Work Text:
**--**--** Dean POV **--**--**
He isn’t sure about this at all, but Cas – no, Castiel – had been insistent. It doesn’t ping anything on his “no” list, and doesn’t come anywhere close to being the kind of discomfort he would bring up. (Not that he would bring up any kind of discomfort, which he thinks Castiel is starting to notice, which is probably why they ended up here in the first place, but whatever.)
The order to strip is easy to follow: he takes off every piece, folding them neatly and placing them in the chair set aside for that purpose, until he’s standing naked in their bedroom. Normally, the command to kneel would come next, but he knows better (well, *now* he knows better) than to try and anticipate Castiel’s orders. His Dom is funny that way.
(Doms in the past wanted him to read their minds – wanted him to get undressed and kneel often before they even got into the room. Each Dom had their own set of these kinds of rules, and some of them delighted in not telling him ahead of time what they were – leaving him to guess if he was supposed to go ahead and do what he knew they wanted or wait for the order. Castiel has never done this – always made his expectations and orders clear. Hasn’t even punished him for getting it wrong if it was a serious miscommunication. Which is… wild for Dean. He isn’t used to having someone take into consideration that he isn’t a fucking mind reader before.)
The instruction to kneel never comes. He stays standing, arms by his side and feet shoulder width apart, as Castiel (still fully clothed in his suit and tie, shirtsleeves rolled up to bare his forearms, tie loosened but still there, and fucking hell does that do something to Dean’s insides) circles him. Studying him. Not saying a word, but slowly walking around him like Dean is a piece of meat that he’s inspecting. It’s…
Well. It’s hot as hell is what it is. Objectification is something he doesn’t want to like, but damn does he. It sends a thrill of lust shuddering through him to be so… ignored and examined like this. Like he’s only here for what he gives Castiel.
Which… that kind of sentiment he’s encountered before. And he hated it with the ones who used it, but Missouri is helping him understand that’s because they did it all the time and because they actually saw him as a piece of meat. It’s hot when Castiel does it because his current Dom (and boyfriend) doesn’t usually treat him this way and sees him as a person even when acting. It’s clearly play and not something Castiel actually feels. Which wasn’t the case with Abbadon in particular. Or Alistair.
Both of those Doms had the expressions that Dean was nothing more than shit under their shoe. Told him he should be grateful they even spent any time on him at all. That his wants and needs didn’t matter and he was just a couple of holes and tools to get people off.
He believed it too. For a long time.
Castiel never makes him feel like that, even when objectifying him. Which, he’ll have to admit to Missouri, probably makes the difference.
“On the bed,” Castiel orders. Casually. Like he knows it doesn’t have to be firm to be obeyed. “On your back. Prop yourself up on enough pillows that you can see me. And as many under your hips as you need to be comfortable.”
Castiel is correct; he doesn’t have to be harsh to be obeyed.
Dean scrambles to do as he’s ordered.
By the time he gets situated, he’s a little confused, but also… intrigued at what’s coming next. Castiel hadn’t gotten out any implements except lube, at least, not that Dean can see. He thought maybe Castiel was gonna fuck him while still in his suit and damn does he hope that happens if not today then definitely someday because fucking hell would that be hot.
His Dom has settled himself into a chair at the foot of the bed, leaning back in it as though he doesn’t have a care in the world, blue eyes intense and focused on Dean’s displayed body. He feels exposed and vulnerable like this, and fights the urge to cover up his cock.
“Put your feet flat on the bed, bending your knees,” Castiel instructs softly. “And spread those legs for me. Let me see that cute little hole of yours.”
It’s like someone set him on fire, his face and neck and chest flush so hard. His cock is well and truly stiff; curving up toward his stomach. He closes his eyes but snaps them back open at Castiel’s quick “eyes on me”, staring into the heat behind those blue irises. He does as instructed: flattens the soles of his feet on the bed and slides them, pulling his knees apart and opening himself up to his Dom’s gaze. Doesn’t stop until he is commanded to, then settles in for the long haul.
