...and we're back for the last installment.
To everyone who wanted me to write them meeting at Christmas: I'm sorry. I actually never planned to do that meeting on screen. Maybe I'll write it as a timestamp at some point in the future?
I have no idea how long this is going to be. I originally thought 30k words but then the first chapter alone is like 7500 and so...yeah no it's going to be longer than 30k, just shoot me now. I'm gonna guess five or six chapters? (I mean, I just sketched out the outline of this story and it has 13 bullet points...Disconnected had 16 bullet points and ended up 66,000 words...soooo...yeah.)
Relationship: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Characters: Castiel; Dean Winchester; Alastair; Naomi; Zachariah; Alfie; Charlie Bradbury; Gilda; Sam Winchester; John Winchester; Mary Winchester; Max Miller
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; BDSM; Top Castiel; Bottom Dean; Dom/sub; Sub Castiel; Dom Dean; Angst and Fluff and Smut; Angst with a Happy Ending; Masochism; Sadism; Blood; Bloodplay; Anal Sex; Businessman Castiel; Photographer Dean; Other Additional Tags to Be Added; Shibari; Misconceptions about BDSM; Intercrural Sex; Sex Toys; Rope Bondage; Sex Toys Under Clothing; Butt Plugs
This is Part 4 of the SextersAnondotcom verse. It is not stand-alone and will not make much sense if you do not read the other stories. In order, the stories are:
Story 1: SextersAnondotcom
Story 2: Deactivated
Story 3: Disconnected
Tender fingers threaded through Castiel's hair. With a shaky breath, he tried to release the tension binding his shoulders beneath the soft, loose undershirt he wore.
"That's good, Cas," murmured Dean reassuringly.
This is what he wants. This is what my dom wants. I can do this.
Castiel took another shaky breath and eased his head against Dean's thigh. Lunch was spread on the table, sandwiches and chips, fresh berries for dessert, and Dean sat in the stately armed dining chair that headed the table in the dining room of the fanciest hotel suite Castiel had ever stayed in. Kneeling beside him, a thick pillow protected Castiel's knees from the hard floor. Despite all their preparation, despite the hours of discussion that had preceded this day, Castiel was still on edge and nervous. It was their first scene in almost six months – their first scene since Castiel had shattered their dom/sub relationship by lying and hiding and using his safeword. Further, they'd only both arrived in Dallas the night before, hadn't had sex, hadn't seen each other in person since March. Castiel wanted so much he trembled if he dwelt on it.
I have to be perfect.
No I don't.
What if I do something he doesn't like?
That would be okay. Dean won't hurt me.
How can I be sure?
Because I trust him.
Blinking slowly, deliberately, Castiel took a deep breath, let it go, and slumped comfortably against Dean's legs.
"Good," Dean repeated, petting Castiel's head. "Get comfortable, Cas. Take as long as you need. Lunch'll wait."
Nerves flared for an instant – but Dean said he was hungry! I need to relax faster, I'm being a bother – only to die under Dean's relentless acceptance and gentleness. Castiel had never done a scene where everything was laid out with Castiel's contentment in mind. Part of him rebelled against it: he wanted to be used, abused, torn to shreds and then put back together again stronger and better than he'd been before.
Ultimately, that's what would happen, but it wasn't where they were starting.
Everything smelled like Dean. After they'd met in March, they'd exchanged a few favorite clothing items as a reminder of the other – Dean kept his favorite of Castiel's ties, Castiel had a pair of Dean's jeans – but the comforting aroma, leather and musk and aftershave, had faded with time. Now, Castiel wore Dean's pajamas, dug his nose into Dean's thigh, and the smell was overwhelming, dizzying. Castiel adored how it enveloped him. Combined with the hum of Dean's gruff voice buzzing down Castiel's spine, the caress of Dean's calloused fingers along his face and neck, the solid weight of Dean's body supporting Castiel's, Castiel felt his nerves draining away. His eyes slipped shut and he wrapped an arm around Dean's knees to steady himself lest he slump to the floor.
There was no way in which Dean wasn't supporting him, and it was wonderful.
"Color?" Dean asked.
"Green," hummed Castiel happily.
"You hungry?"
"Yes, sir," Castiel agreed.
There was a scraping sound, noises that Castiel identified as Dean pulling his plate closer to himself and taking a bite of the sandwich. A moment later, something brushed Castiel's face and he grimaced and pressed closer to Dean's heat. Dean laughed. "Gotta hold your head up and open your mouth if you wanna eat, Cas."
"Oh, fine."
"Don't get petulant with me," warned Dean.
"Sorry, sir," Castiel mumbled, and he dutifully lifted his head. Instead of the expected sandwich, Dean was holding a pill and a cup of water. Castiel flushed but opened his mouth wide; Dean popped the pill onto his tongue, poured a little water in, and waited expectantly until Castiel closed his mouth and swallowed. Only then did Dean offer him a bite of the sandwich. Part of Castiel was ashamed – Dean knows I failed, he knows I resorted to meds, he knows I'm not strong enough, not in control enough – but after months of trying to overcome anxiety with only talk therapy, Castiel had failed. A stress-induced meltdown in February had nearly destroyed what they'd both worked so hard. Only Dean's rock-solid stubbornness had preserved their relationship. In the wake of that, Castiel had called Dr. Ellicott and said he was ready to try medication.
