Title: Underdog
Author: HigherMagic
Rated: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel, background Gabriel/Kali
Written for earth_heart. Basics it's top!human!Castiel and skinwalker!Dean with lots of kinky toys. DARK!FIC. There is that sweeter one with the same kind of idea too, so I'm sorry if this is a little dark for your liking :D *slinks away to her corner*
Warnings: Language, Assholey!Castiel and the kinkiest sex my mind could come up with that I could bear writing without squicking myself out (I can read it, but writing it just makes me shiver and not in the good way). Semi-bestiality, kind of? UNWANTED PHYSICAL CONTACT. Like, holy crap this isn't even dub-con, I don't think. . *blames Benny*
Benny, WHY do all the prompts you give me turn out dark? . *is ashamed* and you wanted cute as well. This turned into more of a 'Let's beat the crap out of Dean' fic than a 'Let's screw Dean into oblivion' fic. *slinks away once more. For realz this time, people*
Darlin', relax, this won't hurt a bit -
Trust me; I'm a professional, and they all know it.
Toss that lovely hair back, lay down and relax;
I think it's time we gave the troops a show.
Castiel grins, cocking the barrel of his gun. Three months' long tracking and the lives of seven good men and he'd finally closed in on the son of a bitch. He can hear the mutt's footsteps getting closer. The four-beat lope with a slight hesitance on the second step that he's come to associate with the creature he's hunted, dedicated the last four years to.
He's slowed down. Creeping closer to Castiel's spot. His panting is loud and heavy, and as he gets closer Castiel closes his eyes, holding his breath, and doesn't move. He can feel his hunting partner behind him, equally still, equally silent as the mutt creeps closer, closer…
Castiel leans forward just a little, opening his eyes, and when he tilts his head he can see the dog's breath misting as it pants and the steam rising off its body. The night is very cold and Castiel's fingers are frozen around the trigger of his gun, but he only needs to aim and shoot once.
The dog whines, ears flat back, and Castiel knows the mutt's smelling him. It's time to act now. He looks back at Gabriel and then jerks his head, and leaps.
The skinwalker sees him a second too late – there's already a silver rope going around his neck, and he yelps and growls, trying to shake his head free, but Castiel's got a good grip around his muzzle, holding him down. The Hunter takes out his trick leg and the mutt goes down with a thud, but not before it gets out a low warning bark.
Castiel looks up just in time to see a second, larger dog duck back and turn tail. He grits his teeth; figures the mutt would have a fucking mate. "Gabriel! Second one heading back!" he yells.
"On it!" his partner replies, hefting his silver-round-loaded shotgun and taking off after a moment, down the dark alley and after the second skinwalker. Shots are fired a few seconds later and there's a low whine of pain, and the skinwalker that Castiel's wrestling growls and struggles anew. The Hunter might have the advantage but he's not as strong as the skinwalker, and he grabs for his gun as he's thrown off. Luckily the dog can't bite and change him because the silver wire acting as a muzzle is still in place, but it can still claw and scratch and it does, getting Castiel's chest and shoulder in three sharp lines of pain. The Hunter snarls and swings his gun, hitting the barrel against the mutt's temple. It falls like a sack of bricks and Castiel gets to his feet, breathing hard.
Gabriel comes back a few seconds later dragging the second animal by the tail. There's a trail of blood that follows him. Castiel looks at the body impassively. "Is it dead?" he asks.
Gabriel shakes his head. "Just knocked out," he replies, dumping the larger dog next to its companion's body. The two Hunters look down at the skinwalkers for a moment before Castiel feels Gabriel's eyes on him. "Which one you reckon's the one we're after?"
Castiel shrugs. "Our job's to catch them," he says. "Let the boss deal with the rest." And they load the two dogs into cages embedded in their van, and drive away towards the outskirts of the city, where they know the boss will be waiting for them, for their catch.
The Hunters know it as soon as the dogs wake up, because immediately there's a snarling and banging in the back. Gabriel mutters something and slams the butt of his shotgun into the rear of where Castiel and he are sitting, between the humans' heads where there's a thin silver grate to keep the animals in the back. "Keep down, ya mutts!" he growls, and the smaller dog snarls back, baring his large canines behind the burning flesh where it makes contact with the silver rope. There's blood in his mouth and around the edges of the wire where he's been struggling. Castiel shakes his head and steps on the gas.
When they get to the compound, Hunters gather around the van like flies, swarming around Castiel and Gabriel as they get out of the van and go back to the back end. When they open it up, the smaller dog launches at them, slamming his body against the silver caging. It burns his fur and he's got grill marks along his shoulder and back from where he's been fighting. Castiel growls, frowning and slams the butt of his gun against the caging where the other dog is, slumped and whimpering slightly. The first dog immediately goes quiet.
"Stay fucking still or I'll cut your mate's throat," the blue-eyed Hunter growls, and while Dean bares his teeth, blood around the edges of his gums, he subsides. His back right leg is folded awkwardly underneath him and Castiel knows that's his bad leg, the one that Castiel himself had caused two years ago when he'd tried to collapse a Goddamn building on the dog. Stupid thing had made it out alive, but not without Castiel's mark left behind.
