Warning: explicit pictures in this chapter.
These pictures are not my work and are shamelessly yoinked from the internet. Since I can't embed images or post links in FFdotnet, y'all should go to my tumblr, unforth-ninawaters dot tumblr dot com, and enter this: post/145579480173/pics-for-chapter-2-of-deactivated
This'll show you the post with (NSFW!) pics, and you can peek at them where labeled in the story!
"Since I realized how badly I blew it, I've been thinking 'bout how we can handle after care, given the distance between us. Usually, there'd be a home-cooked meal, a massage, a bath, and, like, spooning and shit – whatever you wanted, really – but since we're not together…"
Dean's voice was soothing, quiet, a low, soul-easing rumble in Castiel's ear. All of those things sounded surprisingly nice. Part of Castiel thought they sounded too much like pampering – rewards should only come if I've earned them, simply reaching the end of a scene isn't something that's worth a reward, there'd be something seriously wrong with me if I couldn't do that – but he couldn't deny the appeal of Dean's suggested kindnesses.
Dean, hand feeding Castiel dinner. Dean, straddling Castiel's back, soft, satiated cock resting against his spine, digging his palms into Castiel's aching shoulder blades. Dean, curling around him protectively beneath the covers.
They didn't sound like things Castiel should want, but that couldn't dull the ache in his chest when he realized that receiving any of them was impossible.
"When you're feeling better, if you'd still like to scene with me, we can talk about the ideas I've had of what we can do instead. In the meantime, since it's late and…" Dean took a deep breath. "…and since I'm not sure you trust me, I thought we should keep tonight simple."
Of course I trust you.
"Whatever you have in mind will be fine," said Castiel.
See? That's how much I trust you.
"No, Cas." Dean's disagreement was firm and brooked no argument.
Do you not trust me?
"I don't understand," Castiel said with a frown.
I don't trust me.
"After care is not another thing I do to you as your dom, it's something I do for you," Dean explained. Though Dean's tone was carefully neutral, Castiel felt like he was being condemned for not understanding, a feeling strangely at odds with his sense of unworthiness. He'd give a great deal to feel emotionally stable again. If I don't scene, I'll feel stable. But… "You gave me your trust, your service and your obedience yesterday. You brought me a shit-ton of pleasure at a high personal cost to yourself. It's my responsibility to help you recover, but only you can tell me what you need. Shit, we shoulda talked about this way more before we started. I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing, Dean, I'm fine." Silence stretched out. Castiel sighed. "You're right. I'm not fine."
"Thank you, Cas," said Dean softly.
"For what?"
"Trusting me enough to admit that. How are you feeling right now? Achy? Tired? Hungry? Talk to me."
"I'm exhausted," Castiel admitted. He was achy and tired and hungry, certainly. The week of board meetings had been grueling, the scene the previous day agonizing. The day had been endless, he'd been so tense he'd skipped dinner, and his long swim had exacerbated his existing pains. Then he'd topped the lot off with his emotional conversation with Dean. It was nearly eleven and they'd been talking for more than an hour. However, all of those needs paled compared to his need to sleep.
"Alright," said Dean. "Let's get you tucked in, then. I'm not going to give you orders, but I'm going to suggest the same things I'd suggest if you were here with me: get ready for bed, but make sure you pick out whatever you are most comfortable in. Pull out the favorite PJs, ya know? Lie down however you find most relaxing. Pamper yourself, since I can't be there to pamper you. Make sense?"
"Yes, Dean."
"When you're ready, return to the phone."
Rising, Castiel went to his suitcases. Home was technically in Columbus, Ohio, where Sandover's corporate head-quarters was, but Castiel hadn't been there in months and didn't expect to return there until at least August. Instead, he lived out of a small carry on with a couple days' clothes, his toiletries and a special solar panel so that he could plug his laptop, phone and iPad into the bag to recharge; a garment bag that held three suits worn and dry-cleaned so frequently that Castiel sometimes had to replace them on the road; and a large rolling bag with everything else. It seemed too little to store an entire life, but Castiel had been on the road for Sandover so continually over the past decade that he'd grown used to it. No, more than that – he'd grown to like the simplicity, the portability of this lifestyle. Home didn't feel like home, hotel rooms didn't feel like home; wherever his suitcases were was home.
Despite a week in Dallas, his main suitcase was still neat and organized, if mostly empty because everything he'd dirtied over the previous week had been transferred to a cloth laundry bag that he'd have the hotel staff wash for him on Sunday. An array of clear plastic bins enabled him to sort his clothing by type. The boxes reduced how much he could carry but they facilitated finding things to such an extent that Castiel considered them a boon nonetheless. They jigsawed together perfectly in the bag and each was labeled on each side. Pulling out the bin labeled Pajamas, Castiel pulled out his favorite pair of flannel pants and a worn old white undershirt that had grown too stained to wear beneath a dress shirt. He changed out of the outfit he'd put on after his swim, donned the pants and shirt, and turned to consider the hotel bed. It was fairly comfortable, too large for one person and well-stocked with pillows. The staff had made it neatly while Castiel had been bored senseless listening to Adler during the day's meetings. The bedspread was soft, plush and pristine white and a decorative red runner was spread pointlessly across the foot of the bed. Castiel removed the runner and folded it neatly, setting it aside. Considering the pillows, he opted to keep three of them on the bed, removing the others and setting them with the runner. Usually, he made do with one pillow even though he'd prefer more. Using extra felt like an unnecessary indulgence. However, Dean had instructed Castiel to pamper himself, and that meant more pillows. Grabbing the phone, Castiel pulled back the covers, propped a pillow beneath his head, another under his knees, and wrapped his arms around the third. Laying back, Castiel took a handful of deep, soothing breaths that did nothing to ease the tension he felt.