It helped. It wasn't perfect, it didn't fix him or prevent his errant thoughts or wipe the memory of Naomi from his mind and body, but it helped.
Castiel had Dean to help erase Naomi's influence from his thoughts and flesh. Dean was enough. Dean was perfect. Flawed and hurt and determined and aggressive and domineering and trying so damn hard and absolutely perfect.
Dean took another bite of sandwich then offered it once more to Castiel.
This is so weird, he shouldn't be…but this is what he wants from me, he's my dom, and…
So the meal passed, Dean making small talk, Castiel replying, trading bites of sandwich and crunching into chips. When that was done, Dean delightedly fed Castiel a handful of berries and kissed the sweet juice out of Castiel's mouth until they were both drunk on it. The ease of contentment gave way to a buzz of arousal, Castiel's cock thickening and twitching against the soft fabric of his borrowed flannel pajama bottoms.
"How is this workin' for you so far?" Dean asked when the meal was done and Dean had dabbed Castiel's mouth and chin clean with a napkin.
It was a wrench to have the scene interrupted, but this was another thing they'd discussed and agreed to ahead of time. They'd rebuilt their trust in each other over the past months, despite the gnawing desire for more intensity than could possibly come from long distance mutual masturbation. However, they both knew how deep Castiel sank into subspace, how readily he agreed to things he might not want when he was performing for a dom, and to mitigate that they'd decided to do a mild scene, decided that Dean would deliberately break them both out of their roles from time to time.
"It's…it's a little weird," admitted Castiel. Dean tensed against him. "Not bad weird!" he added hastily. "This isn't what I'm a sub for." They'd been over this while planning the scene but the dissonance was worse than he'd expected. Some tense part of him waited on tenterhooks for the other shoe to drop. Kindness was always a mask for an agenda, always cloaked the coming blow.
No. Not always. Not with Dean. Dean isn't Naomi, God, he's so different from her in every way that it's incredible.
"Not always," agreed Dean with his usual knack for echoing Castiel's thoughts. It took Castiel a moment to remember what Dean was talking about. Right. He's agreeing that my purpose as a sub isn't to be pampered and cared for. "Maybe not even usually. However, you've agreed to be my sub, Thursday, agreed that your purpose is to serve, not to question. And today? This is how I want to use you."
Don't think about why we're in Dallas again. Don't think about tomorrow. Don't think – don't think – don't –
"I understand, sir," said Castiel.
Obey. Behave. Conform. What I want is irrelevant. I'm here to serve Dean.
And for some reason, this is how he wants me to serve him.
I don't understand. I don't understand at all. But I can be good for Dean – must be good for Dean.
"I know you do," Dean replied kindly. "You're a good boy, Castiel." Castiel shuddered, not sure if he liked those words on Dean's lips or not. Being called good, being called boy, and most of all being called Castiel instead of just plain 'Cas' was a jolt that stirred unwanted memories of the past, a jolt that twisted his stomach, a jolt that he craved. He'd once loved hearing those words, and he wanted to love them again.
That was what today was about, what it was really about. Naomi – he shuddered again to think the name – had taken so much from him, so much that he deserved and he wanted back. Alastair had taken nearly as much from Dean.
Together, they could reclaim what was theirs. Together, they could remove the taint that their past partners had attached to the kink they enjoyed. Castiel was allowed to serve without being abused. Dean was allowed his sadistic tendencies when granted permission. There was nothing inherently wrong with either of them. Explicit consent had been sought and granted for every act.
Together, Castiel hoped, they could repair the damage each had sustained when they'd suffered alone. Together, they could be made whole.
"I've gotta get some work done," Dean continued. His only acknowledgement of Castiel's twitching and increased tension was a steady hand wrapped protectively around the back of Castiel's neck. "Lean back on the cushion – I gotta grab my laptop – and when I get back, we'll reposition you, okay?"
"Yes, sir."
The brief minutes of Dean's absence seemed to last a long time. Settling on his heels, Castiel watched Dean move about the room and attempted to keep his expression impassive as his thoughts raced.
Why didn't he tell me to get the computer? He should be using me.
No. I exist for his pleasure, to satisfy his whims, and if this is his whim then this is how I must behave.
Wait. That's not why I exist that is simply my role while we are doing a scene together.
I wish he'd be harsher. I wish he'd use me, demean me, and—
That is not what I want. I want us to be in a mutual satisfying consensual relationship. I do not want him to behave in a fashion that ultimately causes me to equate him with Naomi. Just because that was how she was a dom doesn't mean that's the only way, and while sometimes it felt good, there were many times that her treatment of me left me feeling wretched.
"Cas?" Dean's voice harshly cut through Castiel's thoughts. Blinking, he realized Dean had returned, looming over him with a disgruntled expression.
No. That's not how he looks. He looks puzzled and concerned. Rightfully so.
"Sorry, sir," Castiel managed a reassuring half-smile. "Green." Dean's tight brow eased and he set the large laptop on the table where the lunch things had formerly been – Castiel hadn't noticed Dean clearing those away – and took his seat.