Castiel's eyes flash over his shoulder as his boss, Michael, approaches. He steps away from the two dogs and lets his superior peruse his catch. Gabriel joins him at his shoulder.
"Are these the two we've been looking for?" Michael asks, his pale green eyes looking over the animals. The smaller one is on a continuous growl, eyes narrowed and filled with black hatred as he glares at the man. The younger, larger dog is just silent, ears back against his head, and there's blood coming down the side of his face. It burns at the older dog's nose.
Castiel shrugs and digs his thumbs into his pockets, rocking on his heels and whistling through his teeth. "Think so. 'S got the same tactics. Same habits."
Michael chuckles. "It's like they're people, almost," he says and the Hunters laugh around him. The dogs growl and Castiel slams his gun against the cages again. Michael steps away with a distasteful expression. "Put them in the holding cages until the interrogation rooms are ready. They're stinking up the place." The Hunters laugh again and Castiel jerks his head towards some of them.
"Get muzzles and leashes. The little one's gonna give us trouble unless we take him down quickly," he says and the others nod, going away to retrieve the desired items. Castiel turns back to the snarling mutt in the cell. Over the years hunting the animal, he'd grown a sort of…respect. The thing was smart, cunning and tough as a bucket of nails. The mate traveling with him was just bonus, money in Castiel's pocket.
Hunter and Skinwalker stared each other down until Gabriel, Uriel and Anna came back with long leashes that threaded through stiff poles. It kept the dogs away from the Hunters while still keeping a lot of control over them as well.
They go for the larger one first because it seems pretty docile so far. It's ears flicker towards them but Gabriel must have really dazed him because he doesn't even flinch when the leash goes around his neck and the muzzle is attached over his jaws, keeping them shut. When Anna and Uriel pull on him he goes with a slight whine, favoring his left foreleg and his head dips low to the ground. The smaller, older dog's eyes flash towards his mate and he whine-snarls, ears going back, hackles raising. Castiel smirks when the larger dog begins to struggle a little and the one he's been following snarls more loudly, launching himself at the cage when Anna curses and tightens the leash, dragging the larger dog for a moment.
Castiel steps away, knowing this one will provide trouble, and quickly he pulls out his favorite gun – a little PPK/S that has a bitch of a recoil but great impact for such a small weapon – and points it towards the larger dog. Immediately the one still caged goes quiet.
"Now you listen to me, mutt," he growls, mean with his victory. "This can go as easily as you want it to. Disobey and I shoot your mate. Follow my instructions and I'll treat him as well as an abomination like him deserves."
Immediately the first dog quiets; ears forward, nose to the floor and tail down. Castiel can almost hear him begging to save his mate's miserable life. He cocks his head to one side, watching the animal, then nods to Gabriel and Uriel who come forward and open the cage door and leash the dog, dragging him out as Anna continues to take the dog's mate to the holding cells. Castiel walks next to the smaller mutt, keeping his gun just in sight so that he'll remember his flimsy contract.
They lead them into cages side-by-side to each other, made of silver and concrete with solid iron doors. The walls are made of thick mesh that one can only just see through, and the only light to the cells comes through the ceiling which soars at an unjumpable height above the dogs' heads. They are exposed to the weather and storms – something that Castiel discovered wore down the spirits a lot more quickly. If someone was cold and miserable they would be more likely to talk with the promise of a hot meal and some shelter.
They practically throw the dogs into the cages, and as soon as the larger one's door closes the other's on them, throwing himself at the iron door with enraged snarls. His muzzle stops him from biting, and Castiel smirks, cocking his head to one side as Gabriel watches him expectantly.
"Wait for it," Castiel murmurs, fingering the line of the trigger in his gun for a moment.
"I'll kill you, you son of a bitch!"
The shout comes, enraged and bitter, a few seconds later and Castiel's smile widens. The mutt has finally phased. Peeping through, he sees a…glorious man. Flashing green eyes, a strong jaw and miles of naked, bronzed skin. A head of soft, short brown hair and battle scars. Everywhere. There are teeth marks and scars from guns and knives all along his body, shoulders, legs. Castiel can see the long, thick scar tissue on the creature's thigh where the building had collapsed on him and he'd been impaled on a broken beam and had to pull himself out. He hasn't run right since. There's a bullet wound in his chest where Castiel had narrowly missed killing him dead the first time they'd run in together.
The man snarls, red lines across his face where the silver rope had cut, grill marks along his shoulders and chest, and a red seal around his mouth from the muzzle like when children suck cups to their faces and leave redness behind. The muzzle dangles from his fingers and he spins and throws it towards Castiel's face, the thing getting blocked by the meshing of the walls and Castiel doesn't flinch. He just smiles.
Castiel taps his gun against the door, drawing the man's attention. "Now now, Spot, we don't want you to exert yourself."
"Spot?" the guy spits, smirking, turning towards the sound of Castiel's voice. "Real original, Hunter. How's about you come in here and show me that pretty mouth and let me beat the ever-living crap out of it."
