Ugh, I'm so so sorry it's taken me so long to get this new chapter up. We were away for a week, and by the time we got back my wife and the baby were sick. Nursing them ate all my energy for a few days, and then I got sick, and what with one thing or another it's been about all I could do to function the past week. Further complicating things, I got a promotion at work - I usually write at work - and said promotion involves a bunch of work that needs to get done, so my writing time got demolished by my job. Since it pays the bills...well, it has to come first, no matter how much I'd rather be writing.
But, here we are. I'm going to try to put my head down and get the rest of this story finished over the next few weeks. All my regulars know by now that I'm shit at estimating story length (...I originally thought this story was going to be 30k words, hahaha) but I'd guess I've got 20k to 30k words left to go, probably three more chapters. (maybe four, just based on the scenes I've got planned and how I suspect I'll have to break things up).
Home stretch, folks!
"Okay – okay, I'm ready," Dean huffed, swung his arms at his side, did a couple quick half-squats as if gearing himself up for an athletic event.
"Are you sure, Dean?" Castiel asked gravely. "We planned this scene for this afternoon with the understanding that giving your testimony would be difficult and unwinding afterwards critical, but if you are not up for it, I will not hold it against you. We will find some other means of helping recover your equilibrium."
Based on what little Dean had said when he'd returned to their hotel room, his time on the stand was brief and brutal. He said that Wisdom had completely destroyed his credibility. Charlie and Gilda had texted Castiel to say that Dean had done fantastically, though it would have been better if he'd held his temper. Castiel suspected the truth of Dean's performance was somewhere in the middle of the two assessments but he couldn't bring himself to call Fitzgerald, much less Alastair, to see what they thought. He had to trust the two lawyers; easy in the first case, nearly impossible in the latter. Any damage done, surely they could salvage.
"No," Dean puffed out a series of quick, controlled breaths. "No, I'm good. My equilibrium is fuckin' fine, it's my temper that's shot. This is exactly what I need. You are exactly what – who – I need. You good to go? For everything we discussed?"
Castiel nodded. Dean quirked an expressive eyebrow at him and frowned.
"Yes, sir, I'm ready," Castiel said, answering the challenge in Dean's look.
There was a pause during which Dean's entire demeanor shifted. Tension lines eased from his face, his troubled moue gave way to a look of stern authority, he rolled his shoulders and settled them back in a posture relaxed yet powerful.
"Get on the bed, Cas, on your knees, ankles together, ass resting on your heels," Dean commanded. Before the start of today's scene, while Dean was at the courthouse, Castiel had been instructed to prepare the living room: shift the couches around to clear a wide space, stack all the tables together so that they made a decent sized platform in the middle, drag the bed mattress from the bedroom, rest it atop the tables, bring every lamp from the entire hotel suite to the area and make sure each one was lit. Anxiety had kept Castiel at the task until the room looked nice in the new arrangement. "I want your arms at ease at your sides and your eyes closed. Wait there and take steady breaths while I prepare everything."
The plan for the day was to do a photoshoot. Dean had been concerned about Castiel's comfort level, so had run a few things by him. Without knowing the details, Castiel was aware that he would be blindfolded and gagged, that anal play would be involved, that he would be tied and cut and that Dean would pause to take photographs. As usual, if Castiel misbehaved or disobeyed an order, there would be consequences. He suspected they'd be worse than usual, expected that, after the stress of the last day, the last few days, Dean would be rough with him. He longed for Dean's harsh dominance as he'd once longed for a hit of meth or a shot of Everclear.
As I once longed for Naomi?
Castiel pushed the thought away. It had no place here, now. She had no place here, not in his relationship with Dean, not in Castiel's life, nowhere. She wasn't no one, she wasn't nothing, as Castiel had once optimistically claimed, but she was his past and had no claim to any portion of his present or future. Rustles, rattles, clatters and clunks spoke to Dean moving about the room but Castiel tuned the sound out, prevented himself from attempting to analyze and ascribe meaning to them. He didn't want to know what Dean was doing. His role was to submit, to follow Dean's orders to the letter, to focus on his own mental state and relaxation. His role was to be a manikin, a perfect doll for his dom, and let Dean exact his will.
Cloth brushed Castiel's face unexpectedly, the high-quality mattress giving no warning that Dean had come up behind him. With deft movements, Dean tied the blindfold in place.
"Open wide," Dean instructed. Obeying, Castiel spread his lips and teeth and Dean wedged a thick rope gag between his teeth and tied it so tightly that Castiel's jaw ached immediately. Lengths of hemp dug into his gums and loose tendrils tickled the roof of his rapidly drying mouth with each inhalation. "When it hurts, you bite down on that, not your tongue. Do you understand?" Castiel gave a quick nod, the rope tying the gag in place abrading the back of his head. Something heavy came to rest on Castiel's neck; Dean snugged it tight – it must be a collar – then tighter still, holding it taut until Castiel wheezed for breath and bright light from nowhere burst like firecrackers across his vision. Castiel was on the verge of tapping out before Dean eased the collar looser and did the heavy metal clasp, a cold weight resting against Castiel's skin. There was a click and the weight increased as Dean affixed something to the collar and cloth slapped against his back: a leash.
