Rating: NC-17 (Explicit)
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Tags: Dom Cas, Sub Dean, Light Bondage, Light Spanking, Cas being a bamf in a bedroom, dom/sub
Summary: "You should show me some respect."
From the moment those words were said, Dean was trembling, turned on and all-around flustered.
Angels are gonna be the death of him, he knows it.
Minor Spoilers: Coda 4.02 (sorta) and the start of season 4, basically.
-/-
Dean's back hit the counter, and what could only be described as static swept through the air as the angel went chest to chest with him.
"You you show me some respect." Steely blue tore into him, making his knees quiver, "I dragged you out of Hell - I can throw you back in."
Dean's throat went dry, the wind knocked clean out of his lungs. Each word punctured him; tore through his chest and sweet Jesus, he didn't want to admit it but that - that was hot as fuck.
He licked his lips. Blinked. Stepped back. The scrutiny of those sharp blues didn't stop. Dean wanted to fight back, retaliate - demand the angel take back the threat or else. That was the Winchester instinct. You don't cow down to anybody. Fight, not flight. That was how things were done.
But the blood pumping in his ears and the flicker of heat pooling at the base of his spine told him otherwise. His jeans suddenly felt far too tight.
Cas narrowed his eyes at him, glancing down between them and oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck -
"You enjoy this," Cas said quietly, forcing Dean's gaze to his again, "Don't you?"
Dean's hands were either side of him by now, pressing against the counter, holding himself up because shit, this fucking angel was doing things and he was pressing closer and oh God...
Like iron, Cas placed his hand on Dean's shoulder - over the mark - and clamped those long fingers down, tight. And fuck, it hurt.
"Answer me, Dean Winchester."
"Y-yeah," Dean breathed, nearly buckling beneath the angel's hand, "I - I do."
Cas smirked. Fucking smirked.
"You were made to submit, Dean," he kept using his name like it was privilege, "To your father. To your cause. To Heaven."
Cas dug his fingers in, and Dean hissed between his teeth, flinging out a hand to splay over the angel's chest, half-heartedly pushing away, glaring all the while. The air coiled between them. Dean had half a mind to throw a punch. Cas was undeterred, leaning in close, cheek brushing Dean's. The harsh drag of stubble made Dean's breath hitch.
"But most of all, Dean," Cas' lips brushed the hunter's skin, letting out a breath against the bolt of the hunter's jaw, hot and and cloying and fuck, Dean was so hard, "You were made to submit to me."
Then Dean was gripping the lapels of that goddamn trenchcoat, wrenching Cas away only to pull him back, clashing their mouths together, hard. Their teeth clacked at the force; it was hot, so hot, all fire and power, like kissing an unstoppable force of nature and Jesus Christ, what was he doing -
"Castiel -" his eyelids fluttered when the angel's teeth sank into his bottom lip, "Cas - wait -"
A thigh was shoved between Dean's own, and that was pretty much the end of that conversation.
Fingers slid into the blonde spikes at the base of Dean's skull, nails scraping his scalp and then Cas was yanking his head back, baring the vulnerable skin of his jugular and Dean - Dean was fucking gone.
He melted against the counter when Cas' plush lips pressed hot little kisses down the column of his throat, sending wave after wave of heat parading down his spine, making his fingers clutch uselessly at Cas' coat and his toes curl in his boots. Dean actually fucking groaned when he realised what Cas was saying between each press of his lips.
"Disrespectful," kiss, "Rebellious," tongue, "Hopeless," teeth, "You need to be reminded," a purple mark sucked onto his collar bone, "Who you're talking to. Who you serve. Boy."
"Fuck," Dean hissed shakily, Cas' elegant fingers feverish as they undid the buttons on his shirt, "Fuck, oh fuck -"
Cas grew tired of the buttons quickly, choosing instead to grip either side of the shirt and yank; the buttons burst, clattering to the ground, the cool air of the room blowing over Dean's nipples, causing a shiver to wrack his body.
Cas crouched.
Dean's world narrowed down to the sole existence of Cas' godforsaken tongue.
It dipped into the divot of his collar bone, traced the contour between his pecs, left wet marks around his nipples and ran down the faint lines of his abs. Over the soft stretch of stomach and down to the waistband of his jeans and fuck, how did an angel - a motherfucking angel - know how to do this kind of shit?
Maybe God had just given them the power of sexual prowess when he'd created them. Dean'd have to find out, if he ever went to Heaven.
"I put this body together, piece -" lick, "-by-" bite, "- piece. I built your foundations from the ground up. Moulded you as you are now."
