about to summon his angel blade. He's so ready for it, for Death, for mercy. Cas steps towards him, but he doesn't receive the expected slice of the blade in his chest. Instead, Cas once again lifts him up to slam him against the fence and kisses him.
Huh?
That's not quite what Dean meant.
The kiss isn't anything soft, slow, or romantic. It's not born out of love and intimacy. It's a kiss made of biting teeth and possession; it's hot with anger and dominance. It can barely be called a kiss, more like another blow, maybe even a battle, lips smashing hard and strong against his own. Dean is too stunned to react, not quite understanding how they got there. This doesn't stop Castiel, though, who, while biting viciously at his bottom lip, snakes a hand to his hair and starts pulling harshly to lift Dean's face towards him. He breaks the contact of their lips, but just barely, and holds Dean's eyes while he talks to him, breath hot on the hunter's skin.
"I won't give you what you want, Dean. I won't kill you. And if you think I will, then you'll need to be taught better. You cannot surrender to them, only to me." The angel's voice is full of gravel and virtue, commending, made to be obeyed, made to be submitted to. It sends shivers down Dean's spine.
Castiel grabs him once again to throw him against the nearby wall. The impact and his multiple injuries sustained over the course of the last five minutes make him wince in pain. This seems to catch Cas' attention, and with another violent kiss, he partially heals him — only his broken ribs and his dislocated shoulder — leaving all of his bruises and cuts, blood still running down his face. He's grateful for that. He likes the reminder of his lessons learned. He likes the pain, an anchor to him when he feels lost in his head. He likes the stinging on his skin after a blow, a reminder he is real and that he is here.
As Cas tries to force the way into his mouth, Dean decides to finally react and gives in. He would be lying if he said he wasn't turned on right now. Truth be told, he had felt a certain attraction — Cas would probably call it a bond or something chick flick-y, just because he touched his soul and rescued him from hell or whatever — towards the angel from day one. He had never been able to quantify or qualify it, but now that Cas' tongue is on his, and that his teeth are leaving more injury on his face, he thinks he has managed to grasp it. Dean starts responding to the angel, battling the other man, trying to subdue him.
As he feels Dean getting involved, it seems to piss him off — or arouse him? — more, and he plasters himself closer to him, sliding a thigh between his legs, grinding obscenely, building Dean's erection in his jeans. Dean can't help but moan at the contact. Fuck, what happened to Cas the virgin? Dean tries to fight back, not willing to let himself be manhandled like that, more out of principle (especially as they're in public) than out of real dislike for submission. He pushes against Cas, hands fisted in his trench coat lapels, trying to turn Cas against the wall, but without success. Fuck angel strength. Cas isn't pleased at the attempt.
"You definitely need to be taught." His voice is all commending angel, and Dean can't help but whimper a bit.
The angel's hand finds its way to Dean's hair and uses his grip to push him down to his knees. Dean complies, although somewhat reluctantly, disappointed at the loss of contact between them, missing the thigh nested between his hips, the only relief offered to his dick. He can feel the asphalt through his jeans as his knees hit the ground, rough with broken glass and gravel. He takes a second to look up at the man in front of him. The light coming from the main street, only yards away from them, is glowing behind Cas, and he can almost swear he can see his halo. Dean might be on his knees, but he sure as hell ain't praying.
"Open" is all the warning he gets, as Cas grabs his chin and opens his mouth with one hand and opens his zipper with another. There is no ceremony when he replaces the thumb pushing on his tongue with his cock, and Dean breathes through it, trying not to gag. He doesn't need to be told to start sucking, and he gets to work right away, slowly working his tongue over the tip of the angel's dick before working slowly to take more and more of it in. The gagging and wet sound escaping his mouth echoes in the quiet alley and fills his ears. He's too caught up in the moment to feel self-conscious or shy about it, though. If anything, the prospect of maybe getting caught just adds to the arousal. He feels some blood on his tongue, probably from his bitten lips or injuries. He wants to get back at Cas for that, so he starts teasing him with some scrape of teeth, very lightly, just to prove he can fight back, but not wanting to commit to making it painful. It doesn't have the desired effect.
Cas moans quietly above him, barely a whisper. Taking it as encouragement, he lifts one of his hands from off the floor, briefly wiping it on his jeans to clear it up from debris before bringing it to the base of Cas' cock, where his mouth can't quite reach. He's stopped dead in his tracks, though. He feels an invisible force — grace? — grab hold of both his hands to tie them behind his back.