"Get between my legs," Dean commanded.
Shifting onto the carpet, Castiel picked up the cushion and moved it to between Dean's legs as Dean pulled his chair up to the table and spread his knees wide. Castiel scrambled to get under the table; he bumped his head on the wood with a thunk as he positioned himself. As he'd moved, Dean had undone the fly on his pants and taken his limp cock in hand. Wordlessly, Dean reached out with his other hand, pressed a finger to Castiel's lips. When Castiel opened his mouth to suck and lick at the finger, assuming that was what Dean expected of him, Dean murmured wordless praise, looped a finger up against Castiel's soft palette and gently tugged Castiel's head forward until his chin brushed denim, zipper teeth pressed at his cheeks and the soft flesh of Dean's cock painted musk against his mouth.
"Open wide, Cas," Dean said encouragingly. As soon as Castiel obeyed, Dean slipped his cock within. "Good boy." Castiel shuddered, tongue pressing along the bottom of Dean's length, and within moments Dean began to swell. Encouraged, Castiel licked more enthusiastically, sucked gently at the hardening tip. "Stop that," Dean scolded, lightly slapping him on the side of the head. Confused but obedient, Castiel stilled. "I told you I have work to do. I'm taking my hands away now. If you need anything, tap the side of my leg. Understand?" Tentatively, Castiel tapped once to show that he did. "Perfect," Dean said warmly. A soft noise, almost a purr, bubbled in Castiel's chest. "Being so good for me."
Shifting to ease the strain on his back, Castiel took Dean in his mouth up to the root. Despite the initial thickening of Dean's erection, within minutes Dean was soft again. The tak-tak-tak of typing and click of the buttons on the mouse were the only sounds in the room as Dean worked. Castiel's mouth flooded with saliva that he had to resist swallowing. Obviously, Dean didn't wish further arousal just now, so Castiel forced his tongue to stillness, forced his muscles to relax, allowed the spit to dribble down his throat or leak from the corners of his mouth. The bite of the zipper against his skin helped ground him. Gradually, impatience to get on with the blow job faded into acceptance, and finally into ease and comfort, encouraged by the occasional sounds of contentment Dean made, the periodic shifts in Dean's posture that shifted his limp cock in Castiel's mouth.
This is nice. I can keep him comfortable, keep him warm, keep him safe.
This cock is mine. Only I am entrusted with this task.
I'm helping him work. Somehow.
It doesn't matter how. He said I should do this. That's enough.
The most wonderful part was that it was enough.
A loud moan interrupted Castiel's drifting thoughts. His eyes popped open; he hadn't realized how lulled towards sleep he'd become until the sudden noise yanked him back to awareness. Another groan followed, the tinny reproduction of a familiar voice saying, "yeah, fuck yeah, just like that." Dean's voice, coming from the speakers of the computer, panted loudly. The cock in Castiel's mouth thickened, lengthened.
He's…watching porn? He made a video? Who is he with? Why would he tease me like this?
"Fuck that's hot," video Dean continued, "Fuck me – fuck me just like that, shit…"
"Dean," moaned Dean's partner. Whoever it was had a low voice that sounded scraped raw – guttural and breathy, almost a croak, and—
"Harder, Cas."
Confused, Castiel tried to figure out what Dean expected of him – the cock in his mouth was rapidly approaching the hardness of full erection, Castiel's own cock was twitching despite his jealousy of the mystery man in the video – and then he realized that it was Dean's voice in the video, not in reality, encouraging him. The scene suddenly formed in his mind vividly as he recollected the day when Dean must have recorded them together.
…fleshlight vibrating around Castiel's cock…Dean driving the dildo into his body in tempo with Castiel's hips jerking thrust after thrust into the tight channel of the toy…God, he was close, he was so close…
A moan escaped Castiel, echoing a matching moan from the recording. He'd not known that Dean had made a video. The cock in his mouth twitched, leaked a bead of salty pre-come onto his tongue, and Castiel couldn't stop himself from swallowing. No reprimand came. Dean remained silent; the only evidence that he was affected by the increasingly lascivious noises emanating from the speakers were his swelling erection and a hand that came to rest on Castiel's cheek. Fingers dug into the flesh – dug into Dean's cock through Castiel's skin – and Dean leaked more, forcing Castiel to swallow again. Dean's thumb pressed in hard and rubbed as Castiel strained to behave himself. Tears beaded in his eyes; Dean had grown so large in his mouth that it was a struggle to breathe, a struggle not to suck and lick and caress. The other fingers of Dean's hand shifted until pinky and ring finger rested on his neck and gently swiped downward against Castiel's throat. Hoping like hell that was permission to swallow, Castiel tentatively did so again, again, as the video played and Dean stimulated himself through the scant barrier of skin and flesh over Castiel's cheeks. Arousal and the satisfaction of being able to see to Dean flared hot through Castiel's body, overlaid with memories of the events unfolding in the video.
…Dean's rough voice growing increasingly incoherent as he lost control of himself…
…the fleshlight's vibrator function kicking on to high…
"Don't move, Cas, just watch," Dean ordered. Hot and needy and desperate, Castiel had shaken with desire as the fleshlight stimulated him and Dean had fucked himself slow and deliberate on Castiel's surrogate cock.
