Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first time Dean met Cas, it was late—nearly closing time at the garage. The guy rolled in like a storm, headlights cutting through the dark, practically begging Dean to fix whatever was wrong with his car. Dean couldn’t remember the problem now, but what he did remember was how breathtaking the man was. Messy chocolate-colored hair, sticking up in a way that looked careless but perfect—like it had been styled by sin itself. And his eyes… the bluest fucking eyes Dean had ever seen, sharp enough to cut straight through him.

The guy was talking—something about a noise, maybe—but Dean wasn’t even listening. He just nodded along, rubbing grease from his knuckles with a blue shop towel, trying to look like he wasn’t staring.

Dean had only recently admitted to himself—six months ago, drunk off his ass—that he was bisexual. Since then, he hadn’t found many men attractive enough to make him pause. But this one? Cas? He was different. He caught Dean looking, tilted his head, and sighed like he’d already figured him out.

“Am I boring you?” Cas asked, flat but curious.

Dean jolted, throat going dry, before managing a shaky smile. “Nah, man… I’ll take a look.”

They ended up talking for over an hour while Dean swapped out the battery and tightened a few cables. Nothing major. Cas was patient, not a dick like most late-night drop-ins, and Dean barely charged him for the work.

And then, before he could talk himself out of it, Dean blurted: “You wanna grab a coffee? Some pie? I know a good spot.”

Cas had one foot in the car when he froze, blinking at Dean like he’d just spoken another language. Then, after a beat of eye contact that felt like it lasted years, Cas smiled—small, knowing—and nodded.

That was three months ago. Now, they were inseparable.

***

The first couple weeks were a blur of kisses—Cas was a forward one. He leaned into Dean with hungry lips, biting his bottom lip, sucking on it, licking into his mouth like he wanted to taste every part of him. His hands were just as bold, roaming over Dean’s chest, cupping his face, slipping lower. The first time Cas grabbed his ass, Dean went red as a tomato. He thought Cas would laugh, but instead the bastard just smirked, kissed him harder, like he liked seeing Dean come undone.

Dean liked it too. More than liked it. It left him embarrassingly hard, and Cas never once seemed to mind.

One night, Dean admitted the truth—that Cas was his first man. He’d never been with anyone but women before. Cas didn’t blink. If anything, Dean swore he got off on it, because from that moment on, Cas leaned into it, pushing Dean further, teaching him just how good this could get.

Cas got off on it so much he even pushed Dean to talk—to tell him what it had been like with women, what he liked, what got him off. Dean hadn’t expected it, but the second Cas demanded details, he couldn’t stop.

He told him about eating pussy, about how much he liked it, tongue deep, slick fingers holding her open—every filthy detail rolling out of his mouth while Cas stroked him off. Cas asked him filthy questions. What she tasted like, was she tight, did her legs shake when she cum, did her pussy clamp down on his fingers when he fingered her while he sucked on her clit, God Cas's voice was so hot in his ear. Dean came like a fucking porn star just from talking, hips jerking, thighs trembling, while Cas listened with hungry eyes and coaxed him through it.

Being with Cas was intense. But Dean fucking liked it. That intensity wasn’t a downside; it was their entire relationship.

Two weeks later, Dean was finally ready to get fucked instead of doing the fucking—and Cas made sure he never forgot it. He had been patient, careful, but still filthy enough to burn every moment into Dean’s memory. Cas kissed him everywhere—his neck, his chest, sucked Dean’s nipples until they ached, dragged his mouth down his hips. Then he flipped him over and ate him out, slow and deep, until Dean was shamelessly pushing back against his face, grinding down, moaning like he’d never moaned before. Cas’s tongue was wicked, thick, relentless, and when his hand curled around Dean’s cock and stroked him while he licked him open, Dean nearly blacked out from how good it felt. To this day, Dean blushes just remembering it—and craves it even more.

From then on, things only got kinkier. Cas was unapologetically horny and always reaching for something new.

The first time he suggested it, Dean had just stared, blinking and stuttering, too flustered to answer. It took him two whole days to come around. The “something new” turned out to be a vibrator, and fuck—Dean had loved that. Cas had pushed it in and out of him while his mouth worked Dean’s cock, forcing him to choose between thrusting into heat or grinding back onto the toy. He couldn’t choose, couldn’t keep still, and Cas laughed into his skin when Dean spilled hard across his chest.

Next came spanking—with toys. Cas cuffed his wrists behind his back, pushed Dean onto his chest, and worked him over for an hour until Dean’s ass burned and his thighs shook. He came untouched, just from the rhythm of Cas’s hand, the sting and the ache from the leather straps, before Cas slid inside and fucked him raw until Dean saw stars.

The third kink almost ended them—but only because Dean hadn’t been prepared. They’d just finished fucking for the umpteenth time without a condom, Cas’s cum still hot inside him, when Dean went to move. Cas held him down instead—one hand firm on his hip, the other pressing between his shoulder blades. Dean lay there, panting, letting the aftershocks fade, until the pressure changed. Heavy, sudden, filthy. Cas shuddered behind him, groaned low, and Dean realized what was happening.

“Cas… are you—did you just—” He couldn’t even get the words out.

Cas pulled out slow, agonizingly slow, and Dean could feel it—the hot spill leaking out of him, sliding down his thighs, pooling into the sheets. Cum and piss, messy and obscene. His whole body flushed red with humiliation, but his cock twitched against his stomach, already aching again. Cas didn’t apologize, didn’t flinch—he just smoothed a hand down Dean’s back like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And Dean… as filthy as it was, as much as he thought he’d hate it—part of him wanted more.

Dean would sometimes ask for things in return.

Small things, filthy things—like asking Cas to cum on his chest, his face, anywhere on him. Cas never hesitated. He loved it. The first time Dean sucked him off had been messy and awkward—Dean’s first time with a dick in his mouth, lips too tight, jaw aching, teeth scraping. But Cas had been patient, guiding him with gentle pressure, tilting Dean’s head just so until the angle worked for both of them. Once Dean caught the rhythm, once he found the pace Cas liked, he swallowed him down with greedy, sloppy lips, until he had to pull off, gasping, spit dripping down his chin.

“Cum on my face,” Dean begged, voice wrecked. “Please.”

Cas had pulled out and jerked himself right there, towering over Dean. Dean left his mouth open, shameless, waiting. When Cas spilled hot into him, Dean swallowed everything he could, gagging on the sheer amount, the taste sharp and heavy on his tongue. What he couldn’t swallow smeared across his cheek, his lips, and Cas had leaned down to lick it away like some feral thing, then kissed him deep through the mess.

***

For a while, Cas worried he was just an experiment—that Dean was only doing this to check boxes, to get it out of his system. The thought unsettled him, made him hold back in ways Dean noticed.

So Dean asked for more.

More positions—he loved being on top, straddling Cas, because Cas would hold him close and fuck up into him, grinding into his prostate so hard Dean leaked onto Cas’s stomach so obscenely.

More spankings—usually over Cas’s lap, stripped down and punished like a disobedient boy until his ass stung red and his cock drooled onto the sheets. More toys—nipple clamps that bit hard, vibrators that left him shaking, restraints that left his wrists raw, even Cas’s belt, the thick leather leaving welts that bloomed into bruises Dean wore like a badge.

And more watersports. It was Cas’s favorite thing – even if he didn’t openly admit it, Dean knew.