"No touching. This isn't for your pleasure, Dean." Cas' voice is barely wrecked. Dean is slightly impressed by this. He doesn't answer; he knows he wouldn't sound anywhere near composed. He doesn't really have the opportunity to retort, anyway, as one of Cas' hands grabs his hair to stabilize him whilst he pushes his cock back in his mouth and starts fucking it ruthlessly. Dean would be lying if he said this wasn't one of the hottest things he's ever experienced. He is powerless to do anything but take what's given to him, and he loves every second of it. No one had done this for him before, taking all of his control away. He didn't know this was exactly what he needed, what he craved. He feels relief and pleasure, and the pain from the blooming bruises on his face as it's been roughly fucked into just adds to it all, multiplying every sensation tenfold. His erection is painful in his jeans, and he can feel his boxers becoming damp from precome. He is desperate for friction; he doesn't know how long he can take this before he turns crazy.
He has some sense left in him to feel ashamed for being so wrecked so quickly, and for enjoying being treated like a bitch. He closes his eyes, keen to shut down some of the senses bombarding him. He feels Castiel's free hand cup his cheek and lift his chin slightly, as he brings his thrusting to a halt, dick resting heavy on Dean's tongue.
"Look at me, Dean." The hunter can't help but obey his command. "You're doing so good for me. You're so perfect." Dean feels the burn of tears blooming at the corner of his eyes. He preens at the praise, letting it wash over him like water, like he’s been baptized with it. He lets the tears roll down his cheeks freely. They aren't from sadness, nor are they from the pain.
Castiel slips out of his mouth with a wet sound and, with a flutter of wings, he teleports them to a different place. Dean doesn't recognize it. The room — or more of an atrium — has an open ceiling that lets in a warm summer breeze and a warm light that acts as a spotlight on the king bed sat in the middle of the room. Big ornate columns adorn it, and it reminds Dean of Roman villas. It's such a vivid change from the grime and darkness of the alley they were in only seconds ago.
"Where are we?" He asks as he turns to Cas. His breath gets stuck in his lungs before he can properly finish his question. Cas has his wings out. They are dark and massive and seem to change color in the light, the black glimmering with iridescent hues. Dean wants to touch them, but he remembers that his hands are still magically bound behind his back. He won’t let that stop him, though, and in an instant, he turns on himself and brings his head forward to nuzzle at them like a cat on catnip. He can hear Castiel’s breath hitch in his chest before he regains composure and pushes Dean away. Dean mourns the loss. The feathers are warm, soft, alive under his face, and so wonderful that he wants to spend the rest of his life touching them. He voices so to Cas, begging to let him have contact with it. His eyes can’t leave the glimmering, changing colors of them, hypnotized by the greens and purples.
“Not for your pleasure, remember Dean,” Cas tuts. Dean wants to cry. He is a mess right now, drowning in all the sensations, begging for release, begging for the wings. This must show in his face as the Angel continues. “I might consider it, if you’re good and obey.”
This promise is enough to see Dean through, and he steps back slightly, willing to show the divine creature in front of him that he’ll do anything. Cas smiles at that, but then pushes Dean towards the bed in the middle of the room. He falls onto the mattress face-first, not able to use his hands to break his fall. His legs dangle over the edge, giving Castiel a perfect view of his ass. In a flutter, he feels his clothing removed. His cock, finally released from his jeans, is glad for it, and he breathes a sigh of relief. His hips automatically start moving to create friction and pressure, rubbing his erection on the bedspread.
Castiel stops him, because of course he does. He grabs his hips on either side of his body and lifts them up, forcing Dean to bend his knees to find purchase on the mattress. That’s how he finds himself ass in the air and face buried in the luxurious fabric of the sheets. He would blush from embarrassment if he wasn’t instantly distracted by Castiel’s large hand making contact with his ass so savagely that the echo of the slap can be heard for several seconds afterwards through the room. Fuck. He doesn’t think he’ll make it out of whatever this is with his sanity intact. The hotness and sting of the impacts makes Dean want more. He’s fucked, isn’t he? The warmth of the angel’s hands quickly returns to his ass-cheek, soothing over the mark that undoubtedly has started forming on his skin. He takes a second to think about being marked by Cas, and he’s pleased to the turn of the event, even if the mark is probably only a pale replica of the handprint seared on his arm.