"Hand," commanded Dean. Hesitantly, Castiel held out one hand. Dean seized it. "I expect speed and exact obedience today, Castiel. I will accept nothing less. If you buck my authority, you will regret it. If you do not follow orders, you will regret it. If you cannot be my good little pet, I will punish you until you learn how a pet is supposed to behave." A shudder shook trembling through Castiel's limbs. "You will keep still," Dean reprimanded harshly. Something was pressed into the hand that Dean had grabbed, Dean nudging at Castiel's fingers until he gripped it solidly, his finger against a button. "Click the button once if you understand and accept these terms of service."
Castiel clicked, hesitation gone. He trusted Dean implicitly.
"If you need to communicate distress, press the button. Otherwise, you will keep silent unless I order you otherwise. Now, reach behind yourself and spread your cheeks wide for me, pet."
Arousal buzzed through Castiel's body. Dean's authoritative approach, his aggression, was a significant aspect of what had initially drawn Castiel to him and it had been a long time, far too long, since it had been a feature of their sex life. Already, Castiel found himself lulled into thoughtless obedience by Dean's voice, eased by the knowledge that Dean had responsibility for Castiel, that he need do nothing other than behave himself. His cock bucked half-hard, thickened as Dean jammed a finger, shockingly cold with lube, straight into Castiel's hole. Shocked at the sudden, intimate touch, Castiel gasped and stiffened. An arm reached around to Castiel's front, fingers dug into his flesh, something sharp pierced his chest one, two, three, four times. The wounds close together – nails, Castiel thought, though it made no sense, no human had nails so sharp or so hard, Dean certainly didn't – and Dean growled in his ear, "you will be silent and you will be still. Understand?" Even as Dean dug claws into Castiel's skin, his fingers worked deep in Castiel's body, stretching him roughly and quickly with little care for the months it'd been since Castiel had last been stretched and penetrated. Brushes against Castiel's prostate shot fire through his veins, caused his cock to spasm. Pleasure and pain twisted together within him, pushed Castiel outside himself, deep within himself, faster than he could ever recall a scene doing so before. He whimpered agreement with Dean's question; the nails scraped rough lines down his chest.
"I said do you understand, boy?" Wait, how was he supposed to respond? Not with the clicker – that was only for distress – and not vocally, because sound was forbidden him. The only possible answer was silence and ease, body language alone communicating that Castiel trusted Dean and was open to anything Dean wanted. With a controlled inhale, a slow exhale through his nose, Castiel kept quiet and relaxed back against the finger working deep within him.
"Good," Dean whispered huskily. "Just like that." Touch pressed hard on Castiel's prostate and flared brilliant heat through his body and leaked out with the blood snaking thin trails down his belly. "You be a good boy for me, Cas, or you'll pay the price." The bite against Castiel's chest eased, Dean drawing back to tease at Castiel's nipple. Metal, chill against the sensitive flesh, caught and snagged and teased the nipple to an aching nub as Dean's finger swiftly worked within him. A second finger joined the first, but only for a few quick thrusts. A short tug against Castiel's rim spread him wide. He was empty and exposed, achingly so, air blowing in to the deepest, most private recesses of his body, and then something solid shoved inside him. Dean wiggled the toy and placed it, curved, u-shaped, inside Castiel to rest on his prostate, outside to stimulate his perineum and testicles. The longer Dean worked at the toy, the more difficult it became to keep quiet; Dean ran it over Castiel's prostate insistently, repeatedly, flaring pleasure brighter and brighter. Sharp nails dug into Castiel's chest once more, driving him higher, scratching lines across his chest. He could picture the blood, picture the red lines that Dean carved into him, and Castiel strained to hold still.
"Just…have…to find…the right…spot," Dean murmured tauntingly. Castiel's arousal ratcheted up as he realized that Dean was intentionally testing him. He wouldn't test me if he didn't think I could do it. Where every nudge against him had flared the urge to move, self-control suddenly asserted itself and calmed his thoughts. Castiel breathed in, breathed out, and relaxed as Dean casually fucked him with the vibrator. Letting his mind drift, Castiel floated on a buoying wave of pleasure, focused on the grounding pain of the nails biting in to his skin and the leaking of his stiff cock. There was nothing but sensation, nothing but his body and how it felt. Unknown minutes passed, left Castiel so fuzzed out that he had no idea how long it was, no idea if Dean had spoken to him, all he knew was that he felt good, everything felt good, and he was in control.
"Right about there should do it," Dean interrupted Castiel's reverie. The toy jammed into Castiel's prostate and he bit down on the rope gag to keep from gasping and moving; the vibration kicked on an instant later but Castiel the ache in his jaw provided the perfect counter point. Castiel effortlessly reasserted his calm and he didn't flinch, didn't moan, didn't move. "That looks perfect. Good boy." Dean ruffled his hair, smearing lube among the strands, and Castiel preened silently, unmovingly, under his attentions.
I'm good for Dean.
"Arms up, Cas." Sinking back on his heels, allowing the vibration to fade to a dull buzz that kept him hard and leaking but didn't heighten his arousal, Castiel struggled to focus. His arms felt heavy, like he'd swum too much, like he was lying in bed on the verge of falling asleep. He forced himself to obey. Rope threaded around his middle, beneath his breasts, Dean's hands indifferent against his skin aside from the occasional scrape by a claw.