"Tsk, tsk, such violence, pup," Castiel retorts.
The man snarls. "Fuck you."
The Hunter's eyes darken and he licks his lips, smiling. "Gladly." The dog stills, his keen hearing picking up the word, and he looks towards the door where the Hunter is, shoulders tense, the scars on his back standing out against his pale, freckled skin. He taps his gun against the door lightly. "Come on, puppy, tell me your name," Castiel purrs, leaning closer to the iron door.
The skinwalker growls a little, rounding on Castiel. The mesh of the door does nothing to hide his nakedness and Castiel lets his eyes wander. "Dean," he spits out with arms folded over his chest, scowling towards the door.
Castiel nods. "And your mate's?"
"He's not my mate," Dean replies. "He's my brother. And his name is Sam."
There's a soft wolf-whistle, and Castiel turns his head to see Gabriel looking through the meshing in the second cage. There's a leering smirk on his face and Castiel mirrors it, especially when the mutt he's in front of snarls again, slamming his fist against the silver meshing. "Don't fucking go near him!"
"Aww, I like it when they're all big and strong and…vulnerable," Gabriel chuckles, making Dean snarl again. "Relax, big boy, I play nice." His fingers thread through the meshing for a moment before Gabriel grins and winks at Castiel. "I'll see y'all later. I gots me a hot date with Kali." He snaps his fingers. "Have fun interrogating, little bro."
"I always do," Castiel purrs in reply, looking and reveling in the way Dean's eyes narrow and his shoulders tense a little. "Don't worry, baby," he says, grinning and watching as Dean's upper lip curls back, "I'm gonna take real good care of you."
Castiel is not like other Hunters.
Other Hunters look at these…creatures with disgust. They hate them, want to kill them, think they're evil. But Castiel…is fascinated. Especially with those that are more like animals than anything else. The ones with the complex hierarchies. Those that lived by scent and lust and instincts.
He loves the ones he can break at their own game.
The pushes open the heavy iron door, and isn't surprised when there's suddenly a body launched at him. Luckily, Castiel's come prepared, with the silver threaded clothing and a hard piece of leather that covers his neck to prevent any sever bites or scratches. It prevents the animals biting down and infecting him with their disease, and his hand is quick with a small silver dagger that he immediately stabs into Dean's torso, along his stomach.
The dog whines and Castiel shifts him with a grunt, withdrawing his blade so he doesn't actually kill him. Dean lays on the floor, panting in a small, growing pool of blood, and staring up at Castiel with as much hatred as a canine can manage.
Castiel fixes him with a board expression, wiping Dean's blood off of his knife on his sleeve. "Change back to a human, Dean, unless you want some more of that. I've got all day."
There's a split second of nothing, and then the shifter is back into his human form. Again, Castiel lets his eyes wander over the sleek, muscled body. The dog's really been taking care of himself even if he is a little thin and his body is still covered in the scars of living on the run, since things like him are hunted mercilessly until they just couldn't run anymore.
Dean curls in on himself, a hand around the knife wound, trying to keep his blood inside, and Castiel stares as it wells up, thick and crimson, around the man's fingers. "You're him, aren't you?" Dean asks in a deadpan voice. "I recognize your scent."
Castiel smiles. "I'm flattered. I had hoped you'd remember me." He crouches down, trailing the tip of the knife along Dean's thigh. "I certainly left my mark, didn't I?" His grin widens when Dean snarls at him, tries to lunge again, but the pain in his stomach is too great and he subsides with a hiss, settling for glaring at Castiel instead.
"You're a sick, sick son of a bitch," he growls.
"No, baby, I think that's you."
"Fuck you," Dean snaps.
Castiel cocks his head to one side, replacing the dagger in the inside pocket of his coat. "Keep asking like that and I'll think you're just beggin' for it."
Dean's upper lip curls back, but he doesn't say anything.
The temperature in the room changes a little, and Castiel cocks his head to one side, inhaling as he looks around the room, as though something was different and he couldn't quite figure out what. The door behind him is pushed shut after a cart is wheeled through, and Castiel stops it with the toe of his boot. Dean's eyes zero in on it, but from the way it's sitting the tray at the top is too high and he can't see what's there. The tray sits on top of a thin white sheet that hangs down the edge of the cart and Dean briefly weighs the benefits of pulling on it, getting a weapon and trying to use it. He dismisses it quickly – from what he's figured out, it'd all be silver weapons anyway.
"That's your distress signal, isn't it?" Castiel asks, looking back to the skinwalker before turning his attention to the items on the tray. "Like animals. You're warning others to keep away and yet sending out a call for help." He stops, inhaling slightly, eyes falling closed. "Yes. That's it."
"You have a good nose," Dean says after a moment, watching Castiel with distrusting, wary eyes. He shifts a little, wincing and Castiel waits until he draws his hand away, watches the skin knit together and be sealed with only a blood stain to signify there was ever a wound there. The grill lines on his shoulders and face and back had been healed away as well. "You must be him."