This is too much…next time I stay someplace that isn't as nice I'll expect this and I'll be disappointed. I should behave austerely, conservatively, give myself what I need rather than what I want…but Dean said…
"I'm ready, Dean," he said at length. The air conditioner kicked on, a cool breeze and soft whir filled the room, and Castiel tried to pull the covers up around himself but couldn't because they were tucked in. Usually, he left them that way. Usually, he remade the bed and tucked them in himself if the staff hadn't done an adequate job.
That wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to cocoon himself in the warmth, relax into the comfort, accept that he was allowed to be fully comfortable.
Usually, he didn't let himself do that.
There was nothing usual about this evening.
"Actually, I need one more moment," Castiel said abruptly before Dean had a chance to respond. Heart beating nervously, Castiel felt like a naughty child as he got out of bed once more, untucked the blankets and sheets and crawled back in, pulling the covers all around him as he rearranged the pillows.
It felt nice.
Castiel's nerves flared. He wasn't supposed to indulged, he was supposed to make do.
But it felt really nice.
"Dean,"Castiel said into the phone mouthpiece, unable to find any other words to express how conflicted he felt. Dean had told him to do this, Dean had given him very clearly instructions and promised to take care of him. Dean had, tacitly, given Castiel permission to enjoy this. And he did enjoy it, it felt wonderful. Except… "Dean, I…I…"
I can't…I must…
Licking his lips, Castiel tried to fight the itch beneath his skin.
I have to make the bed, arrange the pillows, maintain my self-control, maintain my control of my environment. Don't be slovenly, don't be sloppy, don't be wasteful, don't indulge…
"Hey, Cas, are you comfortable?" Dean's voice was a balm to his nerves. Dean told Castiel to get comfortable. Dean said Castiel had earned this. Castiel could let go his self-control if he had permission, let go his self-control if Dean said it was alright, because Dean was his dom, because Dean had claimed Castiel as his own.
No, no, I was going to put a stop to that, I need to put a stop to it before it goes too far…
…or do I?
"Judging by the long pause, I'm going with no." There was a laugh in Dean's voice that lent it a beautiful richness. Castiel smiled, the tension binding him slowly releasing. "I've got you, Cas, I'm not gonna let you fall again, got it?"
"Yes, Dean."
All I have to do is trust him.
Somehow, for some reason, that feels much more difficult today than it did yesterday. It feels much more difficult now that he is instructing me towards comfort and ease instead of controlling me and punishing me. How am I supposed to accept this treatment? How am I supposed to earn this treatment?
"Turn off the lights, close your eyes and breathe in with me," Dean instructed gently, inhaling loudly. Castiel obeyed, hitting the switch beside his bed that turned off all the lights in the room and allowing his eyes to slip shut. With a deep breath, his lungs expanded. He could feel the rise of his chest, the stretching of his muscles and flexing of his rib cage, the gentle brush of the sheets against his skin. "And breathe out." Exhaling settled Castiel against the pillows, buried him further amidst the blankets, and along with the escaping air Castiel felt his anxiety ebb. "Breathe in." Dean's voice was quiet, lilting, and though his words were simple they were a heartening lifeline, something Castiel could grasp hold of and rely on. "And breathe out."
But this isn't really what I want, I want neatness and order, and…and I should make the bed, I should use one pillow, I should hang up the phone and reassert my control of my own life. I don't need this, I don't want this, I don't—
"I've got you, Cas," Dean murmured. "Breathe in."
Except that I do want this. This feels fantastic.
Fighting back panic and tension, Castiel followed Dean's lead as they breathed in tandem. The darkness in the room was absolute and freeing. There was no one to see, no one to judge. There was only him, only Dean, no one save the two of them to know that Castiel had indulged beyond his just desserts. The longer they synced, the more calm Castiel felt.
"You're doing great, Cas," Dean eventually said. "You earned this and you deserve it. Keep breathing. Relax, and let yourself drift. You are fantastic. You are in control. Cas, are you breathing?"
"Yes, Dean." Castiel hardly recognized his voice, low, breathy, words slurred with fatigue. Sleep was sneaking up on him; he was half-gone and he hadn't even noticed.
"You can trust yourself, Cas," continued Dean. "You're capable of so much. You're capable of saying yes and continue to things that bring you pleasure. You're capable of saying no and stop to things that you do not want. You are capable of recognizing the difference. I believe in you, Cas. Breathe in." Castiel caught his head nodding as sleep threatened to overtake him and pulled himself back to wakefulness. The part of him that rebelled at Dean's gentle words grew quieter and quieter, his thoughts grew increasingly blank, as he took another swelling breath. "And breathe out." A soft sound accompanied Castiel's exhalation. "How do you feel?"
"Okay…I feel good." Castiel was barely awake enough to register that he wasn't surprised to feel alright, that he should be surprised. The dull ache of his pained body had faded to a manageable thrum. His thoughts were blissfully quiet for the first time all day.
"I'm glad," said Dean warmly. "Let it go, Cas – I'm gonna keep talking, but don't feel you have to pay attention – I'll stay with you until you fall asleep, okay?"
"That sounds nice," Castiel mumbled. "You're nice, Dean."