"I've been sayin' for ages how awesome you'd like bound and tied." Dean looped the rope over Castiel's shoulders, down his chest, over his throat. "Now I finally get to find out. Ain't doin' shibari today – this is good, old-fashioned 'merican style bondage – and all you gotta do is look pretty, pet. Think you can do that?" The buzzer was a solid, reassuring weight in Castiel's hand. He didn't press the button. Dean chuckled. "Right, ya gotta follow directions too, dontcha? Good – good. Arms down." Dean shifted the collar and leash, threaded the ropes through metal rings that Castiel felt for the first time as they came into contact with his skin. The vibration amplified and Castiel panted, heart rate picking up as the flicks of the sharpened nails grew more aggressive against his breasts and nipples. Every slight contact with Castiel's skin was tantalizing yet intense: the brush of course rope over flesh erotic, the tearing as the nails dug in fantastic, the rivulets of blood oozing down his skin chill. As the ropes tightened around Castiel's shoulders and chest, his breathing calmed again. Dean had him.
All Castiel had to do was be good for Dean.
"A complex tie, in this style, is just a bunch of simple ties worked together." As he worked, Dean spoke, his voice lulling Castiel further. Deep, graveled, gruff, Dean's words enveloped Castiel as surely as the smell of Dean's aftershave, the feel of Dean's hands, the ropes that served as surrogate for Dean's embrace. Lost in heat, Castiel struggled to maintain enough attention to respond should Dean require something of him. Entire sentences disappeared in the fog suffusing him.. "…harness, frames you so nice…color of the rope gettin' dyed by your blood…quivers when I cut you…" If not for the ropes, he'd float away, bob into the air like a balloon. A titter of amusement escaped him at the thought.
Sharp pain pierced through his euphoria as Dean cupped Castiel's breast in clawed fingers. "Arms up, boy!" Dean castigated sharply. Flinching, Castiel raised his arms at his side. "No, not like that. Bend at the elbow, hands up…" Confused, Castiel attempted to follow the directions. "Fuck it…just go limp, I'll pose you." A strong grip seized Castiel's left arm and positioned him so that his elbow was against his side, his hand up by his shoulder, palm facing out. "Do the other side the same – hold them there. Good." Once Castiel was situated as Dean wanted, Dean curled his fingers around Castiel's hands, dug the sharp nails in, forced Castiel's fingers apart. "Not gonna be able to move once I get you all trussed up." Dean's grip left, replaced by rope looped around Castiel's fingers.
Tugs and binds held Castiel increasingly immobile as Dean continued to speak. It felt unbelievably good, knowing that something so simple was so pleasing to his dom. Castiel didn't think it'd ever been easier for him to be good. He'd never been bound like this, never been tied with only the tension of his own muscles pulling at rope to hold him still. Dean tied his hands back, joined by a length across his back that pinned his arms up and his elbows to his side. At every breath, Castiel's chest pushed against the harness, the tautness of the rope between his elbows increased and then decreased, bringing a twinge of pain when he inhaled deepest. Chasing the feeling, Castiel took deep breaths until he was so awash in oxygen that he was dizzy.
"…pay attention!" There was a jerk on the rope binding Castiel's elbows together; Castiel's body seized, the ropes constricted, the effect cascading to tighten the lengths around his chest. Castiel choked on his inhalation, teeth jamming painfully against the gag as the binding compressed his lungs, strained against his neck. "Shhh," a soothing hand ran down Castiel's biceps, "breathe, Cas; if you panic you'll make it worse." Ropes held the buzzer Castiel's palm,; he hadn't noticed when tied it there. "Click once quickly for green light, twice for yellow, sustained for red." Without hesitation, Castiel depressed the button for one quick buzz. He was fine. He was great. "Okay, take a moment anyway." Dean pressed close against Castiel's back, pressed ropes into his skin.
Those'll leave marks.
The idea sent a shiver down Castiel's spine; a second followed as Dean's lips brushed his ear. "Never seen you surrender this completely, it's fuckin' amazing, Cas. Love the way you trust me. I've been a bit rough with you – gonna keep bein' rough with you – and it's okay, dude, it's so fucking cool, that you lose yourself in this, but I need you to stay present enough that you can get out if you need to, 'kay? Can you do that for me?" Castiel nodded, gag digging into the corners of his mouth. "Good – so good for me, my very own good boy. Come on now, boy, I want to get a better look at you."
Taking up the leash, Dean tugged Castiel towards the edge of the bed. Scrambling, his legs tingling, the vibrator within him shifted, nudged his balls, and a groan burbled behind the gag. Instantly, there was a sharp slap to his ass.
"Silent, pet!"
A pull on the leash in the opposite direction knocked him off balance. Instinctively, Castiel tried to move his hands to catch his balance, but he couldn't; he pitched onto his face, even the gentle fall on to the mattress wedging the rope gag further into his mouth.
"Oh, Castiel, whatever am I going to do with you?" Dean sounded exasperated.
No, no – I have to do better, I have to—!
Castiel tried to right himself but he couldn't, every way he pulled and jerked only made things worse. Vertigo disoriented him, ropes dug into his chest and sides and back and he couldn't get his balance, couldn't follow Dean's orders. Dean was disappointed in him and—
Heavy weight settled on him, pushed him down on the mattress. The gag in his mouth popped free, the blindfold was tugged from his eyes, hands gripped his shoulders tight, Dean's legs pinned Castiel's, and hair tickled at his skin as Dean's head came to rest between the ropes over Castiel's heart. The thud of blood being pumped through his veins was cacophonous, hoarse breaths rasped loud through his throat. He could barely hear Dean speak, faint as if he were a great distance. "I'm sorry, Cas, shit, I fuckin' ruin everything. I'm such a fuckin' idiot. I should know better than to say crap like that to you, it just came out. Can you breathe with me?"