Looking down his rising and falling chest, Dean's eyes clashed with that steely blue, jaw slack at the sight of this, this - sex God - kneeling before him.
"And all you give me in return is disrespect. Disobedience. Disdain." Cas' fingers worked at Dean's belt the entire time he said this, "Perhaps my words don't work with you, Dean."
His jeans and briefs were yanked down, and he didn't even have time to be embarrassed about Cas' eyes raking over the hard jut of his cock, because those strong hands had already gripped his hips and forced him to turn around. Made him present his ass like a cat in heat.
"Maybe my actions will speak louder."
Solid fingers, unwavering, gripped his ass cheeks, pulling them apart, and then pinpricks of Cas' stubble brushed against the soft skin above the back of Dean's thigh, and Cas' tongue - that fucking tongue - was licking a long, torturous stripe up the sensitive skin below his hole, trailing up higher and higher and -
"Oh fuck!" The points of Dean's hipbones hurt from being pressed into the counter so hard, but he just didn't care, "Cas - Cas -!"
The smack of skin sounded, and it took a moment for Dean's brain to connect the noise to the flash of pain he'd just felt searing across his outer thigh.
Cas just fucking spanked him.
Dean forgot he had lungs.
"That name. 'Cas'." The angel sounded contemplative, and Dean was getting mad because that perfect mouth was talking instead of eating him out, "You chose it for me. Like I'm a mere pet."
Another slap. Stars shone in Dean's brain. That didn't make sense but what the hell, he couldn't think when he could feel Cas' every fucking breath on his ass.
"I'd prefer sir, if you don't mind."
No. No, that was just too much. Too demeaning. He couldn't - he wouldn't -
A hand reached between his spread thighs. Hot skin brushed against the erection hanging thick and heavy between his legs, the friction making Dean bite his lip and screw his eyes shut. And then, fuck, and then - Cas' hand jacked him like nobody's business.
The words burst out of Dean like he'd been born to say them.
"Sir!" He gasped out to the ceiling, feeling his face grow hot. Cas didn't relent - his hand actually tightened. "Sir - sir please -"
"Bow your back."
Dean obeyed without hesitation, elbows on the counter, head dipping between his shoulders, back arching as he stuck his ass out. Anything to make his orgasm get here quicker.
"Good," Cas' hands left Dean's dick, and the hunter - fuck it, he whined. No sugar coating it. He whined like a bitch because dammit, he needed to come. The pleasure was reaching it's pinnacle - a burning hot ball of iron sat fucking heavy in his gut, simmering below his skin, making him sweat and buck and whine and fuck, Cas...
"Not tonight," Cas murmured, and it took Dean a second to realise that the angel was reading his thoughts. Fucking bastard.
Cas slapped him again. Stung.
"Do you want to come tonight, Dean? Or do you wish to insult me again?"
The power in that statement wasn't lost on Dean.
"I'm growing impatient, boy."
"I want to come." he spat out, his knees shaking, "Please... sir."
A low laugh, drenched in gravel and sweet as honey, vibrated through Dean's abdomen, making Dean drive his hips back into the hands holding him in place. "I thought as much. But you won't climax here, no."
And like that, Dean was falling face-first into a mattress, devoid of clothes, on his knees, ass in the air. He went to push himself up, but he found that he couldn't move his wrists. His hands were bound behind his back.
Naked. Tied. Helpless.
This was so not good.
His cock was curved towards his belly, still going strong, and he felt a wave of pleasure run through him when hands skimmed down his back, soft and unusually... slow.
"I care for you, Dean." Cas admitted from behind, fingers tracing the line of the hunter's spine, "And because I'm merciful, I will give you the option to deny me. While you may not know your place, I'm unwilling to force myself upon you in order to teach it."
Despite himself, Dean laughed. Bitterly.
"It's not like I have much of a choice here." He flexed his wrists to prove his point.
Cas' hand paused in it's southward trail.
"There is always a choice."
And well, maybe all the blood had rushed from his brain to his dick, but Dean couldn't refuse that.
"Yeah," he croaked, "Fuck, yeah. Go on Cas."
A sharp slap landed on his rear, making him arch upwards, chest leaving the bedspread for all of five seconds.
"Sir." Cas reprimanded, "I'm not your pet, and I never will be. Say it. Repeat it. Learn it."
Dean - for his part - could barely breathe. His face was pressed into the mattress, and Cas' hands were hooked around his hips like they were fucking handles, holding him in place to do with as he pleased. Dean was surprised he could talk at all.
"You're - you're not my pe -" he cut off with ridiculously loud groan. Cas had just pressed one slick finger against his entrance and it felt way too good to be ignored. So angels had lube-summoning abilities now. Great.