Castiel raises an eyebrow and looks in Dean's direction. The skinwalker rolls his eyes, clarifying; "The Hunter who targets…people like me. You have to act like us to be able to Hunt us as well as you do." He smirks after a moment when Castiel straightens. "Took you fucking long enough to catch me."
"You were a particularly slippery one," Castiel concedes, smiling amiably as he continues to fiddle with the corners of the tray, straightening everything on it to his liking. Then, he takes something and lifts it to the light to inspect it. It's a long, thin rod. It looks almost like a pointer that teachers used to use in TV shows when slapping the board or the table, illustrating or emphasizing their point. "But…" Cold, blue eyes meet Dean's warmer, wary green. "I have you now."
Dean's eyes are zeroed in on the rod, and the skinwalker is tense. Castiel considers him for a moment, and then sets it back down. "Listen, Dean," he says in a long-suffering kind of way, trying to make his voice soft and coaxing, because sometimes – rarely, but sometimes – you don't have to torture to get the answers you want. "This can go very easily. Just tell me what I want to know. Tell me where the Alpha Skinwalker is."
Dean's face twists in a snarl and he spits on the floor. "Fuck you."
Castiel sighs again, but he's hiding a smile behind it. He'd have been disappointed if his favorite prey animal would give up at the last hurdle. Dean still has fight to him and Castiel loves that. "I tried," he murmurs, then his face splits in an almost manic expression, and he picks up a long, thick piece of leather, testing it by wrapping the ends around his fists and pulling. On one end of the leather strip there's a buckle like on belts, and on the other end there are four holes punched in, equal distances apart. Dean's breath hitches at the sight of the collar and he shies away when Castiel looks at him.
"Stay the fuck away from me with that," the skinwalker snarls, his scent edged with fear now. Castiel can smell it in the air and it makes his smile widen.
"I told you, Dean," he says, jerking the leather again for emphasis, "this can go as easily as you want it to. Obey me, and this doesn't need to go on. Answer my questions and nothing bad will happen to you or your brother."
"Until you kill us," Dean replies. "And even if you don't, the others will if I tell. Not that I know, because I don't, so just fuck you and your fucking issues." His eyes are so focused on the collar, backing away on all fours and Castiel can see he's about to change into a dog, ready to attack. Castiel rolls his eyes and draws his gun quickly, and there's a click as he cocks it.
"Dean. I wouldn't do that."
The skinwalker merely snarls.
"If I see even a hint of fur on you, I'm going to go into the next cell and shoot your brother dead."
That makes him still. His expression is torn, and he's clearly struggling to resist the urge to fight, to go down fighting. But not at the cost of Sammy's life. Never would Dean risk or sacrifice his brother for his sake. So he subsides, looking away from Castiel.
The Hunter smiles. "Good boy," he says in a patronizing tone, stepping forward and kneeling down. He takes Dean's chin in his hand and tilts the man's head up, forcing his head to one direction, forcing his submission – because there's only one thing animals understand and that's dominance. If Castiel manages to make the dog part of Dean submit to him, then he was already halfway there. Dogs have no concept of mutiny.
"I'm going to kill you," Dean says, swallowing as Castiel fastens the collar around his throat, cinching it as tightly as he can with the limited holes. The option is either too loose or just slightly too tight, but Dean can work the leather softer and looser as he wears it and eventually it'll be comfortable. The leather is the only unnatural thing marring the skinwalker's body and it sits snugly at the base of his throat, drawing attention to his neck and accentuating his golden skin. It's beautiful to look at. "I will get out of here, and when I do, I'm going to rip your throat out."
Castiel chuckles, adjusting the collar a little so the buckle is at the back of Dean's neck, and his finger runs along the silver edge. It won't hurt him as a human, but if he tried to phase and become a dog, the thickening of his neck would catch the silver and he'd be choked by it. It's a simple but ingenious design that Gabriel came up with, and Castiel has been sure to use it whenever necessary.
Dean swallows, testing the leather and winces as even that much movement catches his skin. He looks over at Castiel with hate filled eyes as the Hunter leans closer, brushing his lips along the skinwalker's neck. "Promise, baby?" he breathes, voice low and raspy.
Dean shivers and shies away, and the scent in the room shifts once again. Dean scoots away just a little, because he'd backed himself against a wall and Castiel's got him trapped in there. The tray stays like a forbidding presence in the middle of the room.
"Don't touch me," Dean growls, but there's only a little heat behind it. It's like he's already resigned himself to this fact. He's biding his time.
Castiel smirks and stands, walking over to the tray again. He hears an empty click and turns around, laughing at the sight of Dean pointing his own gun at him. Dean's staring at the weapon like it just sprouted legs and started running around, and drops it, backing away. His hand is burning.
"That's empty, by the way," Castiel says coolly, shrugging off his trench coat and over-shirt because he hates getting blood and sweat on those clothes. He smirks over at Dean as the skinwalker growls at him. "You look insulted."
"Fucking liar," Dean growls.