A low chuckle from Dean birthed a quiet warmth in Castiel's chest that radiated throughout him. There was nothing sexual about it; it was comfort and security and trust. "Thanks, Cas. I think you're pretty awesome, too. You're beautiful and warm, obedient and strong, so incredibly strong. Never seen anyone like you, Cas, never seen anyone do the things I saw you do. Never had anyone give me a gift like the one you gave me. You're good enough, you're strong enough, you're worthy, Cas, man, you deserve everything. So just relax, and…"
Castiel couldn't have said when the words faded away as he fell into a deep sleep, but he held on to them as long as he could.
Castiel awoke to pitch darkness and something hard pressed against his ear. He'd already woken to silence a couple times. Each time, he'd gathered the blankets closer around himself, rolled over and gone back to sleep. Intent on doing the same again, Castiel shifted, the pillow rolled off his head and light pinked the insides of his eyelids. Surprised, he blinked, closed his eyes against radiant sunlight, fluttered his eyelids open and shut until the brilliance no longer dazzled his sight. The blankets were tangled around his body, the pillows were mashed into misshapen lumps, and his cell phone slid from where it had rested against his head, falling to the carpeted floor with a dull thunk.
Panic flashed through his thoughts, choked at his throat.
How late is it? What was I supposed to do today? What was I thinking? Shit, shit, shit…
It was 9:08. He couldn't rememberthe last time he'd slept so late, even taking into account his many jetlagged arrivals in foreign countries. He accommodated himself to different time zones by forcing himself to adapt immediately, staying up until a "normal" bed time for wherever he was and waking up at his usual time the following morning.
It's Saturday, he reminded himself. It's my weekend off. It's alright, it's fine…
…it's not!
Yes, it is.
Breathe, Castiel.
Taking a long, slow drag of air, Castiel imagined Dean's voice, allowed the memory of the previous night to soothe him once more. Leaning over in bed, he retrieved his cell phone with shaking hands.
I shouldn't…I shouldn't…
…he said he'd take care of me. He'd want to know that I'm upset, he'd want to help.
Castiel (9:11 AM): Is it alright that I slept until after 9 this morning?
This is crazy. I can't rely on him like this. It's not right.
Except he said it was alright for me to go to him. He wants me to trust him. I want to trust him. I don't want to lose this, I want to scene with him again. And he said I should trust my desires, trust myself. If that's really want I want…
…it's really, really what I want…
Dean (9:13 AM): Do you think it's alright?
How am I supposed to know what's alright, if he doesn't tell me?
I don't think it's alright, I think it's lazy, unbecoming, untoward. But why do I think that? Because my parents said so when I was young? Because of Naomi's rules? Dean isn't giving me rules. Dean says it's up to me.
That shouldn't be terrifying.
Castiel (9:14 AM): I do. I have no plans for the day and no place to be. I've missed the hotel's free continental breakfast but I can obtain a meal elsewhere.
This is alright. I'm allowed this. I've allowed myself this. Not Naomi, not Dean – he's helped me but this is permission I've given myself.
Castiel (9:15 AM): I never sleep in like this.
Setting the phone on the nightstand, Castiel rose and stretched. The pain that had been so prominent the day before had dulled overnight. Despite lingering stiffness in his limbs, midriff and cock, he felt decent.
Dean (9:16 AM): Good cause I think it's fricken awesome. You need to rest Cas and deserve to sleep in sometimes. You work very hard.
Castiel (9:16 AM): Thank you Dean. I feel well this morning.
Dean (9:17 AM): That's great. If you'd like to talk later let me know. I've got a photoshoot from 10 until 3 but I'm available otherwise.
Dean (9:17 AM): And tomorrow.
Dean (9:17 AM): I mean I'm available tomorrow.
Dean (9:18 AM): If you want to talk.
Castiel (9:18 AM): I understood what you meant.
Castiel (9:19 AM): I think I need a day to consider and reflect on everything. I will call you tomorrow.
Dean (9:20 AM): Sounds good.
Dean (9:21 AM): But please don't hesitate to call any time even between 10 and 3 if you crash again okay?
Castiel (9:22 AM): I will Dean.
Castiel (9:24 AM): I promise.
The amazing part wasn't that Castiel meant it – he didn't lie, not to his clients, not to his coworkers, not to his bosses, and definitely not to his doms – but that it was true at all, that he felt alright today. Having Dean guide him to sleep the previous night hadn't even seemed like aftercare, not compared to the things Castiel had read, yet Castiel couldn't deny he'd woken up refreshed.
As he took his morning shower, Castiel reflected on the past two days, considered how much he'd anticipated the scene and how much he'd enjoyed it while it was going on, considered how badly he'd struggled afterwards. He didn't feel a hundred percent yet, but he did feel in control of himself. He felt rational. The voice of self-disparagement still tried to rake him over the coals but he found it easier to dismiss, easier to counter Naomi's litany of put downs with Dean's reassurances.
Dean believes I'm beautiful. Dean believes I'm obedient. Dean believes I'm strong. Dean believes I'm in control of myself.
Maybe if I listen to him long enough I'll believe those things about myself as well.
He'd thought avoiding BDSM and focusing on his career had given him the chance to overcome his demons and prepared him to engage in such activities again. Now, he see that he'd been wrong, not because he wasn't mature enough but because he'd never actually faced the issues that had driven him from Naomi in the first place. When he'd left her, he'd taken all the pain and fear and self-loathing, bundled it up, shoved it into the darkest corner of his mind and left it completely unexamined. It was absurd to be surprised that everything had come roaring back to the light the moment he dared open the Pandora's box where he'd hidden it. If he really wanted to be able to scene again, he'd have to deal with everything he'd hidden from for fifteen years.