It started simple. Cas marking him in the shower, with Dean on his knees under the spray. Cas was careful at first, aiming across his chest, his neck, letting it streak down his skin while his other hand braced against the tile above Dean’s head. Dean’s breath caught, but when Cas’s darkened eyes flicked down and saw his expression—saw that Dean wasn’t running, wasn’t disgusted, but flushed and trembling—Cas went lower.

The warm stream slid over Dean’s cock, soft at first, then swelling heavy, thickening under the heat. His thighs trembled, legs spreading wider, moans spilling out as his cock lifted on its own, hard and dripping with precum, water, and Cas’s piss.

Dean should’ve said no. With anyone else, he would’ve. But Cas looked so fucking gorgeous above him—water running down his sharp jaw, hair plastered to his forehead, body flexed and unashamed—that Dean let himself give in. He squirmed, parted his thighs further, until every drop marked him. The last of it spurted out in uneven drips, Cas groaning above him, and Dean felt himself twitch and ache like he could’ve cum untouched, just from the sight of him.

Still, even the strongest relationships had their limits… kind of.

***

“No.” Dean said firmly. “Absolutely not. I’m not… doing that.”

Cas didn’t flinch. Just frowned faintly and nodded, like Dean had told him the weather was chilly instead of shutting down a kink suggestion. He’d tossed the idea out casually over breakfast, between bites of toast and coffee, like it was nothing—like asking your boyfriend to piss in your mouth was as normal as asking for the jam.

Dean chewed his toast too hard, washed it down with lukewarm coffee, and kept glaring at him. Cas, unbothered as ever, had his chin propped on one palm, eyes on his sudoku puzzle. He murmured something about this particular grid being harder than usual, pen scratching quietly across the page.

Dean sighed and tapped his fingers against the table. Restless. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to, I just… you always— I can’t—”

“Dean,” Cas interrupted smoothly, not looking up, “you told me no. I’m not going to push it.”

Dean froze, cheeks hot. “Well yeah, Cas… but I mean… you want to try things, and I just don’t know if—what if—”

Cas’s head lifted, those ocean-blue eyes cutting straight through him. “Would you rather I do it to you?” His voice was mild, almost bored. “You seem to like it when I… do it to you.” He didn’t have to say the word. He didn’t need to.

Dean’s ears burned. He stared down at his plate, pushing eggs around with his fork, before sneaking another glance up at the man across from him. Cas leaned back in his chair, broad shoulders stretching his shirt, sleeves straining over thick biceps. His hair was messy, his expression calm, and his unashamed kink made him look so goddamn sexy Dean wanted to crawl under the table and never come out.

“I—I mean… we’ve only ever done it… on my chest and on—”

“Your perfect dick,” Cas interrupted, matter-of-fact, like it was a fact in the morning paper.

Dean nearly choked on his coffee. “Cas—Jesus— I… I mean, I—I guess I’ll… do it… to you,” he muttered, eyes darting anywhere but at his boyfriend.

Cas tilted his head, considering him, and then that smile broke across his face—the one that always made Dean weak at the knees.

“I’ll let you do it,” Cas said softly, “but you have to say it. What are you going to try on me?”

Before Dean could react, Cas rose and crossed the room, kneeling gracefully in front of Dean’s chair. His hands gripped the legs and turned him until they were facing each other. Dean’s pulse skipped when Cas’s palms slid up to rest heavy on his thighs, stroking through the thin fabric of his sleep pants.

Dean swallowed hard. His breath caught when Cas’s thumbs brushed close to his cock, lazy circles over soft fabric, the gentle press of heat already making him stir.

Cas tilted his head back, staring up at him with those piercing eyes, unwavering. “Say it,” he murmured, thumbs pressing higher, into the crease of Dean’s thighs.

Dean opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Cas’s right thumb dragged over the head of his cock, slow, deliberate, and his other hand pressed into the firm line of Dean’s abdomen—like he was coaxing something out of him. Dean bit his lip, chest tight, because he knew exactly what Cas was trying to do: break him open with nothing but patience and touch.

Cas did something that made Dean’s heart skip. He lowered his head into Dean’s lap, cheek brushing the hardening bulge in his sleep pants, and looked up with those devastatingly blue eyes. His hand squeezed him through the fabric, slow and deliberate, groping him into shape.

“I—” Dean faltered, reaching down to cup Cas’s face. His thumb traced over the sharp line of his jaw. “I want to… fuck, Cas, why do you always have to make me say it?” His voice cracked, shame and want bleeding together.

“Because I need to know you’re not doing it just for me,” Cas said evenly, his hand pressing firmer against Dean’s cock. “I need to know you want to fill my mouth.” His voice dropped, a promise threaded through every syllable.

Dean swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “I… I want to fill your mouth.” The words came out ragged, barely audible.

Cas tilted into his touch, kissed the center of Dean’s palm, and then dragged his tongue between Dean’s fingers, wet and slow. Dean’s cock twitched under the pressure of Cas’s other hand pressing into his abdomen, pinning him in place.

“With what?” Cas murmured against his hand, eyes still locked on Dean’s.

Dean’s blush spread all the way to his ears. “With… with my—fuck.” He couldn’t even finish. The humiliation made his cock throb harder.

Cas shifted, sliding between Dean’s thighs, and leaned up to kiss him. Deep, consuming, Cas’s tongue stroking into his mouth while his hand cajoled Dean’s cock to full hardness. When he finally broke the kiss, Dean’s lips parted, chasing after him like he couldn’t stand the loss.

“I won’t make you say it,” Cas said softly. Then he smiled, wicked and calm. “But I will make you do it. Now. Come.”

He rose smoothly to his feet and tugged Dean up with him.

“Cas, hold on—just give me a minute.” Dean pulled free, breathless, and before Cas could argue, he pressed a quick kiss to his lips and ducked away toward the bathroom. Cas let him go, patient as ever—too patient for someone with kinks this filthy. Dean admired that, even if it made him crazy.

Ten minutes later, Dean emerged, hair damp from splashing water on his face. He crossed the kitchen without a word, yanked open the fridge, and grabbed a water bottle. Cas’s brows arched as he watched Dean tilt his head back and chug.

When Dean finally lowered it, panting lightly, Cas was still watching him. Amused. A little smug. And so goddamn beautiful that Dean wanted to both kiss him and punch him.

Dean grabbed another water bottle. Cas trailed behind him, slow and deliberate, until his chest was pressed against Dean’s back. Strong arms wrapped around his waist, and Cas watched while Dean tilted his head back and chugged. Water spilled down the corners of his mouth, dripping down his throat.

Cas’s hands slid to his hips, pulling him close, and Dean felt the hard press of his cock against his ass. Dean tried not to smirk around the bottle, but then Cas’s hand moved lower, cupping him through his pants—soft now, but stirring—and the other pressed into his stomach, firm.

Dean lowered the bottle, breath ragged, and Cas’s lips closed around his neck, sucking gently, marking him. He took another sip to steady himself.

“Cas…” Dean’s voice was hoarse. “If you keep pressing on my stomach… I… I might—”

Cas’s warm hand slipped into his pants, cupping his cock, squeezing lightly. His mouth grazed Dean’s ear, tongue flicking across the shell. “You can,” he whispered. “In my hand. In your pants.”