He feels tendrils of what must be grace slither up his body, caressing his sides, wrapping around his arms, his legs, his throat. Some tighten and grip him, some keep moving all over his body, patting it, teasing his nipples. None of them touch his dick. Soon after, he starts feeling light, feathery touches joining the grace, and he knows these are coming from Cas’ wings. It’s too much, it feels too much. Dean feels tears once again on the edge of his vision, and he closes his eyes tightly. If he takes away some of his senses, he might be okay. The hand that was busy petting his ass leaves it briefly before striking another slap and administering some softness straight after. Dean takes it, moaning at the contact. His ass-cheek quickly becomes oversensitive as Cas repeats the motion a few times, the soft pressure after each spank hurting just enough to handle.
“Please, Cas, please,” Dean is pleading, hating himself for sounding so pathetic. He’s not sure what he’s asking for. He doesn’t think he wants this to end, but he knows he couldn’t stand more. It feels too good, but it’s not quite what he wants. He wanted to die; he wanted to end it all, but instead, he received this. The pleasure, the attention, isn’t remotely close to anything he deserves. He doesn’t want this to continue either; It’s like dancing on the edge between not enough and way too much. Dean is reduced to a litany of pleas and sobs. He hates himself for it. He hates himself more than his usual amount of hatred. He’s so pathetic, body, ass and soul bared for Cas to toy with. He survived 30 years on the rack in hell, and yet it took the angel 10 minutes to pull him apart. He can’t believe that he’s so desperate for any contact that he’s grateful for any touch, even ones that hurt. Especially ones that hurt. He wants to fight it, he should fight it, yet he finds that he can’t.
“ You’re doing so good for me, Dean, so good. Hold on a little bit more, we’re nearly there, but you need to stop fighting it. You need to submit” Cas voice is edging between tender care and cruelty.
He feels the tendrils of grace grab him more firmly around his limbs and his throat, holding him solidly in place, while the rest continue their insistent teasing, sometimes soft caresses, sometimes painful pinches. He feels Castiel’s hand travel from his ass to his balls, toying with them lightly, before moving up to his hole, and a deft finger starts teasing him before it is joined by a wet tongue. Dean clamps up automatically. It’s not his first time with a man, absolutely not, but he’s never been fingered, fucked, or licked before; that’s always been a hard boundary of his. Castiel must sense his clenching as he temporarily stops his ministrations.
“Shhh, Dean, it’s okay, I’ll give you exactly what you need. You just have to submit and trust me,” He resumes his teasing, and his tongue breaches him, fucking in and out of him like there is all the time in the world. Dean wants so desperately to touch himself — or for Cas to touch him — but the grace around his hands holds strong. “Relax, Dean, embrace it. Embrace me,” and Dean does. He lets go and stops fighting, both too tired to keep fighting and too desperate for release.
“Good, you’re so good for me, Dean, look at you. Absolutely gorgeous when you give in." He is rewarded with another hard spank on his ass while a wet strand of grace starts fucking slowly into him, opening him up, getting deeper, inch by inch. He can’t quite see Cas, but he can’t feel any of his hands on him anymore, and he can imagine him admiring his work. He misses the contact dearly, though, despite the dozen limbs of grace touching him.
“Please touch me, Cas. Please, I need more,” he tries to wiggle out of his constraints to fuck himself on the grace currently working him open.
“Fuck” he hears the angel whisper. He takes that for the compliment it is. He receives another couple of blows to his ass, and suddenly a tendril of grace wraps around his cock and starts jerking him off. Fuck fuck fuck. He could cry in relief. It takes an embarrassingly short moment for Dean to come all over the mattress and his stomach. Castiel drapes himself over him and lifts him upright, ass flushed against his erection, and his back safely pressed to the angel’s naked chest with only his bound hands in the way. The skin-to-skin contact makes him shiver. He doesn’t know when Castiel had taken the time to undress himself. The angel gathers the cum dripping on his belly with two fingers and presents it to Dean. Dean opens his mouth obediently and licks and suck the fingers presented to him, the salty taste of his own release coating his mouth.
“Don’t swallow,” Castiel orders and Dean keeps it in his mouth. He feels the grace wrapped around his throat move to his face to turn it towards Cas. The angel kisses him viciously, eager to share the taste of him. Dean’s dick is already getting hard again and he knows the angel probably used his magic to make that happen.
Dean feels the grace return to his throat as Castiel's lips move from his mouth to his jaw, peppering his skin with open-mouth kisses, harsh biting, and sucking on his path. He inches towards his neck, marking him with hickeys and bite marks, and Dean moans through it all. He never wants this to end, head swimming in pleasure, brain flooded with all the good chemicals.