Easier said than done.
Obviously, there were things Castiel needed to reconsider. While perhaps Dean was right – don't be stubborn, of course Dean is right – that Castiel's issues the previous day were primarily the result of subdrop, that didn't mean there hadn't been a kernel of truth in some of his thoughts. For example, just because he'd enjoyed public scenes in the past didn't mean they were a good idea for him now. His guilt over inadvertently involving his coworkers was legitimate. The standards he'd used to evaluate the kink list were those of "20-year-old Castiel;" in his late 30s, Castiel's desires and needs and expectations had shifted and he had to look at the list in light of who he was now, rather than who he had been. Heck, maybe there were things he hadn't liked that he now would.
Castiel let the thoughts percolate as he went about his day. The weather was unusually mild for June in Dallas, temperatures in the high 70s, so Castiel packed a bag, lathered his face with sunscreen and had the hotel call him a cab to take him to the Dallas Botanical Garden. It was gorgeous out, the Garden was crowded yet didn't feel so, there were flowers blooming everywhere, and Castiel managed to find a secluded spot to sit in privacy. The air smelled sweet, water burbled pleasantly from a nearby fountain, and Castiel felt centered, felt himself in a way that he hadn't in a long, long time.
Seated amidst quiet serenity, Castiel found it easier to focus on the critical questions that he faced.
What do I want?
I want to scene with Dean again.
That much, at least, was clear. From there, things grew more muddled. How could he safely continue? How could he ensure that being a sub didn't interfere with his ability to do his job? How could he avoid subdrop in the future? How could they continue considering the necessary distance between them? Castiel couldn't see closing that distance, didn't dare risk an in-person relationship. The safety afforded to Castiel granted by cell phone, ensured by separating himself from Dean through the mediator of Skype, was essential to Castiel's peace of mind. After his conversations with Dean the previous day Castiel thought he might be able to trust himself to scene, but doing so in person was a completely different and far more problematic prospect. While Castiel was apart from Dean he could at least pretend to a semblance of self-control and self-determination.
A hot breeze promised rising temperatures and carried the scent of late-season lilacs. Spray from the fountain provided a cool counterpoint against Castiel's skin. The relationship would never have worked only as text messages. That, Castiel realized, had been a pipe-dream. Even when he'd thought about it, he'd not been sure how such a relationship would work, he'd merely accepted that figuring out the dynamics of scening entirely by text was his doms responsibility. The answer, unsurprisingly, was that it didn't work. In order to scene, they'd integrated pictures and video, and even that couldn't compare to how arousing and satisfying their interactions had become when they'd used Skype. Slowly, a vision came together in Castiel's mind of how things might work in the future, integrating all the media they'd used thus far. When he was content with what he had in mind, when he was comfortable with it, when he found he was growing excited about it, he pulled out a book and leaned back in his bench, relaxing and reading, unwinding as he hadn't allowed himself to do in years.
In the morning, he'd talk to Dean, but for now, he was allowed to enjoy himself. For one wonderful afternoon, he could be content with himself and his achievements and his abilities. What he had accomplished was enough; he was allowed to say I do not need to do more than what I've done. It was a novel feeling, one that Castiel thought it would take some time for him to grow used to. He wanted to take that time, though. He wanted to deserve this.
"Hey, Cas, it's great to hear from you." Dean sounded relieved, as if he hadn't expected Castiel to call back. It was a good reminder that, while Dean was a dom, he was also a person and he could be vulnerable and worried and unsure of himself. That seemed inconceivable to Castiel – the role of the dom is to be in control, to decide what constitutes appropriate behavior, to plan and execute the scene, to force me to their will, bend and break my control – but this wasn't the first sign he'd had that Dean wasn't infallible.
"I said I'd call," said Castiel. He was settled at the desk in his hotel room, laptop closed, a steaming cup of coffee resting on the table before him. On Friday, merely looking at the chair in which he'd debauched himself Thursday had been mortifying, but now that he felt better there was something strangely strengthening about sitting there. Dean had seen him in that chair, pleasured him in that chair, flattered and praised him there. It was absurd to credit any of that to the chair itself, yet sitting there, Castiel felt worthy and competent.
"Yeah, but you also said you'd text me Friday morning," Dean countered. Castiel felt a stab of guilt. "Fuck. I'm sorry. You were suffering and I could have picked up a phone and called you but I didn't. You didn't do anything wrong."
"Yes, I did," Castiel objected.
"No, you—"
"I did, Dean," Castiel overrode him. No, no, don't disagree, he's my dom, what he says is the truth…what he says is absolute…no. We have to communicate. I have to communicate with him, or else the same problems will arise again. I can do this. "We had discussed ahead of time that I should communicate with you if I was distressed, yet I didn't outreach to you. I think you had and have a valid point as regards aftercare and, going forward, we need to do better at that, but that does not negate that I owed you an apology."
"Going…forward…?" Dean echoed hopefully. "You want to continue?"
"I do," said Castiel confidently. "Though depending on how things go, I may change my mind in the future."
"Of course," Dean said. "You're agreeing to do another scene with me, not to commit to me for life. What did you have in mind?"
It's not up to me, it's not…
…what if it is?
"I'd prefer if you continue to take the lead in planning in our scenes," said Castiel. "May I hear your thoughts on improving our aftercare?"
Dean exhaled hard. "Alright, so, I'm assuming your trust in me is at least a bit repaired, or else you wouldn't be up for doing this…?"