Dean stiffened. “Cas, I’m not… I’m not doing that—”

“I’ll clean it up,” Cas cut in quickly, like it was obvious. His cock ground harder into Dean’s ass as his hand pushed into his stomach, urging. His breath hitched, his composure fraying at the edges.

Dean wanted to say no. That this was their kitchen, where they ate. That it was wrong. But his reasons sounded thin in his head, especially with Cas breathing like that—half a moan already in his throat, body trembling with want. Dean’s nerves screamed, half in protest, half in anticipation. Cas was too much, too fucking kinky, too unashamed. And Dean—God help him—liked it.

He gulped down the last of the bottle and tossed the plastic onto the counter. Cas squeezed his cock harder, still soft but swelling in his palm, then rolled his hips forward until his hardness rubbed deep into Dean’s ass. Dean gripped the edge of the counter, dropped his head, eyes squeezed shut. His whole body argued with him not to. But—

A moan slipped out of Cas’s throat, low and desperate, right at his ear. And Dean broke.

He let go.

It started as a trickle, heat blooming into his boxers, and Dean bit down on the inside of his lip, face burning with shame and arousal. Cas groaned shakily, pushing firmer on his stomach, wheedling it out of him. The stream grew heavier, soaking through, spreading dark across the front of his pants until it dripped down his leg. The sound of it—hot, wet, obscene—filled the kitchen. Cas stroked him, the stream got hotter, bigger, and Dean couldn’t help the whimper that sounded in his throat.

Cas gasped against his neck, shuddering, and without touching himself he came, spilling in his own pants while Dean pissed in his.

Dean’s chest heaved, his fingers white-knuckled on the counter. Cas’s arms locked around his middle, shaking, holding him close like he’d just given him something sacred.

And maybe he had.

***

Cas cleaned up the mess—like he promised— while Dean took the shower.

Dean’s head spun. His body was still humming, still twitching with after-effects, and he didn’t know how the fuck to feel about it. If it had been anyone else, he never would’ve done it. Hell, when he was a kid, if the dog pissed in the kitchen, it got spanked and thrown outside. His cock twitched at the thought, shame curling hot in his gut, and he groaned in frustration, scrubbing at his skin too hard, fingers digging into his scalp like he could wash the filth away.

Because the truth was—he’d fucking liked it. Every second of it. Cas was the kinkiest person he’d ever been with, and Dean fucking loved it. His body betrayed him over and over, and all he could think under the spray was: what else? What else would Cas do? What else would he make Dean want?

Dean didn’t even hear the bathroom door slide open until Cas was already there, stepping into the steam with him. Strong arms wrapped around him from behind, lips brushing his shoulder, Cas’s hands smoothing up and down his body, grounding.

“Was that too much?” Cas whispered into his ear. “Did I push you too far?”

Dean stayed quiet, the water running over his face. He couldn’t answer.

Cas turned him around gently, eyes searching, but Dean looked away.

“I pushed too far,” Cas said softly, hand lifting to grip Dean’s chin, angling his face back toward him.

“I… I liked it,” Dean muttered, voice low. “Just… not used to it. You’re… really fucking kinky, man.”

Cas’s expression flickered, wounded. “Do you want me to tone it down? We can stop. I can stop..."

Dean’s chest tightened. He swallowed hard, shaky, still unable to meet his eyes. When Cas dropped his hand and started to step back, Dean caught his wrist. He tugged him forward and crashed their mouths together, kissing him hard enough to bruise. Cas made a startled noise in his throat, grabbing Dean’s hips, pulling him close. Dean licked into his mouth, sucked on his bottom lip, nipped at it playfully before breaking away, eyes burning into Cas’s.

“Did you cum… from me doing that?” Dean asked, his voice edged with something darker. “Without me touching you?”

Cas’s eyes flicked down to his mouth, then back up. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Dean slid a hand down, fingers brushing Cas’s inner thigh, grazing the growing length between his legs. “You did, didn’t you,” he said, voice dropping, smug and teasing.

Cas shuddered, pushing into his hand.

“I felt how hard you were,” Dean went on, stroking him slowly. “Grinding on me… while I—” he faltered, shame biting at the back of his throat. Cas caught it, the hesitation, but before either could stop it, Dean pushed on. “While I pissed myself. In your hand. In my pants.”

Cas groaned, forehead dropping against Dean’s, his cock thickening in Dean’s fist as he ground into the touch, shameless.

And Dean—fuck—Dean felt… so fucking filthy.

“Did you, Cas?” Dean’s voice was low, urgent, his hand working Cas’s cock faster.

“Yeah,” Cas gasped, hips twitching into his fist.

Dean’s lips parted, desperate. “Will you fuck me?” He almost whined it, begging.

That was all it took. Cas grabbed him by the hips and spun him around, pressing him forward until his chest hit the wet tile. Dean pushed back shamelessly, grinding his ass against the thick length rubbing between his cheeks.

“God, I’m going to fuck you so hard,” Cas growled. His voice was rough, ragged, like it was scraping right out of his chest. He lined himself up and pressed forward, slow, relentless, watching as Dean’s hole gave way and stretched, swallowing him inch by inch.

Dean groaned, forehead pressed to the tile, muscles fluttering around the thick intrusion. His cock throbbed, trapped against the slick wall, smearing precum as he squirmed.

Cas set his grip—one hand ironclad on Dean’s hip, the other clamping down on his shoulder—and then he snapped his hips forward. The sound of skin on skin echoed in the shower as he drove into him, fucking him open hard and fast.

Dean cried out, body jolting with every thrust. Cas held him so tight there was no slipping, no escape—just the brutal rhythm of cock pounding into ass.

“Ahh—f-fuck, Cas!” Dean’s voice cracked, his moans bouncing off the tiles.

Cas snarled, fucking him harder, faster, like he wanted to carve himself into Dean’s body.

“Jerk off,” Cas demanded, voice breaking with need. He leaned in close, breath hot against Dean’s ear. “I want you to cum while I fuck you.”

Dean’s hand scrambled down, pressing against the wall, wrapping around his own cock. He was already leaking, already close, his body caught between Cas’s relentless thrusts and the desperate strokes of his own fist.

Cas’s thrusts grew ragged, his grip bruising on Dean’s hip, until he threw his head back and groaned deep in his chest. He slammed into Dean, burying himself to the hilt, and the sound Dean made—half a sob, half a moan—broke into a shameless cry as he spilled against the slick tile. Hot cum smeared down the wall as Dean stroked through it, trembling, sighing, whimpering, while Cas rutted through the last few frantic thrusts before stilling.

The shower still hissed around them, steam clinging to their skin. Dean leaned into the tile, chest heaving, forehead pressed hard against the slick wall. Cas’s lips brushed his shoulders in tender contrast, kissing along the curve of wet skin as he reached under Dean to turn the water off. The sudden quiet was deafening—just their ragged breathing, the drip of water.

Dean flinched when Cas began to pull out. His hand shot back, clutching Cas’s hip.

“Dean,” Cas whispered, strained. “I can’t… stay inside you like this—”

“I… I want you to,” Dean interrupted, voice breaking.

Cas froze. Then he stepped forward, chest flush against Dean’s back, cock still thick but softening inside him. He pressed wet kisses into Dean’s damp shoulder, mouth trailing up his neck, licking and sucking until Dean shuddered. His hands tightened on Dean’s hips, grounding him, and his lips found his ear.

“What do you want?” Cas asked, voice a low growl.