"You know," Castiel says, still light-hearted and almost playful, would be innocent were it not for the way his eyes were looking over the various instruments on his tray, the way his fingers were already curling with nervous energy, with bloodlust, and the way he was smiling; "You have quite a mouth on you, Dean. So dirty. You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"My mother's dead."
He says it so deadpan that for a moment Castiel stops, looking over his way, then shrugs and keeps going, finally done arranging all of his instruments. He needs to restrain Dean first, though, and he's not sure how long this wary cooperation will continue now that Dean knows the gun's not loaded. He picks up several more pieces of thinner leather cord that's no less strong than the collar, also lined with silver, and approaches Dean again. The skinwalker snarls at him.
"Pity," he says lightly. "So's mine."
Dean blinks at him and seems too stunned to fight back when Castiel loops the leather chords around his wrists, tightening them in a knot that won't be easy to break, but he does when Castiel tries to bind them behind his head, jerking his shoulders and trying to dislodge Castiel.
"I don't think this counts as cooperation," Castiel mutters to himself when he finally overpowers Dean, fastening a loop of the leather chords through the buckle for first one arm, then the other, so Dean's arms are folded awkwardly behind his head. The skinwalker's chest is exposed and he's aware of how vulnerable this makes him, and tries to bend forward, curling his legs up to protect his chest and neck.
Castiel's one step ahead of him. Quickly the Hunter grabs hold of that silver rod and threads it through the complicated mesh of knots at the back of Dean's neck, wrapping another chord along the bottom end where it digs into the back of Dean's spine. The rod is made of silver and burns the skinwalker's back unless he sits up perfectly straight so it doesn't touch his skin.
Castiel tests all the bonds, biting the inside of his cheek as he makes sure Dean either doesn't have the leverage, or the bonds are too strong to break them. Satisfied, he leaves the bound and panting skinwalker to return to the tray, and wheels it closer. Dean tries to lean upward to see what's on the tray but he's bound too tightly and awkwardly, and the silver is burning at his skin and it hurts to move. So he grits his teeth and braces himself, knowing they're about to get down to business.
"Last chance to start talking," Castiel says, holding up a small vial of liquid and a needle. He also picks up a thick rubber tube-like thing, rounded at one end so it can't stand up straight, and he hefts it in his hand, pausing for a moment, lips pursing. "I can get very creative when occasion calls for it."
Dean sucks in a breath through teeth gritted in discomfort, and glares at Castiel from where he's hunched over. "Bring it on, Hunter," he growls, and Castiel smiles.
"Very well."
Three hours later had Castiel no closer to getting his answers, but Dean was waning. He had the skinwalker strung up now, hanging limply on a structure he'd had brought in that looked mildly like an iron cross, with Dean's arms hanging out to his sides and his legs hanging below him, chained loosely so that he could brace himself and stop himself suffocating. There's blood leaking down the side of the skinwalker's face and down his chin from where he'd started coughing it up. His body is a mesh of wounds and lines of blood, silver coating them so they stay open and hurting. He's getting weaker and Castiel can smell his fear, pain and resignation in the room. But he's also still strong and determined, and doesn't move an inch on the subject of where his Alpha is.
Castiel growls, throwing down his bloody knife onto the tray. "My patience is wearing thin, mutt," he warns the dog, but if Dean even hears him he gives no indication of it. The skinwalker draws in a shaking, dry breath that rattles in his chest, and strung out on the end of it is a dry, racking cough that forces more blood out of his mouth, and he spits it out onto the concrete below him, licking his lips and then spitting again.
"You're pathetic," he coughs, his voice soft so Castiel really has to concentrate to hear it. The Hunter snarls and comes closer with a long serrated blade again, resting it against Dean's collarbone. A warning. The skinwalker throws his head back, the leather collar now wet and bloodstained, and when he swallows light flashes off the sweat gathered in the dip of his throat and shoulders. Castiel licks his lips, getting a visceral thrill out of seeing an enemy so utterly defeated, bound and broken because of him. His eyes flash up to Dean's when the skinwalker's head lolls to look at him, grinning and showing bloody teeth. "You're so fucking desperate, aren't you? To find my Alpha?" Dean laughs again, his hands clenching into fists as he coughs, turning his face away when he spits out blood again. "You'll never get him. You don't even know what to look for."
Castiel snarls, twisting the blade so that the serrated edge digs into Dean's skin, drawing fresh blood. Dean hisses and clenches his jaw, fists tightening harshly enough that his knuckles go white and the tendons on the back of his neck stand out.
"This can end, you know," Castiel whispers, so close to the skinwalker now, and his breath rasps along Dean's neck, causing goose bumps to stand out. "Just tell me what I want to know. I know you know it." His voice is low and deep, and it makes Dean shiver and turn his face away even more. The bare skin of his neck is all Castiel can think about, and without hesitation he leans forward, tongue snaking out to gather the sweat and blood running down Dean's neck, licking a small patch of skin clean.
The skinwalker jerks against his chains, shaking his head to try and get Castiel to move away. "Don't," he says, but it's soft, broken. He's submitted. At least, physically he has. Castiel's smirk couldn't be wider or more smug.