Remembering drove Castiel to distraction. He longed to touch himself, longed for Dean to touch him, but no permission had been given and there was no way for Castiel to speak, so instead he sucked and licked at Dean more eagerly as his own cock rested neglected against his leg, a growing wet spot forming on his pants.
The video reached its loud climax. Castiel thought he should be ashamed of the noises he'd made. His moans and pants and half-formed pleading hadn't seemed ridiculous while he'd been lost in the moment the previous month but hearing them now? But what little embarrassment he felt was overwhelmed by desire and satisfaction. How arousing Dean found the video was obvious; as the sound from the speakers cut out, vocal panting became audible. A strong grip took hold of the back of Castiel's head, the fingers of Dean's other hand dug in at five points from the base of his neck to the top of his skull. Leaning back in his chair, Dean rolled his hips, indifferent to the choked noise Castiel made as Dean's length blocked his throat.
Again and again, Dean rolled his hips as he slouched further and further into his seat. Swallowing, spit oozing out around Dean's fat cock, Castiel did his best to remain relaxed and open. Dean's hand held Castiel's head firmly in place and increasingly pleased sounds leaked from Dean. Arousal buzzed hot beneath Castiel's skin, his own erection bound against his leg by the pajama pants.
Touch me, please, please, I need you to…
But Dean made no move to do so beyond his hold on Castiel's head and cheek, so Castiel kept his weight back on his heels so heavily that his ankles began to tingle, kept his hands still at his sides, kept his throat as open as he could to accept Dean's hard thrusts.
"Man, I hope you're good today," Dean breathed. "You're doin' great so far, Cas. Don't touch yourself. Don't come. Just let me—" A hard thrust that had Castiel seeing stars edged in black due to oxygen deprivation was accompanied by a bursting groan from Dean. "—yeah, just like that, perfect, fuckin' perfect. Behave yourself and you'll get to fuck me tonight." Dean's movements grew increasingly erratic, his voice more breathy and broken. Heart racing, dizzy, Castiel limply allowed Dean to thrust into his face. "Good…good…aw, fuck!"
A hard thrust buried Dean as deep as he could go, a jerk cut Castiel's skin on the zipper teeth, and thick come flooded his mouth. Choking and spluttering, Castiel tried to swallow, tried to swallow, as secondary and tertiary spurts burst free. Only then did Dean release him and drag the chair back, freeing Castiel. Spit and come made a damp semi-circular stain down the front of his shirt, his chin was gummy with it, and he breathed hard, vision blurring in and out. Castiel's skin itched, the gentle cloth of his clothing a tantalizing touch that drove him wild.
Touch me, stroke me, let me come, please sir, please…
All that won free of his pleading thoughts was a whimper.
"Pick your head up for me, will ya?" Dean said. Lifting his gaze, Castiel met Dean's eyes, bright with reflected light from the computer monitor. Dean reached out and used a napkin to wipe the mess off Castiel's chin and neck. "Do you want to change your shirt?" The wet spot was rapidly growing clammy in the cooled air, sticking to Castiel's chest uncomfortably.
"Yes, sir," said Castiel, voice raw. Dean slipped from the chair onto his knees, grabbed the bottom edge of the shirt and tugged it up. Obediently, Castiel lifted his arms and slammed them into the table above his head. With a whimper of pain, they fell limply to his sides again.
"Awww," said Dean with a shake of his head and a chuckle. "Okay, come on, let's get you out from under this table." Dean shimmied backwards and drew Castiel with him; he moved lethargically, thoughts still adrift. This time, when he raised his arms he had no trouble and Dean pulled the shirt up and over Castiel's head. "Lemme get you a new shirt, I'll—" Castiel reached out and grabbed Dean's wrist. Dean froze. "What is it, Cas? You okay?"
What are you doing? Stop! This isn't okay, this isn't…
…he didn't tell me not to talk. He didn't tell me not to ask for things. In fact, while we were preparing for this scene he told me the opposite.
I don't cease to be Castiel because I am Dean's sub. I don't cease to have autonomy and needs. I don't cease to have rights. I am allowed to ask for what I want, what I need.
Dean's concern deepened, his brow furrowing and lips turning down as Castiel wrestled with his inner demons and the silence stretched out. Finally, Castiel found the words to say, "would you hold me? Please, sir?"
Dean broke into a pleased, indulgent smile. "Of course, Cas." Crawling over on his knees, Dean wrapped his arms around Cas, guided them together, urged Castiel with a touch to lay his head on Dean's shoulder. The tension of denied arousal flared for a moment and then ebbed away. They breathed together, shoulders rising and falling as one. Dean's hands were hot against his skin, Dean's strength a perfect support.
"Thank you, sir," he whispered.
"So glad you asked," said Dean encouragingly. "That was fricken fantastic, Cas. Should I get you a shirt now?"
"No – no, this is good."
"Awesome."