Dean’s breath hitched, shaky. “Just… do it. Cas… please.”

“You want me to?”

Dean nodded against the tile, throat tight. “Yeah.”

“Because you want it?”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

“You love it,” Cas pressed, hips flexing, cock throbbing inside him.

Dean clenched around him, whimpering. “Yeah, Cas… I fucking love it.”

Cas gasped, forehead dropping against Dean’s neck. His breath came hot, uneven, as his control finally snapped. Dean’s eyes screwed shut as he felt the sudden rush, the hot stream flooding into him, pressure swelling until it overflowed. It leaked out around Cas’s cock, running down Dean’s thighs in rivulets, filthy and raw.

Dean moaned, broken and breathless, sagging against the tile as Cas held him through it—mouth still at his ear, whispering his name, grinding into him like he couldn’t bear to let go.

***

Dean lay sprawled in bed after what felt like the longest damn day. His body was wrecked in the best possible way—sore, tender, and humming with aftershocks. Cas had managed to fuck him two more times after the incident in the shower, and every muscle in Dean’s body ached with the reminder. He welcomed it. It grounded him.

The TV flickered across the room, channel after channel as Dean absently flipped, not really watching. His eyes drifted toward the door when it opened, and Cas walked in—completely unbothered, completely naked, like it was the most natural thing in the world to him. Dean blinked, his throat tightening. He still couldn’t quite believe his luck—waking up next to someone this gorgeous, this shameless, this unapologetically kinky. Overwhelming didn’t even begin to cover it. But God, he loved it. He loved him.

The words slipped out before he could stop them. “I love you, Cas.”

It shocked them both. Dean froze, realizing what he’d said, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t say those words first. Not ever. They weren’t part of his vocabulary, not really. He hadn’t meant them for anyone in… longer than he could remember.

Cas stood still at the foot of the bed, staring down at him like Dean had just grown another head. Dean nearly laughed it off, about to shrug and play it cool, but Cas moved. He climbed onto the bed, settled beside him, and reached for Dean’s hand. His grip was firm but trembling faintly.

“I love you too,” Cas whispered.

Dean’s lips curved into a small, shy smile, the kind he hadn’t let himself wear in years. He turned his hand to lace their fingers together, warmth spreading through his chest.

Cas leaned in and kissed him hard, full of teeth and tongue and something deeper, something that made Dean’s head spin all over again. When Cas pulled back, their lips still brushing, his voice came low and tentative.

“Being with me… it isn’t too much, is it?”

Dean shook his head instantly. “Nah, man. I love it. I love you. I’m not gonna judge you for the things you like. Just… took me by surprise, is all.” He chuckled softly, a little embarrassed, eyes darting away. “Didn’t think my first guy would be this… fucking kinky.”

Cas laughed—low and warm, the sound rumbling in his chest.

“Not many people liked the things I liked,” he admitted, his thumb brushing across the back of Dean’s hand. His gaze softened, unguarded. “I’m glad you do.”

Dean studied him for a moment, the way his blue eyes caught the dim light, the faint curve of a smile tugging at his lips. Warmth settled in his chest like an anchor. He squeezed Cas’s hand and whispered, almost to himself, “Yeah. Me too.”

Cas, not surprisingly, was actually really fucking gentle. He stretched out on the bed and pulled Dean against his chest. For all the filthy things they’d done, this was the most vanilla—just cuddling, skin to skin, Cas stroking Dean’s arm and petting him until he relaxed. Cas loved to hold him like this, to keep him close until sleep finally dragged him under.

But Dean’s mind was too restless. Too full. The last few months, weeks, hours—they’d been a whirlwind. And now curiosity gnawed at him.

“What else do you like… besides what we’ve done?” Dean asked, pulling back just enough to prop himself on his elbow, looking up at Cas.

Cas tilted his head, eyes thoughtful, like he was weighing whether to answer.

Dean smirked. “What—you shy now?” He teased, brushing Cas’s messy hair back from his face.

“No, not shy,” Cas said with a low chuckle. “Just… there’s a list.”

Dean chuckled, nervous but intrigued. “Okay, well… narrow it down. What would you want to do—with me?”

Cas’s lips parted, tongue flicking out before his teeth caught his bottom lip. Dean braced himself.

“Well,” Cas began, voice casual but eyes burning, “I want to buy a gallon of fake blood, lay down a tarp, slather you in it, and fuck covered in it.”

Dean blinked. His throat went dry.

Cas’s expression didn’t change as he went on, voice low and deliberate. “I want to see how well you’d take being tied down. Restrained until you can’t move, just mine to touch. I want to try double penetration—stretching you so wide you can’t think. You seem to love it when I open you up.” His gaze slid down Dean’s body, and Dean flushed hot, his cock already stirring.

“And knife play,” Cas added softly, like it was almost tender. “I think you’d look devastatingly beautiful with the flat of a blade against your throat. I’d never cut you, Dean. Just want to see how you shiver when I drag cold steel down your skin. There's more..."

Dean’s mouth went dry, his pulse stuttering. “Cas… that’s… a lot,” he muttered, trying for lightness, but his body betrayed him—heat pooling low in his gut, cock already swelling.

Cas noticed. Of course he did. His smile turned slow, dangerous. “Does it intrigue you. Maybe a little?”

Dean swallowed. The thought of Cas, slick with fake blood, those blue eyes piercing through the color, pressing him down into a tarp and fucking him raw—it made his cock throb. Tied down, unable to move, stretched open and desperate… God, he wanted it. He shouldn’t, but he did.

“Yeah, Cas… the uh… blood shower sounds… fun,” Dean admitted, his voice low, broken with want.

Cas’s hand smoothed up his chest, thumb brushing his nipple. “When would you want to try it?” he asked, like he was discussing dinner plans.

Dean blinked. “I—uh—”

“Would you want it messy?” Cas pressed, his voice a whisper in the dim light. “Tarp spread out across the floor. You slick and red, your skin hot and sticky under my hands. Or would you rather it be neat? Clean sheets ruined just for the memory of it?”

Dean’s cock twitched under the thin fabric of his boxers. He tried to look away, but Cas tipped his chin back until their eyes locked.

“You’re thinking about it,” Cas murmured, almost smug. “Thinking about me dragging you through the mess, my cock sliding in while you’re dripping red. I can feel you getting hard, Dean. Do you like imagining that?”

Dean’s cheeks flamed. He bit his lip, but Cas’s hand was already sliding down, brushing over the swell in his boxers, teasing him with the lightest touch.

“Yeah, you do,” Cas whispered, eyes burning into his. “You’d look so goddamn pretty covered in it. Moaning for me, begging for more.”

Dean groaned, hips lifting helplessly into Cas’s hand, his body betraying him all over again.

“How would you want to do it?” Dean asked, trying to turn the focus back to Cas—even though Cas’s warm palm was already sliding slow over his cock, squeezing just enough to make him twitch.

“I like the idea of our pristine white sheets getting ruined by fake blood,” Cas said casually, like he wasn’t jerking Dean off at the same time. “Or our whole bedroom turned into a bloodbath of sweat and cum.”

Dean moaned, hips jerking at both the grip and the thought. He looked down at his lap, cock not fully hard yet but swelling fast. He wanted to egg Cas on, wanted to watch him unravel.