He drags the tip of the blade along Dean's chest, leaving a thin red line behind because he's not pressing hard enough to draw blood, and Dean shudders, leaning his head back again. There are tears in his eyes and when Castiel inhales, he can smell sex and pain in the air. His smirk, if possible, grows and he reaches down with his free hand, teasing at the skinwalker's half-hard cock.
"You like this, don't you?" he asks softly, ignoring it when Dean shakes his head. "Like being tied down and used like a bitch." He chuckles. "You know, I'd begun to suspect that you were the Alpha. You were too smart, too powerful to fall into my traps or die, but I don't think an Alpha would have broken so quickly and bared his throat to me."
Dean swallows, turning his head again as though he'd only just become aware of the fact that Castiel was at his neck, and tries to force the man away with his chin and shoulder. The Hunter chuckles again, biting down at Dean's neck, under the collar, and the skinwalker whines, bucking his hips just a little.
"Such a good boy," Castiel purrs, drawing away again and losing the contact of knife-on-skin, moving his hand away from between Dean's legs as well. "I've been looking forward to this for a while."
Dean's hands and jaw are clenched, his fingernails digging hard enough into his palms to draw blood, and he glares daggers at Castiel's back when the Hunter turns it on him. His muscles are tensed with the need to strike, but he's tied down so tightly and he's so tired. Submission feels good just because he doesn't have to put effort into anything. His bad leg feels like it's on fire, he's in so much pain, and he thinks he might just be a step away from losing consciousness altogether.
Castiel turns back around holding what looks like an inverted pair of dentures, braced together with loose revolving joints that look like they have a handle to control how open they are, and leather straps are attached around the points where the two halves meet. Dean's eyes narrow, looking at the thing, his nostrils flaring as he sniffs the air instinctively, trying to deduce what it's used for. Almost as if he's trying to help him, Castiel lifts up the thing for his inspection. The scent of sweat, saliva and pheromones in the air makes Dean dizzy when Castiel trails the metal edge of one half of them under his nose, and the skinwalker snorts, trying to clear his head, shaking himself. The animal part of him responds to all the base scents that cover the thing, but he's still wary. He has no idea what it's for.
The Hunter smiles, fiddling with an end of a strap, then takes Dean's chin in his hand again, jerking his head harshly enough that the skinwalker gasps, and Castiel's quick – quicker than Dean expected him to be – with his other hand, forcing the two halves together and then into Dean's mouth. The pressure of keeping them shut is too much and it forces Dean's mouth open.
He growls, realizing what exactly this is for, and tosses his head, trying to dislodge them, but with the way they're made, they almost click into place over and around his teeth, and he can't force them out in time before Castiel's securing them to his head with the straps, effectively keeping Dean's mouth open almost uncomfortably wide. The skinwalker glares up at Castiel, wary and fearful, from under his eyelashes.
"Can't be having you biting me now, baby," Castiel purrs, smiling as he trails a finger down the side of Dean's face where a strap is biting into his skin. It'll leave a red mark behind and no doubt of what exactly Castiel did to him in this room. The walls are only semi-see-through and Castiel doesn't doubt that, at some point, the noises from here will have drawn attention (or they will shortly). The Hunter leans in, ignoring the muffled growl that sounds strange coming from Dean's open mouth, more of a chesty sound than before, and rasps in Dean's ear; "Gonna give them a show."
Dean's struggles start anew, but Castiel is quick to subdue him – he kicks the platform out from under Dean's feet, making him keep all his weight on his arms or risk suffocating. Dean takes in deep, quick breaths, muscles in his arms straining with the effort to hold himself up. The tendons in his biceps stand out, muscles tensed and flexing as he forces himself to keep upright, and his feet move to brace against the cold iron, but there's no purchase and he slips frequently.
He's panting, looking up towards the sky. The sun set long ago and storm clouds are coming in. The temperature's dropped dramatically, and Castiel can see his breath start to mist. The sweat gathered on Dean's skin is evaporating now, and he's shivering. The Hunter looks up when he feels the first drop of rain on his face, and smirks to himself, looking up as the clouds break and rain begins to fall in earnest. Dean'll probably catch his death if he stays out here too long and doesn't get warm.
"They say God is in the rain," Castiel muses, barely loud enough to be heard, but Dean hears him. The skinwalker grunts because he can't exactly talk, hands clenched into fists and grabbing at the iron chains holding him to the cross-like structure. "But I suppose things like you don't believe in shit like that. You don't have to."
Dean, of course, doesn't answer.
"Well, no sense wasting time," Castiel says, going over to the tray and donning his trench coat again, because it would be just a lovely sense of irony if he ended up getting sick from staying out all night in the rain. "What's say we get you off that cross? I bet you're tired and, honestly, it's hurting my sense of righteousness as a good Christian man."
That sarcastic statement gets a reaction from Dean. The skinwalker snorts, the noise as derisive as he can possibly make it, and his hand moves just a little, middle finger raised. "Classy," Castiel snaps, smiling a little, and then comes forward with keys for the heavy padlocks keeping the chains in place. They're located around the back of the cross, so that Dean would have no opportunity to tamper with them. First, he undoes Dean's legs, letting the skinwalker hang. He can hear the creature's labored breathing as he tries to keep himself upright, to stop himself sagging and suffocating, and really, for a creature that had resigned himself to dying here he's trying awfully hard to stay alive.