The day progressed, the strangest scene Castiel had ever been involved in. They'd spoken about many of the details, yet the actual passage of the hours amplified how different it was than anything Castiel had done previously. More than anything, the experience was evocative of his day-to-day life with Naomi. Despite the many moments when being with her was horrible, on a daily basis things were ordinary, sometimes painfully so. Castiel was always hers to use and abuse – at any given moment a blow might fall, someone might arrive to fuck him while she watched, she might spring a punishment on him or demand to know how he'd erred or strap him to a table or, or, or – but despite that constant tense anticipation, many days were like this one: eating together, settling on the couch to watch TV together, Castiel kept in a subservient position and available to Naomi's whim.
Hands wrapped around Castiel's shoulders as day began to fade into evening. "You've gotten really tense," said Dean softly, massaging him. Surprised, Castiel rolled his back and realized Dean was right. He hadn't even noticed.
Dean isn't Naomi. Dean won't suddenly start doing something I don't like. Dean doesn't count on the unpredictability of his behavior to keep me permanently off balance, always wondering when the next punishment would begin or the next praise would come. I never could be sure how Naomi would react to anything that happened, never knew when she'd create some rule and arbitrarily decide that I'd violated it. Dean isn't like that.
Thank God Dean isn't like that.
The difference between being with Dean and being with Naomi was the fear. Every minute with Naomi when nothing bad happened wound him tighter and tighter. Every minute with Dean when nothing bad happened relaxed him and reminded him wonderfully that Dean was not and never would become Naomi.
"I'm okay…sorry," Castiel shook his head, shook away the thought. "I am okay, I was thinking – comparing. This…this is good."
"Glad to hear it." Dean's thumbs pressed into Castiel's shoulder blades, his breath trailed hot over Castiel's skin as Dean brushed kisses along the curve of his neck. "You're doin' fuckin' fantastic, Cas. You know that, right? I was worried about today but not only is this going better than I feared, it's going better than I dreamed." Dean's hands drifted down his back, palms rubbing circles along each side of his spine. "We don't have to do more, if it's starting to wear on you."
"Green light, Dean – sir," said Castiel firmly. Everything they'd done so far had been good, but if they didn't finish… "Please."
…if they didn't finish, it would feel like they'd scened for nothing.
"Come on, let's continue this massage on the bed," Dean said as if he hadn't asked the question, hadn't the least doubt about proceeding. With a slow exhale, Castiel followed as Dean led the way to the bedroom of the suite. The room wasn't large; the bed was so large it was difficult to navigate around. Cotton sheets with a ludicrously high thread count felt satin-soft under Castiel's bare chest as he lay down. There wasn't a bounce of the mattress, no sign of movement at all as Dean climbed up, laid hands on Castiel's hips and drew his pants down. "Gonna get a few things ready, okay?"
"Yes, sir."
The blankets rustled as Dean scrambled back off the bed. Heart thumping with anticipation, Castiel slipped his eyes shut and focused on the small sounds that Dean's preparations made: a tinkle of metal on metal, the soft sound of fabric, the click of a zipper being lowered, a squirt of something that diffused a pleasant smell into the air, the slosh of liquid in a bottle. The return of Dean's hands to his flesh was a welcome surprise, way smoothed by fragrant oil. Lulled by the smell and the soothing touch, Castiel tried to tamp down his anticipation. It was impossible to forget what was coming, though, just as it was impossible to ignore how Dean couldn't touch Castiel's back without brushing over a scar. In an indefinable way, the skin felt different there: Castiel could tell when Dean massaged over unmarred skin, recognize the subtly change in the pull and tension when Dean's hands passed over the marks left by Naomi's ill-treatment. He didn't hate his scars, but he hated what they represented, hated Naomi's mark left forever on his skin like a brand of ownership. She'd once said she'd do that in truth – create a custom iron, heat it over an open flame, press it sizzling into his skin, do it again if he screamed the first time…
…but she hadn't, thank God she hadn't, it was one of the few threats she'd made that she'd never carried out. She had once used a knife to carve her name along the upper curve of his ass, but that hadn't scarred completely and the letters had disappeared amidst further cuts and injuries.
Calm. That's all going to change now. Dean is going to change it. Dean is changing me – helping to change me – as I'm helping him.
Shoving the thoughts away, Castiel focused on Dean's attentions. Hands drifted along his arms, down his legs, along his thighs. As his anticipation grew, arousal stirred as well, until Castiel was panting slightly despite the calming nature of the massage and his hard cock pressed against the bedding.
Abruptly, Dean's hands left his body.
"Are you sure?" Dean breathed. He sounded as tense as Castiel felt.
"Yes, sir."
"Cas, I…once I…I don't want to hurt you...I mean…I mean, I do, but…you know what I mean…"
God he's cute when he's all flustered about the prospect of dominating the hell out of me.
"I do. Please, sir – please, Dean," Castiel lifted himself on an elbow, opened his eyes, twisted until he found Dean. The timid frown on Dean's face, the downturn of his lovely eyes, strengthened Castiel. This wasn't just for him. They both needed it. "I'm absolutely positive. This is what I want. But if you are not ready, we do not have to do this now."
But I won't lie to him and say it'll be alright if we never do this, because it won't be. I want this. I need this. And it has to be Dean. No one else can do this for me.
"Okay," Dean whooshed out a breath, nodding slowly. "No, it's cool. Let's do this."