“Yeah,” Dean gasped, “you probably already bought the stuff, didn’t you?” Cas’s eyes darkened. “Couldn’t wait to bring it up, huh? Bet you’ve been thinking about it for months—just waiting for me to say something…”

Dean spread his legs wider, thrusting up into Cas’s touch, before reaching over to touch him back.

“I have thought about it,” Cas admitted, voice rough. He tugged Dean’s cock free of his boxers, letting the waistband rest beneath his balls.

Dean smirked darkly. “Bet you’ve jerked off to it.”

Cas inhaled sharply, squeezing him in response.

“Bet your dick got so wet,” Dean pushed, thumb brushing under the swollen, leaking tip, smearing precum across the head, “thinking about me covered in blood. You fucking me until I’m crying.”

Cas groaned, another fat bead of precum spilled from the slit. Dean rubbed his thumb through the slick, spreading it, watching Cas’s composure fray.

With a broken sound, Cas grabbed the back of Dean’s neck, pulling him in for a sloppy, messy kiss. Dean answered it eagerly, just as filthy, lips slick and tongues tangling. Cas broke away only to push Dean’s head lower—down his body, down to his cock. Dean went willingly, wrapping his lips around him, swallowing him to the base in one smooth drag.

Cas hissed, one hand fisting in Dean’s hair, the other slipping back into Dean’s boxers to rub tight circles around his sore hole. He pressed but didn’t push inside, teasing, making Dean whine around his cock. Dean gagged, obscene and wet, a porn noise so filthy it made Cas leak harder down his throat.

Dean bobbed his head, working his throat around the biggest cock he’d ever taken, the only cock he'd ever taken. He was better at it now—his throat stretching, taking Cas easier than he ever thought possible. Each slide down made him moan, the sound vibrating around Cas’s length. Cas’s hand stayed at the back of his head, steady, while his other teased Dean’s hole, circling, pressing, making his body twitch.

Then Cas tugged him off with a slick pop, breath ragged. “Strip. I want to suck you off too.”

Dean almost lost his balance yanking his boxers down, cock slapping against his stomach. Cas slid lower on the mattress, pulling Dean on top of him, arms locking around his thighs. His hands gripped Dean’s ass, spreading him wide before leaning up to swallow his cock whole—down to the base, until his nose pressed into Dean’s sac.

Dean gasped, fingers clawing the sheets, eyes rolling back as Cas deepthroated him like a pro. It was intense—better than anything he’d had before. Cas wasn’t afraid to gag, to moan around him, to stroke and play with his balls, even to pull back and lick up his shaft before sliding lower, tonguing his hole until Dean was shivering.

Dean bent down, lips wrapping back around Cas’s cock, and they fell into rhythm—sucking each other off, sloppy and wet, feeding off each other’s sounds. It felt endless, but minutes blurred by fast. Cas always liked to drag things out, but Dean’s body was sore, desperate. Cas knew it—he reached up and slid his fingers into Dean, deep, pressing his prostate until Dean’s whole body jolted.

“Fuck—” Dean pulled off just long enough to gasp, spit stringing from his lips to Cas’s cock, before diving back down like a man starved.

Cas groaned, pushing Dean’s hips lower, wordlessly begging him to fuck his mouth. Dean obeyed, careful at first, shallow thrusts. Cas barely gagged, just moaned, his throat swallowing him down like it was nothing. The sight nearly broke Dean.

“God, Cas—I’m gonna cum down your throat,” Dean groaned, his hand jerking Cas’s cock, feeling it throb hot in his palm.

Cas’s throat convulsed around him, and Dean shattered. His ass clenched tight around Cas’s fingers as he spilled hard, hot streams down Cas’s throat, moaning through it as he buried himself to the root. Cas swallowed greedily, and seconds later, his own release hit—filling Dean’s mouth until it overflowed, dripping down his chin, pooling around Cas’s balls.

Dean struggled to swallow it all, messy and gasping, but Cas liked it that way—liked the sight of his cum dribbling down Dean’s lips. Finally, Dean pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before collapsing beside him. He curled into Cas’s side, clinging to him as their aftershocks ebbed.

Cas flicked off the lights, leaving the TV on low. He stroked Dean’s damp hair until his breathing evened out, letting him drift into sleep safe against him.

***

The following week, it was Dean who surprised Cas.

He wanted to try the blood play Cas had mentioned—but outside, in their backyard. The fence wrapped around the property high enough to keep out prying eyes, but still… the idea made Dean’s heart race. Cas nearly kissed him breathless when Dean suggested it, his excitement spilling into a heavy, eager kiss.

Because just days earlier, Cas had confessed another kink.

“I like… exhibitionism too,” he’d said casually, reaching for two boxes of cereal—one overly sweet for Dean, the other heart-healthy for himself.

Dean, pushing the cart, blinked. “What does… that mean?” he mumbled, already suspicious.

“I like to do things in public,” Cas answered without hesitation. “Possibly getting caught.” He tossed the boxes into the cart, his tone as casual as if he were naming his favorite brand of coffee.

Dean’s cheeks burned. “Do you… want people to watch or something?”

Cas glanced over, eyes darkening with that familiar, suggestive glint. “I’m not opposed to someone watching us—if you’re not opposed to it.”

Dean blinked, momentarily thrown. But this was Cas. His boyfriend never shied away from anything. Cas was kink made flesh, sex without apology, and he talked about it as easily as breathing.

They continued through the store, filling their cart with whatever made sense—groceries for both of them, thoughtless chatter filling the air. But Dean’s mind stuck on the confession.

At checkout, as Cas bagged the groceries, Dean’s voice dropped. “Who would… who would you want to watch us?”

Cas only shrugged, his expression calm, almost bored. “Anybody.”

Dean’s stomach twisted. Cas paid, and Dean followed him out. They packed the bags into the trunk of Dean’s beloved Baby, the lid closing with a metallic thud. Dean hesitated, leaning against the car.

“I won’t fuck anybody else,” he said suddenly, words rough, “if… if we let someone else in.”

Cas looked at him, cart still in hand, the weight of his blue eyes settling heavy. He pushed the cart back into place, turned fully toward Dean, and said with steady conviction, “I know, Dean. They could watch—but not touch.”

Dean tried to shake it off, but the conversation sat heavy in his chest, twisting low in his gut. The idea lingered—equal parts arousal and dread.

***

That night, they set up their scene in the backyard. The evening was warm, the kind of night where the air stuck to your skin, and stars were just starting to prick through the dark sky. Dean laid out an old blanket, not even bothering with a tarp, while Cas unscrewed the cap of the gallon of fake blood. Dean’s curiosity flared, tugging at him until he took the jug and gave it a tentative sniff.

“Smells… not like what I expected,” he muttered, brows lifting when the scent hit him. Chocolate, laced with mint.

Cas only smiled faintly, dipping his middle and ring finger straight into the jug. When he lifted them out, the thick red liquid clung to his skin, dripping slowly down between his fingers, pooling in his palm, streaking the back of his hand. He held them out toward Dean in quiet offering.

Dean’s chest tightened. It looked obscene—Cas’s long fingers slicked with red, held out like communion. He parted his lips, slow and deliberate, and let Cas press his coated fingers into his mouth. They rested heavy on his tongue, and Dean closed his lips around them, sucking greedily.

The taste was strong, rich—thick. Dean’s eyes fluttered shut as a low moan escaped his throat. When Cas finally pulled his fingers back, Dean leaned forward to lick them clean, desperate, like a dog stealing scraps from his master’s plate.