"Yes, Dean. I trust you." He couldn't keep a smile off his face. The way Dean spoke when they weren't in a scene was the same light-hearted, congenial tone he'd taken in the messages that they'd exchanged on SextersAnon. It was a stark contrast to when Dean was playing the role of dom, and yet another wonderful reminder that "Dean the dom" wasn't the same as "Dean the person." Dean was so different than the doms that Castiel had worked with before. There hadn't been any separation between "Naomi the dom" and "Naomi the person," any more than there had been a difference between "Castiel the sub" and "Castiel the person" when he was with her, nor had there been a division between "this is a scene" and "this is not a scene." They'd been together all the time and Naomi's word had been the absolute law that governed Castiel's existence. Thanks to her, thanks to their time together, Castiel's already good self-control had by necessity become excellent and only she got to decide when that self-control cracked. God help Castiel if he let anything slip without her permission, because Naomi had no mercy.
"…well, Cas?"
"Sorry, I missed the question," said Castiel. That was a perfect example. If Castiel had zoned out while listening to Naomi, there would have been hell to pay. Instead…
"No worries," Dean said brightly. "All I'm wondering is, what comforts you? What do you find soothing, when you're hurting?"
Pursing his lips, Castiel considered the answer. "Touch is good. I was thinking about it yesterday and Friday night – I think I'd like to be taken care of. I've been fed before and I've always enjoyed that very much, for example. Of course, given the distance, I'm not sure how to bring such a thing about."
"I've been thinking about that and I had an idea," said Dean. "That's where the trust comes in. If you wouldn't mind telling me where you live – not specifically, like, I don't need your address or anything – but in general, like what city or area, I could make arrangements for you to be taken care of. I mean, not creepy like 'someone shows up on your doorstep' kind of arrangements, obviously cause I don't have your address, but more like 'okay, Cas, now that this scene is done I've made reservations at this hotel for you to spend the night and arranged for a massage therapist to come to your room and for dinner to be sent.' Alternatively, I could do it as 'I've arranged for a massage for you at this address, so go there, and for dinner at this restaurant, and I've left them both my credit card number so none of it will get charged to you.' It's still not perfect because I guess I could still use that information to track you down and we're really trying to avoid that but at the same time it's the only way I can think of to make sure that you get the attention you need and deserve and so…yeah…I mean…well, what do you think, Cas? Would that work for you? Alternatively, we could—" Castiel started to laugh. "What? What is it?"
"Dean, you haven't let me get a word in edgewise," he managed around his laughter. "Do I make you that nervous?"
"Fuck yeah, you do," Dean replied weakly. "I want you, Cas. Like, I really, really want you. I've never worked with a sub as responsive as you are. I should have realized that that level of responsiveness during scene would reflect a similar level of sensitivity out of a scene but I didn't, and so I nearly lost you. I don't want to fuck up again. If I want to scene with you, I've got to treat you right, and I'm gonna do my best."
"Your plan won't work—" said Castiel.
"Shit," Dean sounded intensely disappointed.
"—because I don't really live anywhere," Castiel continued as if Dean hadn't interrupted him. Am I allowed to think my dom is adorable? "I spend most of the year traveling for my job. So, for example, I'm in Dallas right now but I leave for the Ukraine on Monday and I'll be there for four days. From there, I go to Berlin for two days, Hamburg for one, Bruges for three, and Hong Kong for a week. I fly from Hong Kong to Seattle and I'll be in the US for a few weeks after that, though I've not memorized my entire itinerary. I can e-mail you a list, if you'd like."
"So you'll be out of the country for two and a half weeks? And when you return, you'll be in Seattle?"
"That's correct," said Castiel aloud when he realized how ineffectual nodding was.
"Do you have any days off in there?"
"Not while I'm abroad," Castiel said. "International travel is too expensive for me to waste any time. However, I've got the first day in Seattle off to recover from jetlag, and I think I scheduled a weekend for myself in early August."
"Three days off."
"Yes?"
"In two months."
"Yes, Dean."
"Dude, you work way too hard," said Dean, awed.
"I have an important job, Dean," Castiel said stiffly. "And I am well compensated for my work. A permanent home never had much to offer me, as I do not wish a family of my own," and I could not trust myself in a relationship, "so I pursued this path instead. I find it rewarding."
"Hey, it's all good," Dean said apologetically. "But ya gotta take care of yourself."
"I thought that was your job."
"It is, now." Castiel could hear Dean smiling and he loved the way it sounded. "So, let's plan on Seattle in two weeks. Would you rather I book you a hotel room, or make arrangements and tell you where to go?"
"Let's go with the second," said Castiel. "My employers pay for my accommodations on a corporate account. It would be a waste of your money to buy me a hotel room when I am already paying for one."
"Yes and no," Dean said. "If we do a scene that leaves you physically incapacitated, or even just exhausted, it would be awesome if I could send services directly to you. But no worries, I'll plan accordingly. We don't have to handle things the same every time, we can take things one scene and one city at a time. I'll send you the names of the services I'll be using ahead of time, that way you can check and make sure I'm not sending you somewhere they're gonna kidnap and murder you."
"I said I trust you," said Castiel with a frown.
"I know, Cas, I know…look, for my own peace of mind, will you double check the places and make sure you're comfortable with them? You bein' comfortable is the whole point," said Dean with fond exasperation. Fond? Really? How? "And before that…you said you're in Dallas?"
"Until tomorrow morning," Castiel confirmed.