It’s not so wide a stretch that it hurts, but he’ll definitely be feeling it depending on how long he stays like this. It’s mostly the vulnerability pooling in his gut that makes him want to squirm at Castiel’s murmured “very nice.”
He can see his boyfriend’s eyes trail away from his face: down his chest, pausing probably on his nipples that have perked up in the cool air, down his stomach and pausing again on his cock which gives a little twitch at being perceived. Then finally down to his ass and the bit of his hole he knows is exposed thanks to the air he can feel on his rim.
“Pull your cheeks apart for me, baby,” he commands. “Show me where you want me.”
It should be humiliating, but Dean is hard and wanting and hopes that if he does what Castiel asks then he’ll get fucked like he wants. He grips his ass cheeks and spreads himself wide: baring himself to the gorgeous eyes of his boyfriend and Dom.
It’s been so long since they scened, and Dean needs it. Needs the firm commands and steady presence of the man before him. Needs the quiet and sure confidence. Needs to feel held and loved and cherished and seen.
Especially after the fucking week he’s had. Sometimes he really hates his job. (Most of the time, he loves it – loves getting to work with his hands and create something. Loves the look of a job well done. Loves the feeling of accomplishment that comes with it. But sometimes… sometimes he has a bad day or something goes wrong or it just doesn’t end up how it is supposed to – or there are unavoidable delays and the customer is unreasonable about everything and he gets screamed at because he’s “the personable one”. And he’s fine with it, because the other option is that they’d scream at Bobby and after everything the man’s done for him, the least he can do is take the verbal licks.)
Nothing went right with this job. And while it didn’t get physically violent, he got screamed at enough that even knowing the man was full of crap didn’t stop him from feeling two inches tall when it was over. (The real problem is that everything the man did reminded him of Alistair, and he had to fight the urge to sink to his knees and expose his throat and apologize with his body every time the man’s voice turned sharp. And he knows it’s not him – he knows that. But his body doesn’t. And it sucks and it’s thrown him off, and all he’s wanted to do all week is serve his boyfriend and Dom who has never treated him like that.)
This isn’t a punishment. Not exactly. But it’s also so far outside of their usual play that Dean is a little thrown off. They’d had a scene planned, but when Cas proposed this one instead, Dean didn’t really have a good reason not to agree. It’s not that he doesn’t want to do something new, but he’s worried that Cas heard something in his voice the past few nights when they talked before bed, and that’s why the scene got changed.
“Beautiful,” Castiel breathes.
And it catapults him back into his body and into this space. Where he’s holding himself open. Where Castiel is staring at his hole.
He shudders.
“We’ll come back to that later,” his Dom says. “For now, you are going to show me something.”
…what?
“You can move your hands. You can close your eyes. You can move your body a little, as long as you stay pretty close to where I’ve put you. But I want you to show me how you masturbate.”
And… oh holy shit.
That.
Okay.
“I want to see it all, Dean. Do you start dry, just with some precum to ease the way? Do you go straight for the lube? Do you pinch those perky little nipples of yours? Do you stroke your own rim? Shove fingers inside you? The only rule is that when I say stop, you stop.”
And damn. He knew that sounded too easy.
“Yes, Castiel,” he answers.
His Dom quirks an eyebrow and fucking hell.
“Color?”
“Green, Castiel.”
Then Castiel nods in response and settles in his chair. Eyes roaming Dean’s naked figure.
He decides he can give a bit of a show. Stares challengingly at his Dom, raking his eyes down the suited figure in front of him as he licks his lips. He hasn’t really gotten to test that iron control yet. Wants to see if he can get his boyfriend’s hands on him.
His eyelashes flutter as he shifts, settling himself into the pillows and mattress, relaxing enough to try and feel like this is his normal setup. The first thing he does is reach down to give himself a nice firm stroke. It’s not something he can do a lot, not without something to ease the way, but he likes the feel of those first few strokes: just enough pressure to feel it but not enough to cause too much bad friction. He thumbs the top on one of the upswings and tilts his head back at the sensation, breaking eye contact.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Castiel demands. “What do you think about when you work yourself like this?”
“You,” Dean replies. “Your hands on me.”