“So, uh…” Dean cleared his throat, already flushed. “Do you want to get naked, or—”

“Would you fuck me tonight?” Cas interrupted, his tone sharp and direct.

Dean froze, eyes wide. In the months they’d been together, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Cas always topped, always had the control, always took Dean apart piece by piece. The question hit him like a sucker punch.

“You… want me to fuck you?” Dean asked, almost disbelieving.

“Yes.” The word came without hesitation.

Before Dean could react, Cas was already stripping—shirt off and tossed aside, pants shoved down, his cock springing free, flushed, hard, already wet, almost red, under the glow of the night.

Dean’s head whipped instinctively toward the fence, toward the neighboring house across the way. Nobody could see them… right? The thought of the woman who lived there sent a shudder down his spine, and he forced himself to look back at Cas. The nerves hit him hard, but he tugged his shirt off before he could chicken out, shoved his pants down, and stood naked, bare and hesitant in the night air.

Just as his nerves threatened to overwhelm him, Cas lifted the gallon of blood high in one hand.

“Still with me?” Cas asked, blue eyes steady, unreadable.

Dean swallowed, throat dry. “Yeah. Just, uh… what do—oh, fuck.”

Cas didn’t wait. He tipped the jug, and thick crimson liquid poured over his chest, sliding down in bright rivulets, dripping from his collarbones, running over the hard ridges of his stomach. It coated him in slow, wet streaks until it reached his cock, cascading over the length, dripping from the tip and down his thighs. The blood shone wet under the dim porch light, warm and slightly sticky against his skin.

Dean’s cock twitched, nerves drowned by the sheer sight of Cas—glorious, drenched in red, like sin itself brought to life.

He couldn’t move at first, stunned by the sight of Cas dripping in red, but Cas didn’t wait. He grabbed the jug and tipped it straight over Dean’s head. The thick liquid cascaded down, soaking his hair, streaking across his face until it poured over his neck and chest in sticky rivulets. Dean sputtered, wiping at his eyes, resisting the urge to bark out a laugh. His skin gleamed under the porch light, crimson streaks cutting down every line of muscle.

Cas tossed the empty gallon carelessly across the yard and closed the distance between them, crushing his mouth to Dean’s. Their kiss was messy, flavored with chocolate-mint, sticky blood smearing between their lips. Dean groaned into it, gripping Cas’s waist, but even that slipped—the blood made his skin slick, impossible to hold onto.

Cas pulled back just enough to look at him—and the sight nearly undid him. Dean’s green eyes shone bright under the streaks of red, his freckles nearly hidden beneath the mess, his hair plastered to his forehead. He looked sinful. Beautiful. Like some sacrificial god draped in blood.

Cas’s cock throbbed at the sight, leaking freely against his stomach. He groaned low, hips jerking forward, desperate just from looking at him.

Dean, catching the reaction, smirked faintly. He pressed forward, step by step, forcing Cas to walk backward until the thick blanket brushed their feet. He pulled away from the kiss, eyes locked on Cas, and his voice came rough, commanding.

“Lay down.”

Cas obeyed instantly, dropping onto his back so fast Dean almost laughed. The man was desperate—already spread out, cock flushed and glistening with precum, body streaked in red, looking up at Dean like he was both lover and executioner.

And Dean—covered in blood, glistening in the moonlight—looked every bit the part.

Dean climbed on top of Cas, who spread his legs wide in welcome, letting Dean settle comfortably between them. Their cocks rubbed together, slicking with precum and smeared blood as Dean kissed him, grinding slow and deliberate into the heat of Cas’s body. Cas wrapped his legs tight around Dean’s waist, pulling him closer, hungry for more. Dean broke the kiss, panting, and stared down at him.

Cas wanted this—needed it—and Dean was determined to make it good for him.

So he dropped his guard, let himself be filthy, let himself take.

He dipped down and dragged his tongue up Cas’s throat, collecting the blood there in his mouth. It was sticky, metallic-sweet and a little bitter, thick on his tongue—and it turned him on so much his cock throbbed painfully. He pulled back just enough to let the mess drip from his mouth into Cas’s, watching the way Cas opened for him, swallowing it down, his cock bouncing hard against Dean’s stomach. Dean licked at his lips, smeared them red, then kissed him again, smearing the taste all over his skin.

Cas moaned, legs falling further apart, giving Dean space to kiss lower. Dean trailed his tongue over his chest, reveling in the flavor and the mess, before fastening his mouth around one peaked nipple. His fingers found the other, tugging and tweaking hard until Cas writhed beneath him.

Normally, Cas was the one in control, but not tonight. Dean took his chance, biting, sucking, lapping at Cas’s nipples until they were sore, swollen, and slick with blood and spit. Cas’s moans grew desperate, his chest heaving, his hips rocking up against Dean’s.

Dean pulled back, chest heaving, and gripped himself, smearing his blood-covered cock against Cas’s, grinding their lengths together.

“Flip over,” Dean ordered darkly, voice low and rough.

Cas shuddered at the command, nearly undone just from hearing it. He obeyed instantly, rolling onto his stomach. Dean licked his lips at the sight—Cas’s back streaked and stained red, less drenched than his front but still beautiful, his body glistening under the faint light.

“Chest down,” Dean growled, and Cas folded his arms beneath his head, pressing his chest into the blanket, presenting himself, ass up and ready.

Dean’s hands slid over the firm swell of his ass, warm and sticky with blood, gripping and kneading until Cas whimpered. He spread him open, thumbs digging into the soft flesh, exposing the tight pink ring of his hole. Dean bit his lip, growling low in his throat at the sight.

Then he leaned in, licking a long, filthy stripe right over the puckered skin. Cas gasped, pressing back immediately, body begging for more. Dean growled again, spreading him wider, his tongue working deeper and deeper, licking, circling, diving into that untouched hole with obscene slurps.

Cas whined into the blanket, hips jerking back against Dean’s mouth, his cock dripping precum onto the blood-soaked fabric. And Dean devoured him—fucking him with his tongue, wet and relentless, until Cas was shaking, moaning shamelessly, broken open under him.

Dean sucked on Cas’s rim, pulling the tender skin into his mouth until it swelled under his lips. He leaned back, blood streaking his chin, and rubbed the pad of his thumb over the swollen flesh before pressing in just slightly. Cas moaned, body twitching, and pushed back eagerly against the pressure.

Dean glanced down and caught the sight—Cas stroking his cock with a slick hand, blood and precum mixing, smearing it down the length of his shaft until it glistened wet and obscene. The sight made Dean’s own cock throb. Growling low, he spread Cas’s cheeks wide and went back in, sucking, licking, swirling his tongue around the rim until he dipped inside. He moaned, devouring Cas’s ass like it was a five-course meal, obscene slurps filling the night.

His tongue was merciless. Cas fucked back against it, rutting into Dean’s face, stroking himself harder, smearing crimson across his cock and thighs.

“Fuck, you like this, don’t you?” Dean pulled back just long enough to taunt, voice low and filthy. He pressed a kiss to the swollen rim. “You like my tongue up your ass. You’re so hot, Cas—taste so fucking good.”

Cas whimpered, melting into the blanket as Dean dove back in, lapping at him, tongue spearing him open.