"That's awesome," said Dean. "One of the best sex shops I know is in Dallas, if you can believe it. I usually order the shit I need from the internet but Charlie's is so awesome that I've driven down a few times. I'm based in KC, by the way. I'd like to buy you some stuff, you can go pick it up and consider how I'm gonna have you use it. You got any supplies of your own, Cas?"
"No," said Castiel. "I don't use such things when I'm taking care of myself."
"Do you mind embarrassing the shit out of some TSA agents?" Dean asked with a chuckle.
"Not at all." Castiel smiled. "I'm sure they've seen worse. Heck, I've seen worse, and I don't spend that much time in airports."
"Alright, in that case, I'll give Charlie a buzz and I'll text you when the order is ready to go," said Dean. "The name of the place is 'Hack and Slash,' don't ask why unless you've got a couple hours to spare listening to the answer. You good, Cas?"
"I'm great, Dean."
"Awesome. Later, then!"
"Goodbye."
Castiel hung up. For a moment, he paused, breathed in deeply, let it out in a whoosh.
Am I really okay with this?
Yes. I am. Or at least, I want to be. Dean is considerate. Dean treats me like a person. Dean gives me choices, gives me power, waits to hear what I wish before deciding for me. Yet, he wasn't lenient on me in the scene. He was an excellent dom while we were engaged in play, and he's a good man when we're not. I didn't choose poorly. I can do this. We can do this together.
I'm already excited for Seattle.
It feels good to want again. It feels good to feel good again. I'm allowed to enjoy this – not because Naomi says I may, not because Dean says I may, but because I say I may.
I have to give myself permission. I have to trust myself. I have to believe in my own ability to regulate my behavior and keep this from taking over my life again.
I want this, and I'm allowed to have it.
Hack and Slash was located in a quiet strip mall in a small shopping neighborhood in an area of the city that Castiel was unfamiliar with. Next door to it was a mom-and-pop drug store; on the other side was a store selling a wide array of generic household décor. Unlike most sex shops Castiel had been to, where if there were any windows looking in they were either blacked out or filled with the kinkiest leather outfits that could be made to stay on a manikin, the window of Hack and Slash contained an enormous model of an articulated, stunningly painted dragon facing off against a manikin wearing a frightening monstrous mask, dressed in a regal medieval garb and somehow holding up a sword. Castiel had no idea what that had to do with sex toys, but it was an impressive display nonetheless. Shrugging off his curiosity, he opened the door, his arrival announced by a ringing bell.
"…my size?" asked a familiar voice. Panic seized Castiel as his gaze swept over the room and he took in racks of clothing like that worn by the manikin, a wall display of weaponry, a curtained doorway in the back of the room, and a sales counter manned by a cute red-head who was speaking to Zachariah Adler. At the sound of the bell, both turned towards the front door and Castiel dove behind the nearest display rack lest his coworker see him. The last thing he needed was for his kinky sex life to intersect with his job. Peeking around a display of corsets, Castiel grimaced when he saw Adler's smirk. He'd been spotted.
Leave now, don't pick up the stuff, call Dean and say I can't do it. No one can know I'm into BDSM. What will they think of me?
"I'll have Gilda check the back," said the red-head brightly, unaware of the tension.
Wait, why is he here, what is he getting?
No, it's none of my business, no more than it's his business that I'm here.
Why am I hiding?
"Thank you," said Adler.
"Gilda!" shouted the woman.
Turning away, Castiel did his best to ignore the conversation going on behind him, making a show of looking at the weapons mounted on the wall. Swords, maces, there was even a bow with an incongruously neon orange string. At first he'd assumed they were normal weapons, hefty metal reproductions, but now that he was examining them he was sure they weren't. Whatever they were made of reflected the light like plastic or vinyl. Curious, he reached out and touched one. It gave slightly under his finger.
"They're foam," someone spoke quietly beside him. Castiel started. He could still hear Adler's saccharine suave voice speaking with the red-head. The woman at his side was beautiful, with tanned skin, delicate features and long hair curling about her shoulders. "Highest grade materials, sanctioned in most LARPs in the US. Are you shopping for a particular weapon? All the most common types are mounted here but we have a few others if you don't see what you're looking for. I'm pretty sure the shipment we got in last week included a flail and a glaive."
"No…I have no idea what you're talking about," Castiel admitted. "But they are very interesting and—"
"Be seeing you, Novak," Adler interrupted, voice snide and upsettingly knowing. Crimson colored Castiel's cheeks and he hunched his shoulders, wishing he could disappear. The woman made a startled noise but didn't comment. Thankfully, Castiel was spared making any reply as the bell rang and the door slammed shut behind Adler.
"Are you alright?" she asked gently.
Nodding, Castiel did his best to swallow down his shame. Zachariah doesn't know why I'm here. He can't possibly know. Dammit, why did he have to be here? "Fine," he lied. "I didn't expect to see anyone I knew at…at a store like this." Could he know about Thursday? Could he know about me? What must he think now?
"Ah, are you here for our other merchandise, then?" the woman – Castiel thought she must be Gilda – said with a knowing smile.
"All the sexy stuff is in the back," the woman at the counter called over. Fortunately, there weren't any other patrons in the store. Castiel had never bought his own sex toys – another task he'd always left for his doms. He didn't think he could handle his embarrassment if anyone else saw him there. It was bad enough that Adler had. If leaving would fix things, Castiel might still flee. As it was, it was too late to prevent discovery and Dean had ordered toys specifically for Castiel to use. He'd be letting Dean down if he fled now.
"Um…" Castiel took a deep breath and turned towards the counter. "Actually, I'm here to pick up an order."