He releases his cock to reach up and pinch his nipples. Moaning a little at the sensation.
“Keep talking, Dean.”
“I… ngh. I think about your teeth… your teeth on my nipples. Love it when you bite me, oh fuck.” He pinches them harder. Holding them and rolling them in his fingers.
“I think of… unf… how much you love to… ah… hurt me but it feels so fucking good…”
He keeps pressure on them until he’s arching up a little bit – into the pain, then trying to shudder away.
“Of how much you… twist my nipples until..” he gasps and lets out a little moan “until past when I think I can… oh fuck… think I can taaaake it…”
“Started holding on longer,” he manages. “Rolling them when…” he rolls them hard and arches a little, hips shuddering and twisting. “...when I get to the… to the edge… fuck.”
He releases the pressure but continues to roll the nubs and twitch at the sensations. Then his fingers skate down his body, heading toward his dick. His eyes flutter as his hand wraps around his aching cock, and he moans as he thrusts up into his hand a couple of times.
“Keep talking, Dean,” Castiel’s low voice rumbles over him.
He groans deep and loud.
“Your… your hands… I imagine them… holding down my hips and your… your mouth on my… fucking hell… my cock.”
He releases his hard dick and grabs the lube, squirting some out and rubbing his hands together to warm it.
“Sometimes I put it on cold, cuz you… you know I like that shit, but… unf… when I’m imagining your mouth… I like it wa–warm…”
His hand wraps back around his cock and he groans – a long aching sound.
“Warm and wet and… gah…”
He moves his hand how he likes it, smooth firm strokes, then he starts throwing a twist at the top into the mix. The feeling starts growing, building in his gut and he starts racing toward the end, words dissolving into moans and grunts and groans on his tongue.
“Stop,” Castiel commands and his hand freezes on his cock.
The whine that leaves his throat startles him as it comes without permission. His eyes fly open and he didn’t realize he’d closed them.
Castiel’s eyes are dark and hot on him. He shivers under the onslaught.
They wait – suspended in the moment – frozen in the gaze of the other.
“Show me what your cock likes,” Castiel growls.
And oh fuck.
“Make noise, but no words, boy. Close your eyes and feel.”
He whimpers, high and embarrassingly. But the haze of subspace lives in these moments, rising up and trying to hold him.
His eyes flutter closed, and he starts gently caressing his cock again – fingertip light at first, then slowly working up until it’s quicker and faster; harder and rougher. He pants and moans, trying with his noises to entice Castiel to touch him. He firms his feet flat and starts thrusting up into the ring of his fist, the other hand flying up above him to grab the headboard.
He must look like a whore or someone doing porn: spread out and moving for the pleasure of a viewer. Somewhere under the haze of pleasure, he knows Castiel is watching him pleasure himself, but it’s lost in the feelings surging through him. Normally he’d hate being this exposed. But Castiel makes him feel caressed, not judged. His gaze heated and wanting, not cold and assessing. Wanting him instead of finding him wanting.
He’s close again, feeling the curling in his gut, and he’s thrusting, whimpering and wanting to beg, keeping the words locked behind the orders.
“You may speak,” Castiel’s gravel voice comes.
“ Please ,” he whimpers. “Castiel, Castiel, oh fuck, please.”
He’s reaching the peak – it’s approaching fast, and he wants to slam into it, but –
“Stop.”
And he does. Body trembling.
“Please, Castiel,” he whines. Begs. Wants.
“Do you cry out to me when you masturbate, Dean?” Castiel asks.
Vaguely he registers the teasing lilt to his Dom’s voice.
“Do you beg me when you pleasure yourself?”
And fuck. He feels the blush heating its way across his face, neck, chest.
“Yes, Castiel,” he whispers. Voice hoarse and wanting.
“Do I give you permission in these fantasies of yours? Or do you hold off?”
Dean pants, still poised on the edge; body trembling but unmoving as commanded.
“De-depends,” he forces out. “On if you told me to… to wait for our next scene or not.”
He can hear the warm approval in Castiel’s voice as he responds:
“You’re a very good boy, Dean.”
“Please,” he can’t help but beg.