"Finish the sentence," Cas said, fucking sadist he was, sinking his finger in slowly, down to the second knuckle before sliding back out again. It wasn't enough. "Finish the sentence and I might reward you, Dean."
It all sort of... rushed out, after that.
"You're not my - fuck - not my pet Cas," Dean quickly realised his mistake, "Never my pet, sir. Never will be, never - oh shiiit..."
Cas' finger was dragging delicious friction along his insides, deliberate and fucking teasing, and Dean was rocking his hips back without concious thought, breathing heavy into the mattress, every muscle tense. He could feel sweat dampening his skin, beading his brow, and he realised he probably looked a complete mess. Flushed from head to toe, glistening with sweat, moaning like a two-dollar whore; he must be a fucking sight.
"Yes. You are." Cas' voice had dropped to a low rumble, like some powerful, unameable creature. It was hot as hell. Dean would know. He had a valid comparison, after all.
The stretch increased to two fingers, and Dean couldn't do anything but lie there and take it. Take it with spread legs and low keens and God, he should not be enjoying this.
His world tipped when Cas pulled his fingers out, wrapping his hand around Dean's thigh and flinging him roughly onto his back. His bound wrists made it awkward to lie comfortably, but Dean didn't give a shit because Cas' fingers were back and - and holy shit, was that -
"Sir!" Dean yelped, the tight heat of Cas' mouth sinking down onto him in one solid, planned movement. Everything about this was mechanical. The angel was a damn strategist for fuck's sake. "Oh - oh shit, sir, sir please -!"
Cas didn't move - he stayed fucking still, mouth enveloping Dean's cock whilst he stretched him open, fingers spreading outwards each time they pulled away. Scissoring. An angel of the Lord was fucking scissoring him open.
There had to be some kind of Bible quote against this.
Castiel worked up to three easily, making Dean writhe on the bed, heels pressing into the mattress as he resisted the urge to pump his hips upwards and spill his load right down Cas' throat. And wasn't that a fucking amazing mental image.
Four times, Dean counted. Four times he nearly came in those excruciating minutes with Cas' mouth on him. Four times. Every instant he neared the edge, the angel pulled off, watched him gasp and pant for a moment until the edge died down - then he'd go right back to work. Simple as.
Sadistic motherfucker.
After the fifth time, Cas' mouth stayed off, and Dean didn't know whether to be annoyed or relieved. His stomach was rolling with every desperate huff of air, his skin feeling like fire, engulfed in flame and sweaty as fuck. Through hazed eyes, Dean managed to look upwards, watching as Cas knelt up and oh, that just wasn't fair. The guy still had his goddamn clothes on. All of them.
"I think I'd like to fuck you now."
Whether it was the swear or the sentence, Dean didn't know; whichever one it was, it made his heart stop and his oversensitive cock throb. It twitched feebly against his stomach. If Dean's back hadn't been bowed over his bound hands, he'd probably be able to look down and see it, shining with Cas' spit, head flushed red. As it was, he couldn't even feel his arms at the moment, and craning his head to look a Cas hurt after a few seconds. So he waited. Stared at the ceiling, breathing raggedly through his nose.
"Would you like me to fuck you, Dean?"
A burning palm splayed over Dean's chest, raking its fingernails to scrape over a nipple. Dean rutted up into the air on impulse, throwing his head back into the pillows, the pulsing pleasure settled in his groin flaring at the contact.
"Please," he whispered, throat dry, "I can't... Fuck, I can't do this anymore. Sir please."
Cruelly, Cas flicked Dean's nipple with his nail. The hunter's body jolted, tried to arch off the bed, something - but Cas' other hand pressed into the ridge of his hip, pushing him back against the bedspread. Helpless. Dean growled in frustration.
"And that fight in you, Dean." Cas bent down, his tie slipping onto Dean's stomach as he did so, "It'll land you in trouble, one day."
Teeth dug into Dean's nipple, twisting a little. The hunter's eyes popped. The silk fabric of the tie slid against his skin.
"This count as trouble?" Dean panted, suppressing a grin. Cas hummed in approval.
"I believe so, yes."
Dean's resultant grin slid clean off of his face when Cas' clothes vanished. Within seconds, he'd lined himself up and with no motherfucking warning whatsoever he just gripped Dean's hips hard and he - he fucking slammed in.