The rain water is running down Dean's body, cleaning and cleansing him of blood, and the floor of the cell is red and stained with growing puddles. He unlocks the chains and watches dispassionately as Dean's body slumps. The skinwalker coughs, hunched over on all fours, his body shivering and trembling from cold, pain, exhaustion and fear. Before he can claw at the fastenings of his collar and the weird bit-gag thing on his head, Castiel's on him and over him, a knife to his throat. His body is plastered along Dean's back, legs between legs, an arm under the skinwalker's torso, pressing on a healing stab wound and keeping him upright, keeping him arching into Castiel's comparatively warm body. The trench coat falls either side of the two men, shielding them from sight.
"Ah, ah, ah," he murmurs, pressing up a little more harshly and Dean chokes, swallowing and Castiel can feel the pressure of that action against his knife and the meaty part of his hand where it's pressed against Dean's neck. The skinwalker hangs his head, placing his hands back on the ground. "That's better," he coos, smiling and Dean's hands clench into fists. "I knew you'd see things my way soon enough."
Dean whines, his shoulders bent down, and in a motion so miniscule that Castiel could very well have imagined it, he rocks back against the Hunter, and his scent changes yet again. Granted, the rain is diluting it so Castiel has to lean down and bury his nose in Dean's neck to really sense the change, but when he does…
Finally.
"You're fucking beautiful like this, you know," Castiel murmurs amiably, trailing a hand straight down the middle of Dean's back, fingers curling and nails digging in to add that little bit of scratch. "Other Hunters don't see anything but the beasts you are, but me…well, I like to go deeper."
Dean shakes his head, but can't talk. His mouth is still locked open and then stuffed full of Castiel's hard cock, the Hunter able to keep a firm hold of his head with the leather straps digging into his face, and the cords wrapped around his body, under his arms and around his waist to provide handholds. The skinwalker is shackled down, the cross he was hanging from now laying on the floor and he's tied much the same way, only on his hands and knees now, legs spread over the arms of the cross and hands forced outwards towards the base, tied there. His entire body is pulled taught and he's so completely exposed, completely vulnerable, and Castiel is taking full advantage of that.
For someone who resisted so much before, Dean's moaning like a bitch in heat for it now. The skinwalker's tongue is at work whenever Castiel's cock is in his mouth, licking and dragging the rough of it over the sensitive skin. It stopped raining a few minutes ago and now both men are slicked and wet, both with sweat and water. Dean's hair is plastered to his face, making him look younger, more innocent, more like an average human being, and the whole wrongness of doing this, of fucking one of these dogs, lights Castiel's body on fire.
There's a bar between Dean's knees, and another between his ankles, keeping his legs spread wide open for when Castiel wants to turn his attention elsewhere. Until then, there's a dildo buried deep inside the skinwalker, so that he's nice and loose and wet when Castiel finally fucks into him.
Four years.
Four fucking years, Castiel had been chasing this animal. Hunting him, learning him, getting to know him – his habits, his background. His tricks and traits that made him stand out from another dumber member of his species. Dean is a worthy adversary and now he's on his hands and knees for Castiel, sucking him down like his life depends on it (and it kind of does) and like he just can't get enough. He's swallowing around the Hunter when he's in as deep as he can go, not caring if he gags and chokes or not. He's getting off on being used, just like a good little bitch.
Dean's fingers are curled into fists, pressing against the iron cross between Castiel's legs, and he whines, looking up at Castiel through soaked hair and long, dark eyelashes. Fuck, he's beautiful. A beautiful, glorious creature, an abomination that Castiel doesn't feel disgust at. Having Dean, his body tense and trembling like a nervous virgin's, shaky from blood-loss and cold and pain and fatigue, is like a drug to Castiel. He's getting high off of the power trip and it's no small surprise.
Dean's arms flex for a moment as he bows his back, tilting his head to sink down just that little further on Castiel's cock, his ass high up in the air and just waiting, begging for Castiel. He whines again, green eyes flashing as he drags his lips back up, the metal gag around his teeth catching on the flushed head of Castiel's cock, and the Hunter hisses and pulls his cock out, fingers tight around the base to stop himself coming all over the mutt's face.
"You don't even care, do you?" he growls, taking Dean's chin in his other hand, forcing the skinwalker's face up. "You don't care what I do. So long as I stop doing it eventually." He cocks his head, noting the little changes in expression, and then makes a grab for Dean's own flushed erection, trapped and cruelly harnessed with a silver cock-ring because Castiel had been feeling particularly malicious. There's only so many hours one can dedicate to interrogation – even his style –before one gets frustrated.
Dean can only blink blankly up at him. He's in so much pain he's actually kind of retreated into himself and now he's running on autopilot. Castiel snorts, smirking because if there's one thing he's good at, it's tearing people from their happy place.