“We’re almost there, baby,” Castiel soothes.
He hears his Dom shift in the chair.
“But now I want you to show me what your hole likes. Hands off your cock, now.”
Dean whines, but obeys. Forcibly uncurling each finger from around his cock. He’s so close – it would barely take a touch to send him tumbling over the edge. But he is a good boy, and his Dom wants him to finger himself. So he will.
He leaves the lube cool this time, brushing around the rim of his hole and moaning at the sensation. Strokes his fingers along the edge and in just a little to get himself wet. Dips the pads of his fingers inside – barely applying any pressure – just showing Castiel where he wants his Dom’s cock. (Or fingers or tongue or fucking anything at this point.)
“Do you imagine me taking my time to open you up?” Castiel purrs.
Dean groans and manages a “yes, Castiel; your fingers… your… your tongue… your cock splitting me… splitting me open… oh fuck yes” as he breaches himself with first one finger, then two. Spearing himself, spreading himself open, pulling at his rim to loosen up; slippery and wet with lube. Cries and pleas and moans dripping from his mouth as he opens himself wider and wider until he’s fucking himself with three fingers on one hand, the other gripping his ass cheek to keep his hole exposed to Castiel’s gaze.
He tries to avoid his prostate but every time he hits it he arches with a shout, his eyes squeezed shut and fingers tightening on the meat of his ass.
“Stop,” Castiel says hoarsely.
And he does. Barely. Fingers still up inside him but stilled at the rasped command.
He can only imagine how he looks, but he doesn’t care. Just wants something in him – something that’ll fill him deeper than his fingers – he wants Castiel’s long thick fingers, his cock, his hands wielding a dildo, something. Anything.
Castiel instructs him to remove his fingers; to reach up behind him and hold the headboard. Tells him he’s going to fuck him now, does Dean want that? And Dean begs and pleads, desperate to be filled and needing Castiel to fill him.
Hands are on his hips, and he looks up to see Castiel still in his suit, pants undone and beautiful glorious thick cock pulled out.
“Please, Castiel,” he begs. Eyes wet and full of need.
His Dom looks down at him with a look that can only be described as adoring. Like he can hardly believe Dean is real. Like Dean is exactly what he’s been looking for.
He’s never been that for anyone before.
He opens his mouth to beg again, when Castiel leans down to capture his mouth and swallow his cries. He feels that amazing cock pierce him – thrust into him as Castiel dominates his tongue, and Dean melts into all of it.
He feels Castiel move his hands from his hips to cover where Dean is gripping the headboard and separates their mouths right before starting to own Dean’s body with his cock. He’s being fucked within an inch of his life and he loves it – loses himself in it. Revels in it.
Castiel slams him back into his body with the force of his thrusts, pinging off his prostate and suddenly the arousal roars back to life in him.
“Are you close, boy?” Castiel asks, voice rough with arousal.
“Gotta… please, Castiel, can I… may I… please,” he babbles.
And Castiel smiles, eyes dark with lust and growls “cum for me” and Dean explodes – vision whiting out and body arching as orgasm sweeps through him.
He comes back to himself, limp and loose, to Castiel continuing to fuck him through the aftershocks. Enjoying the feeling of his relaxed body and Dean smiles dopily up at him. His Dom kisses him gently on the lips before he presses deep, hips stilling, and he cums, hot and wet inside of Dean. Using him. Marking him. Claiming him.
Castiel rearranges them, settling them so Dean is curled up on his Dom’s broad chest while Dean drifts, swimming in all the happy chemicals enveloping him. Cards his hands through Dean’s hair, murmuring to him.
It feels like he’s underwater, but warm and held; the way he always is after a good scene with Castiel. The first time he fell into this place, he didn’t know what to do. Apologized for being useless when he came back and flinched from the sadness in his Dom’s eyes when the man explained subspace and that he was honored to have so much of Dean’s trust.
Now, he loves this space. Loves being here knowing it’s his body proving how much he trusts Castiel to care for him. Loves the crinkles at the corner of Castiel’s smiling eyes when he surfaces from this place.
For now, he lets himself relax into the space.