"I didn't safe word," Castiel croaked. "I can keep going."
"You did, Cas," said Dean. "You still fricken are, in fact."
"I did?" Stunned, Castiel tried to loosen his grip on the buzzer but he couldn't and he couldn't remember why not. "I am?" A sound resolved, loud in his ears, and he realized Dean sounded so far away because the device was shrieking, Castiel's thumb pressed determinedly against the button.
Right, it's tied in place, I have to move my thumb to make it stop…
Forcing his finger to move was shockingly difficult but Castiel managed it and pried his finger away from the button. The sudden silence that blanketed the room was eerie and disorienting. Breathing hard, Castiel stared at the top of Dean's head as Dean trembled over him.
There's no reason for him to be this upset about this.
"I'm alright," he whispered.
Whatever happened at the courthouse must have really shaken him.
"Cas, I—"
He needs this as much as I do.
"Please, Dean," Castiel begged.
He needs this more than I do.
"I've never continued a scene after my sub safe-worded," Dean said, shaking his head.
I'm fine.
"I didn't safe word, not intentionally, I just panicked," said Castiel.
He's done so much for me.
"That's kind of the definition of safe wording," Dean's wry words brought a smile to Castiel's face.
I can do this for him.
"I trust you and I love you and I promise I'm fine," Castiel replied. "I want to continue."
I will always be your good boy, my love.
There was a long pause. Castiel took advantage of Dean's delay, Dean's reticence, to restore his equilibrium. The vibrator yet buzzed in his ass, arousal thrummed through his system; relaxing against the ropes binding him brought peace as his breathing evened out. Dean was a solid, powerful weight above him. Lips brushed over his heart as Dean shifted.
"Green light?" Dean asked, fingers kneading ease and support into Castiel's tightly bound shoulders.
"Green light," Castiel agreed.
"Okay, pet," breathed Dean, "just this once we'll keep going." Teeth nipped at Castiel's nipple as Dean pulled away. Castiel gasped despite himself at the pain that spiked straight to his softening dick, thickening him once more. A slap resounded loud and tingling against his other breast. "I said keep silent." Catching his lip between his teeth, Castiel nodded frantically to show he understood – wait, I was supposed be still too – and he stopped. Too late – Dean slapped him again and Castiel's back strained against the ropes tying his elbows together. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, keep silent, be good, and Dean waited, scowling, brow lowered to darken his eyes. Only when Castiel calmed did Dean replace the rope gag, wrap the blindfold back over his eyes, and take up the leash.
Sinking back into his role proved easier than Castiel expected. Dean tugged the leash and, with firm words and sharp yanks, led Castiel on a slow circuit of the room. They'd pause sometimes, Dean would position him, and then unknowable amounts of time would pass as Castiel stood, naked, however Dean wanted him. With the blindfold on, he had no sense of where Dean was or what Dean was doing; he might have been taking pictures or silently touching himself or off taking a shower or out of the building entirely. However, if he moved a muscle, Dean appeared as from nowhere and slapped his ass hard, jogging the vibrator against his prostate and dick, or dug the sharp nails into the flesh around his nipple, or drew lines that must be vibrant red on the pale flesh of Castiel's inner thigh. The punishment was more than adequate for Castiel to maintain an erection; he floated within the darkness, a bundle of sensations, growing increasingly desperate for sustained touch – be it intended to give pain or pleasure – and increasingly desperate to be inside Dean. That was the endgame. If he was good, if he behaved, they'd have sex. Castiel craved being inside Dean like he craved oxygen.
They'd explored the whole room, maybe the whole suite, the only sign of where they were the brush of carpet or polished wood or cold tile over Castiel's feet, before they returned to the rearranged living room. Dean nudged him and placed him until Castiel lay on his back on what he thought was the mattress, arms pinned at an angle just this side of painful, knees up, when rope – and only rope – finally touched his skin again. Rough lengths bunched around his thighs, around his calves, binding his legs bent, holding him splayed wide open. The mild air of the room blew over his obscenely erect cock. Castiel ached for a brush of Dean's hand kindly over his flesh but there was no asking for it, no moving to force Dean's hand. Only locking the muscles of his shoulders kept Castiel from shuddering at the thought of the punishment he'd suffer if he violated his orders with the express purpose of taking touch that Dean hadn't freely offered.
He might leave the bindings on, he might leave me gagged, he might…
Breath whistling raggedly around his gag, Castiel's heart skipped a beat and promptly began to race. He squeezed his eyes needlessly shut and schooled himself back to calm.
…he might but he won't. Dean would never do that to me.
"You're doing great, Cas," Dean murmured reassuringly, running soothing palms down the length of Cas' torso. Touch abraded his scars, aggravated his new cuts, spawned a dull ache where he had been bruised and hit, and where Castiel was whole Dean's skin on his was bliss. The combination jerked through his body like an orgasm. All the air left his lungs in a rush, his cock bobbed and leaked onto his belly. Dean chuckled wickedly. "But you'd better behave."
Yes, sir.