"F-fuck." Cas' arms wrapped around Dean's thighs, his fingers digging into the tops of them as he pounded in, over and over, fucking relentless. Each thrust seemed to go deeper, and there was pain there - a burn, dull and low, and Dean fucking relished it. The angel was physically pulling Dean back onto his cock like he was some kind of fucking ragdoll. To an angel, he probably was.
And that's when it clicked.
Dean could sass and bitch and moan as much as he fucking wanted, but Cas - Castiel - was a goddamn angel. The wrathful creatures written in legends and depicted in the Bible for fuck's sake. Cas could destroy him easy. Squash him like a bug. Do whatever he wanted to Dean and suffer no consequences. But he didn't. And if anything, that willpower alone was enough to scare the crap out of Dean.
It was like playing with forest fire. Even if you didn't start it, you were probably gonna get burned anyway.
The bindings around Dean's wrists disappeared. Dean didn't know if it was a concious choice on the angel's part or not. He didn't know much of anything at the moment. Cas was going fucking nuts, nails digging in so hard that there'd be marks for weeks. Cas' marks would litter his skin, claiming him just like the handprint had.
The thought turned him on more than it should've. Dean reached down, gripping his aching cock and groaning as his stroked himself, seconds away from orgasm. He needed the added edge - needed it like fucking oxygen. In a desperate bid to balance himself, he reached for the headboard, bracing himself for every bone-rattling thrust Cas gave. He could feel them in the back of his fucking throat, they were that hard.
He finally got the full-frontal he wanted of Cas - the angel was broad-shouldered, much more muscled than the trenchcoat led on, pale throat tinged pink and mouth agape as he concentrated on his work. The angel was draped over Dean's body as they rolled together, against each other, a war between their bodies, friction guiding them. Air was thick and cloying between them, their combined body heat making Dean feel like the core of the sun. As soon as Dean looked up, he was met with cold blue. Fierce.
Now, Dean wasn't usually one for eye contact during sex. Too touchy-feely, should really be saved for couples who meant something to each other.
But this? This was fucking intense.
"Am I yours?" Cas growled between thrusts, shaking Dean's fragile body with his own, gaze unwavering, "Do I belong to you? Do I serve you?"
Dean licked his lips, jacking himself off quicker, crying out when Cas hit that spot inside.
"No," Jesus, when Cas made a point he made his fucking point. "You don't - ah - you don't belong to anyone. No-one - sir -"
"No, I don't." Cas snarled, teeth bared, pounding in deep, the hot drag of flesh making explosions go off behind Dean's eyes. White pulsed in his vision. He was so fucking close. "I'm an angel -" slam, "-of-" slam, "-the-" slam, "Lord."
He stroked up the back of Dean's thighs, gripping the back's of his knees to push them all the way to the hunter's chest. They were nose to nose now, and the atmosphere felt more like the electric charge of a fist-fight than something as intimate as having sex.
"You're mine, Dean." He growled, "Don't forget it."
Dean didn't have much time to react to that, because Cas' lips were on his, mouth slanted. Sloppy. Uncoordinated. Hot and wet, unplanned and messy.
Fucking perfect.
Dean came with a shout, arching into Cas' unyielding body as the angel craned his neck and mouthed at Dean's jugular, pulse point, jawline - anywhere he could whilst Dean rode out his climax. The iron ball of heat tore through his gut, making his legs tremble in Cas' grasp, the angel's name escaping his lips as his come splattered both his and Cas' stomachs, hand working furiously to draw out the ride of what was quite possibly the best fucking orgasm Dean had ever had in his life.
He didn't understand what made him do it, but when he felt a tell-tale shudder travel through Cas' body, he wound his hand into that unruly mop of black hair. Pulled the angel close. Held him to his chest as he painted Dean's insides white, gasping out the hunter's name as he went lax and flopped down atop Dean's body. The human started running Cas' hair through his fingers, soothing as they both wound down, shaking and breathing hard.
'Intense' was the word that stuck. Sex with Cas was intense.
Hours, days, minutes later - whenever it was - Cas rolled off of Dean, mojo'd them both clean. Dean was suddenly clad in clothes again, feeling a little fuzzy where he lay, eyes barely focussing on the now fully clothed angel stood before him. The room - a crappy motel room, Dean soon discovered - was immaculate, complete with a glass of water on the bed cabinet that the angel must've poofed up. Cas himself was stood at the foot of the bed, straightening his tie, as serious as ever.
"Remember what I've said, Dean." He warned without looking at the hunter, "I won't remind you again."
And then he flapped out of existence, the sound of wings following him. And Dean was left feeling oddly hollow, kind of terrified, and completely pissed because Cas had left him in a motel in the middle of Montana.
Sadistic bastard.
...
Dean liked him though.