"Look at me, Dean." Green eyes, lustrous in the light, met Castiel's. "I want this from you, just like we're doing. I am not a victim. I am not humoring you. I am not letting you because I know you want to. Nothing that we have discussed is being done against my will. Consider this my enthusiastic consent." Dean's eyes widened the longer Castiel spoke, until he thought he could get lost in their depths. Castiel took a deep breath. "Cut me."
"I will, Cas," said Dean fervently. "You have no idea…fuck, I want to so badly it scares me."
"Please don't ever be frightened of me," Castiel replied, giving Dean an earnest, heartfelt smile.
Time stretched out as they stared at each other. Finally, Dean gave one firm nod and the vulnerable expression vanished from his face as if it had never been. In its place, Dean's eyes were veiled, his lips set in a firm line.
"Place this towel under yourself," Dean ordered, passing Castiel a thick towel that Dean had brought from home. "Lie down." The command sent a tingle down Castiel's spine. He obeyed instantly. The day had been nice, had calmed Castiel and kept him from thinking about the days to come, but he craved an assertive dom, yearned for Dean to tear him apart, literally cut him into a new form. The terrycloth of the towel was pleasantly rough against his bare chest and thickening cock, sending a shiver of desire that trailed from Castiel's toes to the tips of his fingers and back again.
There were more indeterminate sounds. Dean's hands came to rest on him again, freshly oiled, the pleasant fragrance powerful tinged with something that made Castiel's nose itch. Iodine, to help prevent infection and to increase the chances that the cuts Dean made would scar. Castiel tried to lose himself in the feel of being rubbed down but he was too excited.
"Relax," Dean demanded, emphasizing the point with a smack to Castiel's ass. "If you get too tense I will not be able to do this safely."
"Yes, sir."
With controlled breaths, Castiel did his best to dissipate his anticipation. Kneading fingers helped until finally, Dean's touch left his skin and Castiel was calm and at ease once more.
Cold and sharp, the blade of a scalpel came to rest on his skin. There was a pause during which Castiel would swear he felt Dean trembling, and then there was a sharp pain and a line of tingling, near to burning, as Dean carved the first line into his flesh. A low moan leaked from Castiel, the last of his nerves burning away. He might have melted into the bedspread, he wasn't sure, every muscle went liquid as Dean made a second cut parallel to and slightly below the first. Pain flared through the initial slice as his skin stretched and tugged, causing the first wound to widen, and blood pooled and flowed over his skin.
"Fuck," Dean whispered in awe. A finger ran through the blood, smearing it over his back in a hot line, and Castiel whimpered, cock leaking against the towel. His fingers clenched and unclenched against the towel, pain and pleasure mingling in his thoughts. He craved more of both, breaths coming short as he anticipated Dean continuing to cut him. There was a pause, then the blade came against his skin again; with two quick flicks, Dean extended and connected the first two lines, bringing them to a point over Castiel's shoulder blade.
Dean worked with the deliberate precision of an expert. Pain sung through Castiel's blood, hummed in his veins, buzzed through his body until he ached spectacularly with it. Every breath was a moan, and as the pain of the previous wounds combined with the intense initial stab of each new cut, Castiel wept with pleasure. He were floating away, disconnecting, but every cut dragged him back down, drowned him in more sensation. The combination was so glorious that it took all of Castiel's willpower not to rut himself insane against the bedspread. Line by line, Dean carved Castiel anew, tore away the old scars to replace it with a fresh design of Castiel's choosing, of Castiel's desire, placed on his body with express permission. One by one, the cuts came together to form the unmistakable pattern of a feather.
"That's one," Dean breathed unsteadily. The hand not holding the scalpel came to rest on Castiel's hip, fingers tensing and relaxing spasmodically. "Fuck, that's…that's a lot of blood…maybe that's enough for one day, Cas."
"Don't stop on my account," Castiel said, his voice harsh and broken. He didn't want Dean to stop – Castiel never wanted this blissful moment to end, never wanted to plummet back down to earth when his new-formed wings folded and gave way under the harsh pressure of gravity. However, if Dean wasn't comfortable continuing, Castiel would never force him.
"You want more?" Dean's voice was a whisper. His hand trailed up Castiel's side and pulled at the incised skin, spreading the wounds. Blood seeped a trail down Castiel's side to be absorbed by the towel. Pain flared brilliant bright a moment later and Castiel moaned.
"Yes! I wish…"
"What do you want, angel?" Dean murmured. Weight shifted on the bed, heat crowded Castiel's back and Dean's lips pressed a tender kiss to his neck as Dean picked at his rent skin with a nail. "What can I do for you, beautiful Castiel?"
"Oh God," Castiel groaned. The last flickers of pain faded. There was only euphoria and bliss and Dean's nail scraping at him like rapture. "Please, Dean—"
Slotting their hips together, Dean rutted against Castiel's ass, driving Castiel's throbbing cock into the mattress. "Anything," Dean vowed. "You're fuckin' unreal, Cas. Anything you want. I'm yours."
"Wish I could be inside you while you cut the next feather," gasped Castiel, mouth tacky with spit and cloth fibers. Dean groaned gutturally, dragging his cock through the narrow space between Castiel's legs. "Wish I could…wish I could feel how much this turns you on. Want you so much right now, Dean…right now…please…" Another groan burst from Dean as he humped Castiel harder.