For a moment, Castiel was confused that the words wouldn't come; his teeth bit into the gag, jaw straining, before he remembered that he couldn't speak. Dean chuckled again and manhandled Castiel into an upright position. The cloth beneath his knees was rougher than the blankets had been but he couldn't identify why. Ropes dug into his thighs, his ankles, his wrists and fingers and waist and chest. With practiced efficiency, Dean tugged at the different bindings, making small adjustments – tightening some, loosening others – giving ease to ensure Castiel's comfort, increasing his restraint. His fingers tingled as blood rushed back into them, his chest strained against the bindings more than before, and Castiel lost himself once more in the rhythm of every breath, every touch, every brush of rope on skin. The ropes were the perfect tension, as secure and encompassing as an embrace, as confining as a prison, and Dean's adjustments were the perfect reminder that their scene was about choice, that Dean cared about Castiel and wanted him to be safe. The ghost of Dean's touch against his skin burned hot through his veins, the vibrator switched to an intense, intermittent pulse, and Castiel didn't think he'd ever been so turned on by so little sexual contact.
"I've got you." Dean's voice was very far away, wrapping around Castiel, buoying him higher.
Dean's got me.
"I'm going to take such good care of you." Tenderness suffused the words even as a hard pull on the leash knocked Castiel off balance.
Dean is going to take such good care of me.
Castiel had barely finished steadying himself when there was a hard slap on his ass. The vibrator shifted and bliss turned the blindfold gold. For a terrifying moment, he thought he'd come, but he slowly eased back into his pleasure-throttled body and found that he hadn't. He wanted to, though, fuck did he want to.
"Be a good boy – a good pet – Castiel."
I'm a good boy. I'm a good pet.
A moan died in his throat; before he could fully repress the sound Dean spanked him again, hard. His body jerked at the stimulation, his cock dripped, his vision glowed once more.
"Fuck," muttered Dean. Castiel panted against his restraints, he couldn't help it, and hoped that Dean wouldn't punish him further, prayed that Dean would punish him to within an inch of his life. God, that would feel amazing. Everything already felt amazing. Time ceased to mean anything, it might have been seconds or minutes or hours, and Castiel clung to a thin stream of reason as Dean whispered praises to him from a universe away.
"Beautiful boy…"
I'm beautiful for you.
"…so obedient…"
I can do as you tell me to.
"…so patient…"
I can wait for you.
"…so self-controlled…"
I have to be in control to be what you need, sir.
"Pretty as a picture."
I love being what you want me to be.
"And mine, all mine."
Yours, always yours and yours alone.
And you're mine.
Touch brushed over the skin of Castiel's shoulder and the vibrator switched to a setting that made it feel like Castiel was being pumped slowly and gently. Something cold and sharp pressed into his flesh, tugged at the remaining scabs from the last feather Dean had cut. Skin tore, agonizing pain blossomed and streamed through his body, and with a desperate gasp Castiel's back arched, his muscles tensed, he strained against his bindings and he came. Pleasure rolled him under as come splattered his thighs and joined the thin flow of blood down his stomach. Chest heaving, Castiel focused on getting his breathing under control, his body under control. He'd never come like that, never broken like that, and shame beat at him increasingly as he fell from the glorious heights to which he had soared. The gag tore from his mouth, and he frantically tried to find words.
Wait I wasn't supposed to talk but I have to, I have to explain, I have to be good, have to be!
"I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry, I—" He was hoarse, throat dry and words difficult to understand, but he find the wherewithal to work moisture into his mouth.
"Shh." Dean's hands curled around his shoulders, finding finger holds amidst the bindings. Dean's chest came to rest hot and obviously bare against Castiel's back. Sultry breath blew directly into his ear. "I've got you, you fucking perfect fucking pet. Fucking hell, that was…that was fucking amazing. There will be consequences, of course – I was really looking forward to riding that gorgeous dick of yours while you bled on my ropes – but shit, I'm almost glad you broke. You're so damn beautiful when you shatter for me, Castiel."
They'd talked about this.
The thought flitted away, in and out of reach, and Castiel couldn't focus enough to figure out if he wanted to grasp it and examine it or let it drift away. He felt so heavy, so bound, yet still so good. Dean's cock rubbed against the cleft of his ass and thinned lube leaked from around the vibrator yet pushing him into overstimulation.
"Punish me, sir!"
"You sure, Cas?" Dean emphasized the question by rutting into him hard, a solid reminder of what they'd discussed, what Castiel had agreed to. Even if they hadn't discussed it, Castiel wouldn't have protested. He'd broken his orders, he'd come early – so early – and Dean could punish Castiel however he wished. He wanted to be punished. He wanted to be perfect for Dean.
"Please, sir, please!" Castiel would have strained back, held his ass up for Dean's use, had he been able to move. All he could manage was a wiggle against Dean's erection and doing that earned him another hard slap right over his hole. The toy slammed into his prostate and he jerked as the pleasure tipped into pain and scourged his body.
"Keep still," Dean snapped in his ear, and Castiel moaned pitifully. "But keep making pretty noises." He'd come and he should be spent but they weren't finished and the vibrator was still on and Dean was tugging on his rim and rubbing his fingers through the slickness he found there and Castiel's body thrummed with so much bliss and so much agony that he hovered on the verge of blacking out. This was rapture. This was the best he'd ever felt, ever, good God he needed Dean so badly.