"Oh! Are you Dean's new sub? He's right, you are damn pretty." The woman at the counter smiled dazzlingly, eyes glittering in the clean, brightly lit store. The flush on Castiel's cheeks grew darker. "Cas, right? Gilda, do you have that box of stuff that Dean requested ready to go?"
"Of course, I'll go get it." Gilda turned from Castiel's side and headed back through the curtained doorway leading to the rest of the store, leaving Castiel alone with the red-head.
"Are you Charlie?" he asked hesitantly, approaching the counter. A large glass case, illuminated by a buzzing fluorescent light, supported the cash register. It was filled with glittering, garish jewelry, stereotypically historical looking, matching the motif of the garb sold in the front of the store. She nodded. "So, um, how do you know Dean?"
"I heard of him before I met him," she said. "He's pretty famous in BDSM circles, 'specially amongst those into shibari. His photography is regularly featured in magazines, he's even been in a couple films. As to how I met him? Hired him for my wedding." Everything Charlie said came across with the same cheerful affect. "And for my wedding night," she added with a wink. "Want to see?" Frowning, Castiel shook his head uncertainly, not clear on what she was offering. She laughed. "Judging by the things Dean picked out for you – yes, you do. Don't worry, it's not what you're thinking."
"I'm thinking it's pictures of either you or your spouse in sexually compromising positions."
"Okay, it's exactly what you're thinking." She laughed more. "Trust me, if you like Dean's photography, you'll be interested." Without waiting for his agreement, she pulled a photo album from beneath the counter. How the hell often does she show this album to random strangers at her store that she stores it under the cash register? Setting the album down, she flipped to a random page in the middle and held it out for Castiel to see.
The image was gorgeous, black and white, showing Gilda bound in dark ropes that contrasted with her pale skin. The clear implication was that she and Charlie were married, and that Charlie was a dom and Gilda was her sub. Castiel's imagination conjured up a fantasy of Charlie's chipper voice teasing and coaxing the demure, beautiful woman to behave, and he swallowed hard against arousal. Thus far, Castiel had only seen Dean's work with male models, but he was no less talented at displaying the beauty of a woman, equally skilled at placing ropes to highlight sweeping curves and a narrow waist as he was at constraining powerful limbs and taut muscle. Gilda looked spectacular, every gorgeous curve of her body amplified by the ways in which she was tied and the angles of the photographs.
(IMAGE 1 and IMAGE 2)
"Isn't she perfection?" said Charlie with a happy sigh, admiring the photographs as Castiel flipped through the pages. "Hun, can we do another photoshoot sometime?"
"Hm?" Gilda said as she returned to the room bearing a box. Castiel's nerves flared. How much had Dean gotten him? Where was he going to pack it all? Gilda started and flushed a delicate rose when she saw what they were looking at. "Oh, yes. Perhaps we could take another class, too?"
"Dean teachers classes on rope techniques," Charlie explained, noting Castiel's questioning expression. "He taught me this tie." She flipped to an image of Gilda bound from waist to knee, trussed up so tightly she couldn't move. As beautiful as Gilda looked, the image wasn't sexual. She was a work of art.
(IMAGE 3)
"Have you done any shibari, Cas?" asked Gilda politely, setting the closed box down on the counter beside him. He turned to the next page, which showed Charlie, expression intent and worshipful, binding a serene-looking Gilda whose eyes had slipped reverently shut.
Castiel shook his head. He'd never encountered such complex bondage until he saw Dean's photography, but now the more he saw the more he wanted to try. Every image he'd seen of Dean's work enticed him more. He could easily imagine himself tied as Gilda was, cock trapped between his legs, arms secure, every breath pressing against the ropes binding his chest, unable to move. It looked relaxing, comfortable even, though he couldn't have said what about being trussed head to toe conveyed that impression to him. Perhaps it was the tranquil look on Gilda's face? Castiel wasn't sure, but he wanted to find out.
I'd be trapped – I wouldn't be able to move – wouldn't be able to escape. Shouldn't that scare me?
It should, it truly should, yet knowing that it was Dean who'd be in command – knowing that Dean wouldn't be physically present, that Castiel would be binding himself at Dean's behest – kept the small flicker of panic at bay.
Dean can't possess me.
Dean isn't Naomi.
"Call it a hunch but I think you're going to," Charlie said. Castiel stared at her blankly; lost in his thoughts, he'd lost the thread of conversation. By way of explanation, she withdrew a large hank of beautiful blue rope from the box. Thinking about how Dean would use the rope – how Dean would instruct Castiel to use that rope – had Castiel hardening, his cheeks heating with a flush. He tore his gaze from the rope and looked up to see both women smiling at him with identical knowing expressions. Ashamed, Castiel looked away again.
"Aw...you're adorbs, look how shy he is!" cooed Charlie.
"Charlie, don't tease him," Gilda scolded. Castiel started; he couldn't imagine talking to his dom in that tone, not without consequences. While Castiel supposed he would never see the private repercussions of Gilda's words, the only public retribution was Charlie sticking her tongue out and making a silly noise in the back of her throat. It was hard for him to believe, watching them, that there was anything unusual about their relationship. Maybe there wasn't anything unusual about it? Maybe they enjoyed rope play but there was no D/s component? Maybe he was misunderstanding? The pictures were undeniable, though, each featured Gilda tied up. It wasn't any of his business.
But if they can have a loving, supportive relationship even though they're a dom and a sub...
…I didn't think that was possible.