"This much," Dean panted. "Feel how fuckin' hard I am for you? That's how much I fuckin' want you…want you to drill me tonight, Cas, wanna feel it for days. I've had a plug in since lunch; I'm so ready – so ready for you…" Dean ground his palm against the fresh wound and Castiel cried out in shock and sensation – he couldn't have said what sensation, only that the feeling stabbed through him, bone deep. "You sure…you sure you want to wait? Sure you want another before I fuck your brains out?"
"Both, I want both, I need…" Whimpers Castiel couldn't hold back leaked free as Dean ground to a halt, breathing so hard that every inhale pressed Dean's chest to Castiel's back. "One more feather, Dean. Please?"
"Anything for you, Cas," Dean huffed into his ear. "Fuck, do I mean that, seriously, I will do anything for you. There's no one…there's no one like you, you fuckin' know that, right? I…I need you so fucking much, you have no fucking idea."
The emotions Dean was trying to communicate were too much, too heavy, falling on Castiel like bricks as he tried to float away on the rippling waves of indivisible pleasure and pain that coursed through his body. But he needed, he knew that Dean wasn't alone in that, and so he struggled to find more words, struggled to express himself to Dean. The only thing he managed to say, though, was "Please, sir."
For a long moment, Dean lay over him, smothering him with power and strength though their bodies were roughly the same size, and then Dean moved, shifted away. Castiel repressed a sob at the sudden absence; Dean's enfolding presence was more essential than he realized – Castiel needed to bury himself in Dean, needed to be supported, needed the implicit reassurance that what Castiel wanted was right and good and proper and that Dean wanted it too. The sob burst free when the knife came to his skin again, Dean confidently and smoothly incising a feather on the right side of Castiel's back, a perfect mirror to the first one he'd drawn. Whereas each line of the original feather had been drawn out slowly and deliberately and Castiel had felt every individual cut, he hardly registered that Dean was at work again until Dean was done. Tears streaked Castiel's face and he wasn't sure if his eyes were opened or closed. His body felt afire. Movement was beyond him, words were beyond him, self-control was beyond him; Castiel was an incandescent force of pure need, and that need was Dean.
Hands seized Castiel's cheeks and he gasped in shock as even that mild touch seared him. His eyes flew open and showed him a vision of tanned skin and freckles and green nearly swamped by lust-blown black, Dean's faces inches from his. A smear of blood made a darkening crimson streak across Dean's cheek, tiny droplets beaded in his stubble. Dean's lips moved but at first Castiel heard nothing but the rush of non-existent wind in his ears, and when he could resolve the words, Dean's voice sounded impossibly far away, as tinny and hollow as the echo through the computer speakers earlier.
"…with you, I'm right here, I'm not gonna do anything else until you're back with me, okay, Cas? Can you hear me?"
"Green," said Castiel dreamily. His eyes are so green… Reaching out, Castiel flicked a finger through the blood on Dean's check, smearing it further, flaking away dry bits. Dean's expression shifted from worry to wonder to awe.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Cas, I need you to fuck my brains out, like, ten minutes ago," Dean breathed. Castiel giggled, a dangerous, throaty sound, and Dean's jaw dropped. "Right now – right the fuck now." Suiting actions to words, Dean rolled onto his back and tugged Castiel after him. For a moment, he couldn't move, couldn't comprehend what Dean was talking about. His body caught on before his thoughts did. His cocked ached and spit and flared pain – or was that bliss? – through his body; his hips jerked to drag him over the bedding. Nails dug into his back.
"Don't you dare," Dean hissed. "I've been waiting fuckin' months to feel you inside me, we're fuckin' tested now, you are getting' that cock in me and you are filling my ass with come or there will be hell to pay, you understand me, boy?"
"Yes," gasped Castiel. "Yes, I…yes, sir!" With the threat of repercussions to ground him, Castiel forced limp limbs to move, to support him, and he dragged himself atop Dean. Castiel's arms trembled with the difficulty of holding himself up, and with every breath and blink he lost moments, seconds or minutes that vanished as if they'd never been. Dean lay beneath him – Dean's hands were on his back – Dean's knees were hooked over Castiel's elbows – Dean's eyes were closed, his head arching back – Dean's fingers were on Castiel's cock – Castiel was pressing into Dean's hole – Castiel was fully embedded, delirious on the feeling of Dean surrounding him, words bursting from him uncontrolled – "Oh my G…oh Dean, you make me feel so good, so good, please sir, tell me – tell me – what should I—"
"Fuck me, Cas," Dean commanded in his most powerful voice.
Without conscious thought, Castiel's hips jerked back and pounded forward. There was no finesse, no hesitation, there was only Dean, Dean, Dean and need so blinding that Castiel was aware of only his own acute pleasure and Dean panting and praising him. Something was said to him, or maybe that was his own voice speaking, but there was no sense behind any of it. Every thrust felt incredible, intense, as if Dean touched every place on Castiel's body simultaneously. He was sick on the feeling, desperate for more, gasping and frantic, forehead dripping sweat, skin slapping skin, his existence reduced to a jumble of disconnected moments and feelings and an agony of bliss beyond anything Castiel had ever imagined as he pounded Dean into the mattress again and again.