Castiel bites him extra hard when he reaches the junction of his neck and shoulder, setting his teeth deep in the flesh, nearly reaching the muscle under his skin, and Dean thinks he might just die. He nearly comes again, but the angel tuts him and a new bit of grace settles around the base of his cock, pressing tight, and that keeps him off the edge for now. Cas pushes him back into the mattress, making sure to keep his hips up and thrusts hard into him. All Dean can hear is his moans aching in the atrium, now joined by Cas’s. Before Dean can get used to the sudden fullness in him, Castiel starts fucking hard into him, setting an incredible pace that knocks his breath out of his lungs. He feels Cas’ cock hitting his prostate on every thrust, and Dean comes again, feeling completely drained. The thrusting doesn’t relent, though, and he rapidly feels overstimulated, his prostate still receiving a lot of attention while he still works through his last orgasm.
“Fuck, Cas, too much, please,” he barely managed to utter between thrusts and moans. His voice is wrecked, completely hoarse from sounding his pleasure out.
“You sound so pretty for me when you beg,” Cas replies. He lets go of his hip on one side and positions his hand just under his arm, placing a strong hand on his chest to support some of his weight. He takes the opportunity to tease his nipple slightly, which earns him a loud moan and some more pleading. In time with his trusts he lifts Dean up to once again place him flush against his chest, imprisoned in a tight embrace. He must have used his grace again as he moved him, as Dean suddenly doesn’t feel so oversensitive and can handle what Cas is giving him.
“Thank you,” he whispers, breath still short from the violent thrust. Cas uses the hand that’s not supporting him to once again gather the come spread on his belly and smearing it all over Dean’s chest, then himself. Dean has a quick, delusional thought that it feels weirdly territorial, like he’s marking him. He fucking revels in the possessiveness. Once satisfied with his work, Cas’s hand is back on his skin, traveling towards his cock, to start jerking him off again. He’s fully hard in a blink. Castiel’s hand, covered in his spunk, matches the rhythm of his hands to his hips. He can feel the angel’s breath on his skin, and it’s getting quicker. Dean can tell he is probably getting close; the movement becomes somewhat more erratic.
Dean feels a pressure start to appear at the base of the angel’s cock, pressing harshly against his hole, trying to breach him. Dean doesn’t think he can take more inside of him, already feeling so full. He is proven absolutely wrong when Cas thrusts incredibly hard into him, breaching his entrance to lock his cock up inside of him. Dean cries from the intensity of it and comes all over himself again, adding to Cas’ masterpiece. Cas gives two more shallow thrusts, and then he can feel the angel come inside of him for what feels like forever. He gets full with it, feeling the ropes of come fill him up as he’s riding his last orgasm, inflating his belly by the sheer amount of it and dripping down his balls and thighs despite the seal of Cas’ dick. The angel lets go of Dean, and they both fall into the mattress. Cas gently turns them to their side — it looks like he’s not currently able to break their contact — and he starts gently petting Dean’s hair with one hand, while wrapping the other around his middle, murmuring beautiful praises low in his ear.
“You’re so beautiful when you submit, Dean, just like I knew you would. You’re perfect, you did so good.” The continuous praise lulls him into sleep, heart happy and warm from all the positive attention, satisfied to have been able to please his angel so much. Dean passes out right there and then.
When he wakes, he can feel that Cas is no longer inside of him, but he can still feel him plastered to his back, his hands are still rubbing his temples and playing with his hair. It takes him a moment to come to, too happy to feel safe, comforted, and looked after in the embrace of the fallen angel. His hands have been set free, and it feels like some of the bruising on his face has healed. He can feel words are still being whispered against his skin, as if his flesh could keep the secret given to him. He can’t quite make it out at first, but as his consciousness returns, he feels able to make some of them out.
“So good for me…. all mine…can’t be had by another….. All mine.”
“Cas,” he starts, trying to recenter the angel’s focus on him, voice rough and fucked out. “Did…Did you just… was this you claiming me, or like an ownership over me, or whatever angel equivalent there is?” Cas doesn’t even deny it or feel shy about saying yes. It settles something deep inside of Dean.
“Okay, just checking.”
He doesn’t even think of going to Michael, and he doesn’t think about wanting to take a way out of life. He feels satisfied, comfortable, and warm. Loved? Dean grabs one of Cas’ arms to drape over himself and goes back to sleep.