Dean had once met a demon on his travels, before he and Sam had decided branching off on their own was just too dangerous and it was safer as a team. The demon had been 'intrigued' by his species, just as the Hunters were. He'd been very interest in knowing exactly what made skinwalkers tick.
That demon had nothing on this guy, he thinks as Castiel positions himself behind the mutt, thrusting into his open hole after savagely pulling the dildo out. Dean moans brokenly, head and shoulders dipping forward as he practically collapses onto the cross, resting his forehead against the cold metal as Castiel fucks into him, because he can't take any more. He doesn't want to take anymore. Truth is, if Castiel had taken the gag off, he'd have started blabbing hours ago, because keeping a secret this big is exhausting, and though Dean's a fighter, it's not like it matters. So what if they know who or where the Alpha is? It's not like they could keep him.
The taste of Castiel lingers in his mouth, the scent that seems to follow him, has followed him everywhere he goes for the past four years. Multiple times Sam had commented on the Hunter's smell being all over Dean. The skinwalker couldn't help it – the guy was just that good. But not good enough.
Until today.
Dean whines when Castiel jabs brutally into his prostate, throwing his head back and shying away from the Hunter. Or he would have if Castiel didn't have such a good grip on the ropes around his waist, pulling on Dean every time he thrusts forward so the skinwalker has no choice but to meet him. Every one of Castiel's thrusts goes deep inside of Dean, dragging along his insides, and it feels so good. It's too much sensation on his overwhelmed nerves. He tries to choke out words, to beg but it's hard to talk with this Godforsaken thing in his mouth, and Castiel doesn't care, even if he does hear Dean try and speak.
Castiel bites his lip, head thrown back as he pounds into the skinwalker. Fuck, but he's missed this. Most of them crack before he gets to have any real fun, but of course Dean wouldn't disappoint him. Dean's too good for that.
He drags a hand down the skinwalker's spine, making the younger, trembling man shudder even harder, and smiles. He's abandoned the tray for now, but tomorrow, when he comes back, he'll bring more instruments. More of his playthings to really get this man to scream. The actually interrogation can be put on the backburner for a while.
He tells Dean this – tells Dean that he'll just have some fun with him first. "Making up for lost time," Castiel says, grunting as he finally pushes in as far as he can go, holding fast for a moment as Dean's muscles clamp around him tightly, his body fighting to keep him inside. "Bet you love this, don't you? Getting fucked like you're just some Goddamn bitch in heat…" Castiel smirks again, thrusting in once more, and he comes with a low groan, resting his forehead against Dean's sweaty back. The dog whimpers like it's been kicked and he laughs, reaching underneath Dean to lightly drag his hand along Dean's swollen cock. "That must be painful," he says softly. Dean nods, at a loss of what else to do.
Castiel pulls out without a thought, standing up as he tucks himself back into the pants he didn't even bother to take all the way off, and stares at Dean dispassionately. Sweaty, shaking, covered in rain and dirt and blood with come leaking out of his hole and his cock harnessed like that, almost purple, he looks like a slut. It's a good look for him.
"I'm sure it'll only help make you more cooperative in the morning," Castiel says, adjusting the two halves of his trench coat around himself. Dean lifts his head, just barely, blinking over at Castiel in disbelief. The Hunter smiles, going over to his head and kneeling down, taking Dean's chin in hand. "Don't worry, baby," he says softly, smile hard around the edges, fingers digging in too harshly onto Dean's skin. "Take heart in the fact that I went easy on your today, m'kay?"
He stands up again, letting Dean's head drop, and heads to the door. There are three men waiting outside with leers on their faces. "Untie him, but don't remove the harness and don't you dare touch him," Castiel orders, voice hard and eyes fierce, and the men nod, sobering somewhat, and the Hunter nods to them, wrapping the trench coat around himself because it's a fucking cold night, and walks back to his bunk.
They untie Dean from the cross and take off the gag that's around his head, but leave the silver harness around his cock untouched. It hurts, God does it hurt, but it hurts even more to touch it and it's wrapped so tight that it would probably just cheese-wire his junk off if he even tried, so Dean manages to crawl towards the wall that separates his and Sam's cell, and leans his forehead against the meshing. It's silver and burns his skin but he just doesn't fucking care anymore.
"You did well," Sam says, and Dean sighs, nodding and curling up on himself. "I mean it, Dean. I'm very grateful for your silence."
"The guy's a fucking psychopath, Sammy," Dean replies, eyes clenching tightly shut as he remembers, shudders with the experiences he just wants to forget, along with the knowledge that it's just going to get worse tomorrow. "I don't know if I can keep this up for very long."
Sam's voice turns hard. "You will keep this up, otherwise you are dead to me as soon as we get out of here. Stay strong, Dean, or I will kill you myself."
Dean sighs, shaking his head slightly, and then nods, curling in on himself more for body heat, and trying to heal or ignore the aches and pains of his body.
Sam finds his silence unnerving. "Did you hear me, Dean? Do you understand?"
Dean sighs again. "Yes, Alpha. I understand."