Pressure landed on his shoulder blades. Agonizing pain arced through him, tensed his spine, and Castiel screamed through his climax, pumping his hips, twitching in sheer rapture. There was nothing left of the world beyond more feeling than he could comprehend and the solid, grounding presence of Dean beneath him, Dean's arms wrapped around him, Dean's palms kneading at his torn skin.
"Holy shit," whispered Dean. Beneath Castiel, Dean shook, and Castiel's world rocked and bucked nauseatingly.
Oh no, I screwed up, I didn't pay any attention to him at all. Did he give me orders? Did he want me to do something else? Did he even come? I don't know – I don't know – I don't—
"Sir?" Castiel tried to ask, but his voice came out incomprehensible, raspy and shattered. Fear tunneled his vision.
I'm in trouble, I'm in trouble, I'm—
The hands pressed against Castiel's new wounds slid down his back, way smoothed by blood and sweat, and Dean's arms wrapped around him powerfully, crushing their bodies together. Startled out of his anxiety, Castiel gasped, softening cock twitching free of Dean's ass, flickers of pain and pleasure scattering over his body like pinpricks.
"Incredible," Dean breathed. "That's – that's the end of the scene, Cas. That was fucking unbelievable. You're unbelievable, and you fucked me, and…and so I fucked unbelievable, and…ha…ha…shit…"
Wait, wait, he's not upset.
He's laughing.
He's happy.
I didn't do anything wrong.
"I love you, sir," Castiel whispered, relief and afterglow leaving him languid and exhausted.
Dean froze, arms going stiff, and then he hugged Castiel even more closely, pressed their bodies together as he laughed and laughed, gasping words of praise between each gale.
"You're perfect…you're wonderful…you're amazing…never done anything to deserve someone like you…thank you, Cas, thank you…"
"How does it feel to be back in Dallas, Mr. Novak?"
"Here, lemme check on the bandages and put some more disinfectant on the cuts."
"No comment."
"Don't think."
"Mr. Novak, have you been following the trial?"
"Don't worry."
"No comment."
"Don't stress."
"Are you concerned that your innate submissiveness will cause you problems on the stand?"
"Don't dwell."
"No comment."
"I've got you."
"The jury has already heard the testimony of two other of Ms. Tapping's previous partners; what is your opinion of what they revealed?"
"You've got this."
"No comment."
"They can't hurt you anymore."
"The defense will be calling Ms. Tapping's current boyfriend to the stand."
"They'll never hurt you again."
"Mr. Miller is expected to debunk the prosecution's assertion that Ms. Tapping violated consent with her submissives."
"Alastair knows what he's doing."
"Isn't it true that you and all her other partners signed a contract consenting to submit to her as your dominatrix?"
"He'll make sure the jury knows enough about BDSM to understand the lines that Tapping and Adler crossed."
"Did you sign such a contract, Mr. Novak?"
"Do you want to wear a tortoise shell tie to the trial?"
"Doesn't that invalidate your claim of self-defense?"
"Can't wait to tie you up for a scene, Cas, you look so beautiful with rope draped against your skin."
"No comment, no comment!"
"Is this too tight?"
"Mr. Novak—"
"It's perfect, Dean."
"—scandalous photographs in evidence—"
"You okay, Cas?"
"—Dean Winchester testify?"
"No, Dean. I'm not okay."
"—true that you are his submissive now?"
"I'm sorry I can't come to the trial today, but I'll see you tonight, okay, Cas?"
"Did your dom order you to testify today?"
"I'll be right here, you just text me when you need me."
"If he ordered you to lie under oath you'd have to obey, wouldn't you?"
"I…uh…I mean…I'll…I'll take care of you Cas, alright? No matter what happens, I will never let you go."
"I said no comment!"
Holding Dean's words close to his heart, rolling his shoulders to feel the tie that Dean had tenderly constructed beneath Castiel's suit, Castiel won free from the throng of media standing on the court house steps. It was swelteringly hot outside; as soon as Castiel stepped into the glass-enclosed lobby, it was so cold his skin goose-bumped, but neither the excessive heat or the frigid chill of air conditioning had an impact on his sweaty palms, dry mouth or racing heartbeat.
Soon, Castiel would sit before a judge, a packed courthouse, a jury, the press, the world, Naomi, Zachariah and Alastair and tell them all that despite his consent, the two doms' behavior constituted assault, imprisonment and rape. He had to convince a jury that he hadn't agreed to what was done to him. He had to speak openly about things he'd never admitted to anyone except Dean and Dr. Ellicott. He had to confess how disgusting he was to the world.
I consented. I agreed to be Naomi's sub. Who, really, bears the blame for everything that followed?
How am I supposed to convince a jury that the blame doesn't fall on me when I'm not certain of that myself?
Endnote:
Reminder: everything I know about legal proceedings I learned from TV. Which is to say I'm making this shit up. Sorry I can't be bothered to do actual research, but, well, if I spend hours learning how this actually works that's hours I'm not spending writing. With how limited my time is, well, I hope y'all will forgive me for nonsensical legal stuff considering that the alternative is stuff coming out much slower...
I expect Chapter 2 to post on Wednesday or Thursday of next week.