There was a wet sound, scarce audible over his own rough breathing, and then Castiel was spreading wider. Dean pressed his cock in alongside the vibrator and Castiel's mouth fell open, soundless, eyes rolling back in his head.
"Holy fucking hell," Dean whispered reverently as he eased into Castiel's body. "That's…that's fuckin' tight…and hot…Jesus…Jesus, Cas…"
"Dean…!"
Fully seated, Dean didn't hesitate before rocking back, pressing in again, a shallow thrust. The toy pressed painfully hard into Castiel's prostate, Dean's thumb dug into the single cut he'd managed to make before Castiel lost his mind, and Castiel's thoughts blanked.
"What?" Dean held him close, huffing, picking up a quick rhythm. "What…can I do…for you…you fucking angel?"
"Cut me," Castiel pleaded. They had to finish the feathers, they had to. "Please—" The word broke in a gasp as rapture coursed through him like a lightning strike and his cock dribbled. Dean groaned deep and thrust into him hard, hands grabbing at Castiel's slickening skin. "Oh…oh…oh my God…" Dean's finger dug hard into the cut on Castiel's back, his other hand picking at the scrapes along his chest.
"Naughty," Dean breathed, pounding into him so hard that skin slapped loudly on skin, "very…very…naughty. What's my name?"
"Dean!" He was so stretched open, so full, so used and exposed and it was glorious. How could it be so glorious? He couldn't understand, he needed it to never end, he needed it to stop.
"Yes!" Dean crowed. Digging a hand into the rope binding Castiel's chest, he pulled hard. Castiel gasped again and coughed, struggling to draw enough air. "Who owns you, Cas?"
"You do – you do sir, please…please!" Castiel wasn't sure what he was begging for. He felt so good it was agony, his spent cock twitching futilely, blood making trails down his skin, his prostate stimulated by the constant thrum of the toy and Dean's relentless cock. With a groan that sounded ripped out of him, Dean lost all self-control and thrust erratically, urgently into Castiel's body, already stretched so tightly that the burst of semen placed additional pressure on his insides. Whimpering and twitching, Castiel collapsed back against Dean as if he were the one who had climaxed, and despite his guttural noises and stuttering movements, Dean managed to catch and hold him.
"What is it, Cas? What do you need?"
"Dean, I…I…" he moaned brokenly. Reality was floating away; reality was grounding him so heavily he couldn't escape. "Help me, please, help me…"
"Shit," said Dean. Trembling overtook Castiel, his body pulsing in time to the toy wedged within him. Dean's cock pulled free of his ass with a slick of come and lube that trailed down Castiel's legs; Dean fumbled across the bed while still trying to hold Castiel up. With a triumphant yell, Dean found whatever he sought and a moment later the tension across Castiel's back went slack, his arms fell free, the rope untwined from his fingers. His legs were unbound next, the fibers ripping loudly, and Castiel tumbled to his side. Another couple quick swipes and he was free. Dean pulled away the blindfold, removed the vibrator from his hole, unclasped the collar, and immediately set to massaging blood into Castiel's pale fingers.
"I've got you, Cas, I've got you – scene is finished," Dean whispered, repeating the words over and over again. Everywhere Dean touched spurred more inexpressible pleasure. Castiel's mind clambered to come again but he couldn't, it was far too soon for him to get hard. A sob burst from him at all the feeling searing every nerve in him simultaneously. Dean's fingers kneaded at the places where the rope had abraded his skin, spiking the pleasure with pain that did nothing to bring down Castiel's high. "What's wrong? Talk to me."
"Feels so…stop!" Dean gasped and jerked away; another sob escaped Castiel. "Stop – I just – I need a minute, I need to think and I can't, I can't!"
"I'm sorry," Dean pulled back further. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut against the hurt, frightened expression on his face. "Fuck, Cas, I'm—"
"Just stop," Castiel interrupted desperately. "I'm…I'm good, I just…calm, please?" The words came easier the more he produced, though he had no idea if Dean understood what he was attempting to communicate. The room fell abruptly silent and Castiel rolled into a tight ball on the mattress and forced control over his breathing. Even the brush of terrycloth against his skin was too much, but he quelled the feelings as best he could. His hands shook, pins and needles piercing him, trailing up his arms and through his legs, knees and ankles.
"Was that…" Dean swallowed audibly and continued, steady, calm as Castiel had requested. "Was anal not okay?"
Unscrunching his eyes, Castiel looked to Dean. Naked, he hovered nearby, hands outstretched towards Castiel but respecting the distance Castiel had demanded, expression concerned. He's so perfect. He cares so much. He worries so much. He doesn't need to… Castiel broke into a smile. "It was great, Dean. Everything with you is great. I'm sorry I worried you. I...it felt so good but there was no outlet." Dean's lips spread into a matching smile. "That was wonderful."
"Thank fricken God," Dean gushed explosively.
"Now, Dean, God isn't who grants you pleasure…" Dean's warm laughter washed over Castiel, the tension snapped, and everything was fine.
The evening had grown late. To the accompaniment of a steady stream of praise, Dean cleaned Castiel, massaged away the aches left from being bound so long, and promised to finish the feathers the next morning. Languid, exhausted, sated, Castiel sprawled bonelessly on the bed, still in the living room, and let Dean do as he would. His cock twitched, half-hard, against the bedspread.