Finally, Dean sat back on his knees, breath ragged, blood streaked across his face. He gripped his own cock, red-stained and aching, and rubbed the slick head against Cas’s hole, watching it clench greedily around his tip. He teased, rutting his cock between Cas’s cheeks, dragging it over the spit-slick rim while Cas ground back, desperate to take him in.

“God, you’re desperate,” Dean chuckled darkly, cock sliding across the tight ring. He groaned as Cas reached back, guiding him, pressing the tip against his hole, nearly breaching—until Dean pulled back.

“Cas, I can’t… fuck you… without prepping you—”

“Put it in.” Cas’s voice was a broken whimper. “I want to feel you.”

Dean’s restraint snapped.

He gripped Cas by the hips and flipped him onto his back, spreading him open to the night. Cas bent his legs up immediately, holding them back, chest streaked and dripping in red, cock leaking down his stomach. Dean had to hold himself back from cumming right there.

He lined himself up, rubbed his blood-slick cock against Cas’s tight rim, and pushed. Inch by inch, he buried himself, watching Cas’s face twist—not with pain, but bliss.

“Fuck, Cas, you’re tight,” Dean groaned, voice cracking. The stretch was brutal, his cock swallowed slowly by Cas’s body, and it should have hurt—but Cas only moaned like some needy slut, begging for more, the blood smeared across his chest and thighs gleaming under the faint light.

Dean shoved deeper, hips snapping forward until he bottomed out, the sound wet and obscene.

“Oh God, Dean—fuck me,” Cas begged, voice breaking.

Dean gripped him under the knees, holding him wide open, and started pounding into him. The blanket is smeared with streaks of blood and sweat. Cas’s cries carried into the night, shameless, unbothered if the neighbors heard.

Dean couldn’t stop looking at him—at Cas’s blood-streaked skin, his cock thick and hard, throbbing against his skin, his face twisted in pleasure. He looked sinful. Beautiful. Like some fever-dream fantasy, a crimson-drenched angel spread out and ruined under him.

And Dean, feral and blood-slick, fucked him like he’d never let him go.

Dean set a brutal pace at first, pounding Cas deep enough to make the blanket slip across the grass, streaked with blood and sweat. But just when Cas’s cries pitched higher, when his cock twitched against his belly and his whole body tensed—Dean pulled back, slowing to a crawl.

Cas gasped, eyes snapping open, chest heaving as Dean ground into him slow, deliberate, teasing. Blood smeared across Dean’s chest and arms, dripping from his chin, his face painted red like a feral god.

“You want to cum, don’t you?” Dean panted, his voice low and taunting as he thrust shallowly, keeping Cas just shy of release. “You’re begging for it. Look at you—covered in blood, dripping all over me, cock leaking like a fucking mess.”

Cas’s head fell back, a strangled sound tearing from his throat. He tried to rut into Dean, tried to chase it, but Dean tightened his grip on his thighs, forcing him down.

“Fuck, Dean…” Cas groaned, voice cracking. “You’re the one dripping with blood, looking like a beast, and you want to make me beg?”

Dean smirked darkly, leaning down until their foreheads nearly touched. Blood smeared between their chests, sticking their skin together. He snapped his hips hard once, making Cas’s whole body jolt, then stilled again.

“Beg,” Dean whispered against his mouth, his cock twitching inside him. “Tell me how bad you want me to let you cum. Tell me how filthy I make you feel.”

Cas’s blue eyes blazed, dark and hungry. “You’re the filthy one, Dean. Look at you—blood all over your mouth, your cock, your hands. You look like you’ve fucking murdered me and now you’re fucking the body.” He moaned, long and low, rolling his hips shamelessly against Dean’s cock. “And it’s so fucking hot I could cum without you touching me.”

Dean groaned, cock throbbing, his restraint almost breaking. He pressed bloody kisses down Cas’s throat, biting at his collarbone until he tasted copper and chocolate-mint together. His thrusts grew violent—deep, punishing strokes that made Cas sob—but each time Cas’s cock wept harder, each time his thighs trembled, Dean slowed again, denying him.

“Please,” Cas finally ground out, voice raw, eyes blown wide. “Dean… let me cum. I’ll do anything. Just—fuck.”

Dean pulled back to look at him, taking in the blood-slick vision beneath him: Cas writhing, begging, cock smeared in red and precum, thighs trembling from being edged so mercilessly. Dean’s lips curled into a grin, feral and filthy.

“God, Cas…” he rasped, rutting against him harder, smearing blood across his hips. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. A mess. My mess.”

Cas’s laugh broke into a moan, head tipping back. “And you’re worse, Dean. You’re filthier than me. You fucking love it. Look at yourself.” His eyes flicked down to Dean’s cock, red-streaked and glistening as it slammed into him. “You look like a monster—and I love it.”

Dean growled, losing himself in it—fucking Cas harder, blood splattering across their skin, the sound wet and violent. He leaned in close, lips brushing Cas’s ear, whispering filth into him as he edged him closer and closer, keeping him begging.

He kept Cas on the edge until his whole body was trembling, thighs shaking, sweat and blood slicking his skin until he gleamed under the faint porch light. Cas clawed at the blanket, groaning, teeth clenched, his cock jerking helplessly against his stomach.

“Dean, please—” His voice cracked, hoarse from begging. “Please, let me cum.”

Dean leaned over him, pressing his bloody forehead to Cas’s, hips slamming deep. “You’re mine, Cas. My filthy little mess. You want to cum? Cum for me.”

The command broke him. Cas’s body arched off the blanket, blood and sweat smearing beneath him as he came violently, thick ropes spilling across his chest, his stomach, streaking red-stained skin with pearly white. His thighs quivered, his cries shameless, raw.

Dean groaned at the sight, thrusting harder, blood and cum slicking between their bodies. He reached down with two fingers, swiping them through the mess on Cas’s stomach—hot cum streaked crimson with blood—and pressed them to Cas’s lips.

Cas opened without hesitation, moaning as he sucked Dean’s fingers into his mouth, licking them clean, tongue curling around the mess like it was sacred. Dean’s cock twitched deep inside him at the sight, nearly undone.

“Good boy,” Dean rasped, pulling his fingers free to smear the rest across Cas’s cheek. He snapped his hips forward again, fucking him through the aftershocks, dragging more whimpers from Cas’s throat.

Dean’s thrusts grew brutal, erratic, his breath sharp against Cas’s ear. “Cas—I’m gonna cum inside you.”

Cas moaned around a smile, eyes wild and hungry. “Do it.”

That was all it took. Dean’s grip on Cas’s legs tightened as he drove in to the hilt, cock jerking deep inside him. His orgasm tore through him, hot and violent, spilling into Cas until it leaked back out, mixing with blood and sweat, running down between Cas’s thighs.

Dean fucked him through it, slow thrusts pushing it deeper, savoring the wet squelch, the sticky mess coating both of them. Cas clung to him, licking his fingers again, whispering broken praises, while Dean buried himself one last time, forehead pressed to Cas’s as he groaned, wrecked.

When the tremors finally ebbed, Dean collapsed over him, both of them smeared and stained, their skin painted in blood, cum, and sweat. It was obscene. It was perfect.

And Cas, smiling through the filth, whispered, “You’ve never looked so beautiful.”

Dean smiled shakily, leaning in to kiss Cas’s blood-smeared lips. “Want me to rinse you off?”