"Don't worry so much, Cas, Dean is going to take good care of you," promised Charlie. Her gentle smile transformed into a smirk as she withdrew the other items from the box, though, significantly weakening the impact of the message. It was hard not to stare at the assortment and impossible not to consider what they meant for his future: a dildo with a suction cup to attach it to a wall or other surface; a half dozen travel-sized bottles of lubricant; a box labeled Fleshlight Classic Pink Butt; a vibrating anal plug; a cock ring with a remote control and, supposedly, ten unique stimulation modes; a small unlabeled box; and a dozen loose double A batteries.
"Just so you know, the plug and the ring are custom models I modified myself – Dean will be able to change their settings long-distance," said Charlie. "I've boxed up the remotes to ship to him, he should get them in the next few days."
"Oh," Castiel replied faintly. His pulse was so loud in his ears he had trouble hearing her. "Um. Good."
Charlie laughed until she was gasping and clutching her sides in pain, all under Gilda's watchful, fond smile. Unsure what to do, Castiel re-packed the box, glad that there wasn't more since he'd have to fit everything in his luggage. There's plenty. Does Dean intend to use all of this when I get to Seattle?
"How much do I owe you?" asked Castiel when there was a break in Charlie's humor. The question somehow prompted fresh gales; Castiel grimaced.
"Dean's already paid," Gilda explained, shaking her head. "Darling..."
"I know, I know, but..." Charlie gasped. "Listen, Cas, if you could see the look on your face...dammit, Dean made me promise not to scare the shit out of you, he's gonna kill me. Cas – Cas, don't worry – he's good people. I've done some scenes with him, he knows his stuff. I know you don't know me either and have no reason to believe me, but you're a lucky man. He's not going to murder you in your sleep, I promise."
She's done scenes with Dean…so is she a sub, even though Gilda is the one tied up? Or does Dean sometimes switch? Is switching something people do?
Every revelation from Charlie raised questions that Castiel had never thought to ask. He'd considered himself well-educated about BDSM practice but he'd misunderstood about subdrop and now he was realizing there was a great deal more he'd misinterpreted or simply missed.
I need to start from the ground up, clearly. It must be that my own experiences, my own biases, governed how I searched, what I read, what I believed, how I understood things.
Maybe, if I learn more, if Dean can teach me more, if things work out and I can maintain the division between my sex life and my professional life…maybe this is something I could have in my life, really have in my life?
That's so tempting it's terrifying.
Gilda reached past him, opened the box once more, and pulled out the unlabeled smaller box within. "This is a small aftercare kit," she said. "I put it together based on the one that we use after scenes, with some of my favorite things. You'll want to customize it, though, and refill it as you use things up." Opening the box, Gilda pulled out an energy bar, an instant ice pack, a heating pad, a small first aid kit, a handful of wet wipes, vitamin K cream, tubes of heparin and triple antibiotic cream, and a floppy stuffed cat. Castiel cracked a smile at the last. It was irresistibly cute. "You'll take care of him, won't you? I've had him a long time." Startled, Castiel looked up and met Gilda's dark, beautiful eyes. "Dean mentioned that your past doms haven't taken good care of you. I've had some bad experiences, too, and I don't want you to hurt. I thought maybe if I included Carrie, when you saw her it'd remind you that people care and that you need to look after yourself." As she spoke, she packed the kit up once more, leaving the stuffed toy out.
Tentatively, Castiel reached out and pet the cat. The fur was soft and felt nice against his fingers. He'd never indulged himself with anything like it; even as a child his family had been against frivolous toys.
"Thank you," he said, more moved than he could express. Charlie stared at Gilda as if she was a precious treasure.
Is it possible that Dean would ever look at me like that?
No. That couldn't happen. I'm not a good enough sub, that's not how my relationships work. Naomi said...
Fuck Naomi. Dean is not Naomi. I will say that to myself as many times as I must, however many times it takes until I believe it. Dean is not Naomi.
"I should go," Castiel said uncomfortably. The two women were now sharing an intimate look; Castiel felt increasingly like an intruder. "Thanks for everything."
"Take my card," Charlie said, tearing her attention from her wife with obvious difficulty. She reached beneath the desk and pulled out a business card, placing it atop the box of Dean's gifts. "If you ever need anything – and I don't just mean sex toys or boffer LARP equipment – give us a call. Especially if Dean ever hurts you. I'll rip his balls off. Not that I think he will," she added hastily, "I mean it when I say Dean is good people but he's an idiot sometimes and just…yeah, we've got your back, Cas."
"That's not necessary," protested Castiel.
"It's absolutely necessary," Gilda said, eyes glittering, standing up straight. For a moment, she reminded Castiel of a Valkyrie. "No dom has the right to do things to us that we have not agreed to. When you cannot protect yourself, Cas, remember that there are others that will protect you. Not from Dean – Dean won't hurt you, Charlie is just kidding – but in general. We're here if you need someone, okay?"
Embarrassed, flattered, confused, touched, Castiel could find no words to reply. Instead he nodded, tears in his eyes, took the box of sex toys and stepped out to his waiting cab.
Whatever else I do or do not know about Dean, it's clear he has good friends, friends that seem to be good people. That surely implies that he is himself a good person.
But I want this to work out well so badly, how am I supposed to trust my assessment?
And why would someone like Dean need to turn to to find a sub? Surely he could have any sub he wanted…why there? Why me?
Sighing, Castiel prayed that his doubts wouldn't eat at him for the two weeks to come.
I put together a collage of Castiel's box of presents, it's (IMAGE 4) in the Tumblr post I mention in the intro note. :)