Warning: breathplay
Castiel kisses with his eyes open. Dean doesn't like to admit to what they're doing, and keeps his eyes closed.
That's why they end up like this.
"Dean," Castiel says, and pushes forward into the heat of Dean's body. Dean grunts, but is otherwise quiet, ducking his head down. Castiel doesn't need to see his face to know he is biting his lip.
Castiel starts to thrust, angling his hips to provide Dean the highest possible level of pleasure. Dean will not allow himself to be touched, at a time like this. His shame, guilt and self loathing for daring to take even this small level of relief are too great to accept a gentle hand, and Castiel doesn't know how to be rough with something so breakable.
Dean has, on occasion, shouted some suggestions at him. Those shouting matches are why Castiel has left his clothes on, only undoing his pants before slicking Dean open and making a place for himself inside.
Castiel knows Dean Winchester from the inside out. He built Dean's body from nothing, and left his own mark on Dean's skin as a reminder to them both of his effort. He knows what Dean wants, and even more importantly, what Dean need s.
Castiel doesn't know how to be rough with Dean, but he is learning, because roughness is the only sort of comfort Dean will accept.
A hitching breath goes through Dean, the first sound he has made since Castiel appeared to him. Castiel loosens his tie, letting the cheap material slide through his fingers. Dean lets out a long, low moan when Castiel slips the length around his throat, his entire body shaking. His channel, wrapped around Castiel's length, ripples, the sphincter spasming around him.
Castiel is careful as he knots the tie around Dean's neck. He is careful, making sure the knot is clean, that it will only tighten when he wants, will release with the right touch. He does not stop thrusting into Dean as he works, and Dean has started to thrust back into the motion, leaning down into the faint pressure of the tie against his throat.
Castiel leans down over the length of Dean's back, pressing his forehead into the damp skin at the back of Dean's neck. He can taste the salt of Dean's sweat, the skin of him, and beneath that, the faintest hint of despair leaking from his soul.
Castiel raises up, and tightens his hand around the long length of the tie. He pulls, gently, until the knot is snug against the side of Dean's throat. He rests his hand against the hollow of Dean's spine, steadying, and pulls.
Dean's breath falters, the sound of air through the constricted passageway of his throat loud compared to the wet, slick sounds of their flesh coming together. Dean keens, and pulls forward, deliberately trying to tighten the knot.
"Don't fight, Dean," Castiel says, brushing his fingers around the edge of his mark on Dean's flesh. Dean cries out, and almost falls forward. Castiel adjusts his grip on Dean's shoulder, shuddering at the sudden connection, the pleasure/pain/desolation leaking through. He wonders what Dean feels from him, in these moments. The punched out, exhausted puffs of breath Dean struggles to make past the tie let him believe Dean finds pleasure in the joining.
"Cas," Dean rasps out, desperate, and Castiel tightens the knot further, cutting off Dean's air completely. He keeps the length taut, even as he moves his hand from Dean's scar, down to the pulsing length of Dean's cock. He ignores it, instead grips Dean's testicles tight. He rubs the tip of his thumb along the root of Dean's cock, letting his nail catch on the loose skin.
"Come, Dean," he whispers into the dark, and Dean does. No sound escapes past the tie at his throat, but his body convulses, arching away from Castiel enough that Castiel's cock slips out of him, slapping wet against his belly.
Dean collapses, eyes closed , and Castiel is careful to loosen the knots at his throat and make sure Dean is still breathing.
With the withdrawal of the tie, Dean curls in on himself.
Dean does not cry. He will not allow himself that luxury.
Castiel aches with the pain he cannot relieve.