Cas huffed a laugh, breathless. “What—you gonna hose me down?” His voice broke into a gasp as Dean pulled out, the slow drag leaving him empty, knees spread wide on the blanket. Dean knelt between his thighs, chest still heaving, eyes dark.

“Not quite,” Dean breathed.

Cas’s brows pinched in confusion, but the question never left his lips. A startled sound escaped instead as Dean gripped his cock, sighing heavily, exhaustion dragging at his body—but not enough to stop him. The stream came hot and steady, splashing over Cas’s stomach and chest, washing rivulets of sticky blood into streaks of red and gold.

Cas moaned, his head tipping back, eyelids heavy, breath catching as the warmth coated him. Dean aimed lower, letting it cascade over Cas’s cock, pooling in the dips of his hipbones, spilling down the insides of his thighs. Cas whimpered, hips twitching, his body surrendering to the filthy baptism.

Dean pissed until there was nothing left, his body shuddering with relief, and then collapsed forward, kissing Cas through the mess. Warmth sloshed between them as their chests pressed together, smeared in blood, cum, and piss.

“You… didn’t have to—” Cas started, voice weak.

“Cas,” Dean interrupted softly, kissing his neck, “you love it. I love it. I don’t do this just because you want it—I do it because I want it too. I’ll try anything you want… anything.”

Cas went quiet.

Quiet long enough that Dean lifted his head, meeting his eyes.

“Anything?” Cas asked finally, voice low, almost reverent.

“Yeah,” Dean said, shifting to straddle his hips.

Cas slid out from beneath him, standing shakily, his legs trembling from being fucked raw. Dean’s eyes trailed down—Cas’s cock wet and soft, streams of blood and cum sliding down his stomach, dripping from his thighs.

Dean dropped to his knees before him. He looked ruined, feral, beautiful—his body streaked in crimson, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, green eyes blazing with lust. Cas felt dizzy from it, from him.

Dean scooted closer, like he knew exactly what Cas was thinking, reading his mind before he even spoke. His tongue darted out, licking across the soft head of Cas’s cock, tasting blood and salt. He sucked gently, not coaxing him to hardness, but wheedling the filth out of him.

Cas groaned, threading his fingers through Dean’s blood-matted hair, sighing shakily. The stream started slow, hesitant, as though nerves still tugged at him. Dean pressed a hand against Cas’s stomach, urging him on.

The taste hit Dean’s tongue sharp and bitter, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t swallow either—not yet. Instead, he let it fill his mouth, cheeks puffing, then spill past his lips in messy dribbles. It ran down his chin, over his throat, smeared across his chest until his skin glistened in the dim light. Cas shifted his aim lower, painting Dean’s chest, stomach, cock—Dean flicking his tongue into the stream with playful, filthy precision.

Cas groaned brokenly, staring down at him, wrecked by how obscene and perfect he looked. Dean, kneeling in the grass, bathed in blood and piss, letting it run over his body like worship.

The stream warmed Dean’s chest and belly, sliding down in rivulets, pooling at his thighs, dripping from his cock. He flicked his tongue into it, playful, obscene. Then, as Cas shuddered and began to finish, Dean pressed his lips to the flow and gathered it straight into his mouth.

Cas groaned, his cock twitching in Dean’s grip as the last of it spilled out. Dean held the bitter heat in his mouth, cheeks full, his green eyes shining up through lashes sticky with blood and sweat. Then—deliberate, slow—he swallowed.

Cas’s cock jerked at the sight, at the way Dean forced it down. Dean tried not to make a face, but it slipped anyway—his throat convulsing, a cough breaking through, gagging as the aftertaste hit hard.

Cas moved instantly, dropping to his knees in front of him. His hands framed Dean’s face, sticky and trembling, and he kissed him—filthy, tongue pushing past Dean’s lips, tasting himself in Dean’s mouth. Dean moaned into it, guttural and desperate, clutching Cas’s arms as their kiss turned sloppy, messy, obscene. Cas swallowed his sounds like they were holy, his thumbs stroking Dean’s jaw.

Just as the kiss deepened, the sprinklers kicked on.

A sudden spray blasted them both in the face, cold and relentless, soaking their already ruined bodies. They jerked back in shock, then sputtered into laughter, their mouths still pressed together, teeth clashing through the kiss.

Dean pulled back, wiping water and blood from his eyes, still laughing against Cas’s lips. “Christ—guess that’s one way to clean up.”

Cas chuckled low, forehead pressed to Dean’s, water dripping down his hair. “Maybe I should’ve just said hose you down.”

They collapsed back onto the blanket, both of them still laughing, blood and water mixing into the grass around them.

***

They stumbled inside half-soaked, dripping blood, sweat, and sprinkler water all over the hardwood floor. Dean hissed at the thought of the cleanup, but Cas only smirked, his arm snug around Dean’s waist as they made a beeline for the bathroom.

The shower steamed quickly, washing away the sticky filth. Dean leaned into the spray, groaning at the heat easing sore muscles, while Cas lathered soap over his back in slow, steady strokes. Neither of them spoke at first, just the sound of water rinsing away what they’d done, the mess circling down the drain until they were both clean, pink-skinned, and pliant.

By the time they pulled on warm clothes—sweats for Dean, soft flannel pants for Cas—they were half-asleep with the afterglow. Dean flopped onto the couch, hair damp, while Cas joined him with two mugs of tea.

Dean broke the silence first, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Y’know, I think we ruined the lawn.”

Cas raised a brow, settling close. “Ruined?”

Dean snorted, taking a sip of his tea. “Yeah, I mean—you poured a gallon of fake blood out there, then I pissed all over you, then the sprinklers went off. The grass is probably traumatized.”

Cas chuckled low, pressing his shoulder against Dean’s. “The grass will recover. I’m more concerned with our neighbors.”

Dean flushed, shaking his head. “Don’t even remind me. I’ll never be able to look Donna in the eye again if she saw any of that.”

Cas laughed harder, setting his mug aside before leaning in to kiss Dean. It wasn’t filthy, wasn’t urgent—just warm, soft, grateful. “Thank you,” he murmured against Dean’s lips. “For loving me enough to do this with me.”

Dean kissed him back, smiling shyly into it. “Yeah, well… don’t get used to it. I’m not rolling around in fake blood every night.”

“Once in a while, then,” Cas teased, eyes bright.

Dean chuckled, brushing their noses together. “Yeah. Once in a while.”

They curled together on the couch, tea cooling on the table, the house finally quiet.

Clean, warm, and safe—ridiculous, filthy, and perfect all at once.

***

Dear Dean and Cas,

Hi there, this is one of your friendly neighbors.

We haven’t officially spoken yet, but I feel compelled to reach out after… well, after what I witnessed (and I assure you, it wasn’t for lack of trying to look away). While I personally don’t care what two consenting adults do in the privacy of their own home—or yard—it’s safe to say the rest of the neighborhood would prefer not to be… how shall I put this… front-row spectators to your very creative late-night activities.

I think I speak for everyone when I say: nobody—NOBODY—needs to see that much fake blood, bare skin, and sprinkler-assisted theatrics in the middle of suburbia. I nearly dropped my wine glass. Twice.

That said, I strongly recommend you keep your… performances… indoors where the only things traumatized will be your sheets and maybe your plumbing. Otherwise, someone (not me, of course) might eventually feel compelled to call the police for public indecency.

Sincerely,

A Mildly Concerned Neighbor

P.S. Here’s my number— 

Call me sometime ;)