"Cas…do you want to…?" Dean rolled Castiel onto his back and looked him up and down, expression unreadable. Castiel had no idea what he was offering or requesting, but it didn't matter. Anything Dean wanted would be fine. Anything at all.
"I'm yours," Castiel mumbled.
"Okay…um…I just wanted to…" Hesitantly, Dean reached out, wrapped his hand around Castiel's cock and stroked. A pathetic moan, hoarse from Castiel's earlier straining, leaked from him. Dean's eyes darkened with lust, breath catching. "This okay?"
"It's so okay," Castiel whispered fervently, arching his back against the bed, straining into Dean's hand as his cock thickened. Fatigue ate at his self-control, ate at instincts that suggested that he hold back, wait until they were in a scene, obey his dom. They were boyfriends first, and if they wanted to have sex simply because they wanted to have sex, it didn't matter what had happened in their earlier scene.
And Dean says it's alright…
…no, no, that's wrong. I get to say if it's alright. This isn't a scene. He's not my dom right now. He's just Dean and I'm just Cas and if I want him, all I have to do is ask and trust him to express his desires.
"May I fuck you, Dean?" he asked. Dean started, laughed, broke into an easy grin.
"How are you so damn perfect all the damn time?" Dean's grip tightened, his dry stroke quickening over Castiel's burgeoning erection. Pleasure crashed into Castiel's exhaustion and dragged him further into lethargy.
" 'm not," the words slurred, Castiel was so tired. Dean started to interrupt, but Castiel pressed on. "Jus' per'ec' fer you, 'n you're per'ec fer me."
"I have no idea what you just said," Dean confessed. Castiel wasn't sure either. The thought was gone. Straddling him, Dean slid easily down his dick – Castiel had no idea when Dean had prepped himself and didn't ask – leaned forward and painted Castiel's mouth with gentle kisses as Dean rode him into oblivion. Orgasm thrumming under his skin, Castiel fell asleep to the rolling of Dean's ass against his hips, the soft press of Dean's lips against his, the deep hum of Dean's voice as he spoke indistinct words that echoed in Castiel's head like solemn oaths, and the warmth of Dean's body close to his.
"Cas!" Gilda's sunny smile was always a welcome sight and Castiel's nerves instantly calmed. Dean was meeting with Alastair to debrief about Dean's testimony on the stand the previous day – whatever that meant. If it was anything like Alastair's post-court conversation with Castiel, Dean was in for a rough day. When Castiel had expressed his concerns, though, Dean had given him a steely look and harshly informed Castiel that he could handle Alastair, tone and expression both immediately convincing Castiel that Dean could do nothing of the kind.
"Hello, Gilda." Castiel returned her smile and accepted her warm hug with a staid one. Casual physical intimacy with friends – casual physical intimacy with anyone – was still new for him. He'd never had relationships that featured hugs or stray touches or simple affection. There was no avoiding tackle hugs when friends with Charlie.
"No Dean today?" she asked, surprised.
"Um…well…" Drawing away from her embrace, Castiel flushed and looked everywhere but at her. The downtown street was bustling, cars noisily driving people, a few pedestrians strolling past the businesses, the outdoor seating area of a restaurant making a noisy distraction off to his left. "He's meeting with Alastair."
"Am I reading between the lines that this excursion was planned specifically with his being unavailable in mind?" Gilda's brow knit with uncertainty and she frowned. "Is everything okay? If you need out—"
"No!" Castiel interrupted, looking up. Whatever his expression was shocked Gilda so much that she took a step back. "I'm sorry. No, not at all. I mean, yes, it was planned when he wasn't around, but not because I want to…I mean…" Her eyes widened with what he hoped was a glimmer of understanding but she said nothing. "How did you know?"
The comprehension vanished from her face. "Know what?"
"You…" he took a deep breath. He felt off today. Perhaps it was the intensity of the scene yesterday, the things he'd done with Dean that he'd never done before. Perhaps it was being on the receiving end of anal from a person, not a toy, for the first time since he left Naomi's, feel the unique soreness that only double penetration and hard thrusts of another body against his could produce. Perhaps it was coming in his sleep, which Dean assured him he'd done, as Dean had sweetly made love to him afterwards. Perhaps it was the dreams he'd had, peaceful and content, not a glimmer of fear or a trace of a nightmare. Perhaps it was the debriefing he and Dean had shared that morning, reiterating that nothing had happened the previous day that they hadn't both enthusiastically consented to, agreeing that the scene had been an unparalleled success. Perhaps it was the fresh cuts on his back oozing blood onto his bandages and pain through his body. Perhaps it was all of that, or none of it, but Castiel didn't feel himself. He felt emotional, weak, and the scariest part was that he liked it. He was happy. "I have a question but you are in no way obligated to answer. I've wondered…when we met last year, you told me that you'd once been in a bad relationship with a dom who mistreated you, and that Charlie was different. How did you know Charlie was different?"
"You know Dean is different from Naomi, right?" she countered.
"Absolutely, without a doubt," Castiel said without the least hesitation. "But I don't…I mean…I think I want more from my relationship with Dean, but I can't…you and Charlie are so happy together. I was just wondering how you knew. You don't have to tell me."
"Are you hungry, Cas?" Gilda gestured towards the outdoor seating and Castiel calmly accepted the non sequitur, assuming it was her way of diverting his attention from a topic she didn't wish to discuss.
The restaurant was a pho place. After his time spent traveling the world, Castiel tended to avoid ethnic food in the US unless he knew the restaurant was good, but it was the nearest place to eat and he was a little peckish, though he hadn't noticed until she asked. At his nod, she led the way, crossing the street. They were quiet as the maître d' seated them, the weather mild enough as the lunch rush picked up that it was comfortable to sit outside. Castiel was glad of that; the seats inside had high backs that would apply pressure to his new-cut feathers, and while he loved the reminder of the enjoyment he and Dean had derived from the scarification, adored that Dean cared for him and respected him enough to heed his wishes as regarded his back, Castiel wanted to concentrate on his conversation with Gilda. A constant prickling of pain would be a niggling distraction. They took their seats and Castiel waited to see what conversation Gilda would segue into.
"Gerry was the last person you'd think would be an assertive dom." Gilda settled into the narrative as if she'd already begun her story and was resuming it somewhere in the middle. Not hungry enough to care about the menu, Castiel set it aside and listened, gratified that she'd decided to answer his question. "He…" The waitress interrupted them. "Um…apple chai bubble tea, please. And pho with beef, no scallions."
"Do you have pho nam?" Castiel asked. The waitress looked at him like he was an idiot. He wasn't sure if that was because she had no idea what he'd asked for or because she was judging him for not looking at the menu, or some other reason. After a brief staring contest, she rolled her eyes, opened the menu and pointed to the enormous header that said their specialty was pho nam. "I'll have that, please." He glanced quickly at the drink menu so as not to make an idiot of himself again. "Extra beef. And Thai iced bubble tea." With a single nod, the waitress left.
"He was…well, he was a loser," Gilda continued, smiling gently at the memory, but fear tightened her eyes. "I mean, I thought he was adorable or else I wouldn't have started the relationship, and at first everything was great. He was so nervous and shy and sweet. Our first couple scenes were practically vanilla…like, he ordered me into missionary position. And that was appropriate, I guess, we were both new to the scene, young and learning. We were exploring together. I don't know what changed. Maybe I was just too naïve to see the signs of what was to come. Either way, he was jealous and controlling. I wore a special necklace when we were doing scenes; only he could take it on and off. Increasingly, he simply wouldn't remove it and the scenes wouldn't end. If I disobeyed, his punishments grew increasingly harsh. While we were scening I wasn't permitted to speak freely, but he wouldn't remove the necklace. When I tried to bring up my concerns while wearing it he gagged me. Increasingly, I was forbidden from going out in public, and when we did he'd make me wear painful bondage gear beneath my clothing as a constant reminder of his power over me. He used his control to make me do things I didn't want to. It sounds ridiculous when I say it now – why didn't I just go to someone for help, right?"
"You heard what I said on the stand," said Castiel thickly. After everything he'd been through, it sickened him to think of the beautiful, gentle woman sitting before him being abused so severely. She didn't deserve it. No one deserves to be treated the way we were treated – except perhaps those who treated us that way. "I still don't know why I didn't leave sooner. Naomi forbade me contact with my family and friends but I still went to lecture every day, still TAed undergrad classes. There were ways I could have called for help and I just…didn't. Dr. Ellicott says that's part of the abuse – that we're conditioned to see it as something we deserved, that we didn't want to disappoint the person we loved, that we…" He trailed off, coloring, as the waitress returned with their bubble tea. He felt suddenly exposed, upsettingly aware of the diners around them. A woman to their left was reading the Dallas Morning News; there was an article about the trial on the front page. What if they'd published a picture of him? What if she or someone else recognized him? What if a passerby overheard their conversation and connected it to the scandalous shocking BDSM trial? Had that man's gaze lingered on them too long? Had that child's eyes narrowed in fear and disgust?
Gilda tilted her head, eyes shimmering liquid with concern, and Castiel gave himself a shake. No one is listening. No one is looking. Even if they were, we've a right to be here, a right to be left in peace, a right to our own pasts. No one else has a right to our lives.
"We did what we had to do," he concluded lamely.
"Yes," she nodded, "I knew you'd understand. As I said, Gerry was a loser. While I was with him, he treated me as an even bigger loser, so that he could at least stand above someone. I wasn't allowed to have a job. Though he made little money, he had a security system set up on his house to keep me in and when he left he locked the door from the outside. At the time, I was so upset that he didn't trust me that I focused on trying to demonstrate how loyal I was, and that only made things worse. When he learned how far I was willing to debase myself…" She trailed off with a shudder. "Our only regular social gathering was a LARP – do you know what that is?" Castiel shook his head. "It stands for Live Action Role Playing. It's a game, like Dungeons and Dragons…" She trailed off at his blank look. "Basically, participants assume roles, dress up as the characters, and pretend to be them. Like theater, except there's no script. It's all improvisation. Together, the players tell a story and how the story guys, who wins and who loses, is determined by the things the players do. That's what Charlie and I sell at the front of the store: things for the LARP community, clothing and safe weapons and the like. The LARP was where I met Charlie. Gerry hated her. Over time, she noticed the signs that I was being abused and ultimately stepped in and rescued me." Gilda's eyes went dreamy, her gaze skyward, her smile affectionate. "I think it was easier for me to know that Charlie was different because she directly intervened and helped me rebuild afterwards. I—"
"Pho nam double meat," the waitress interrupted obliviously, setting the bowl down before Castiel so hard that the broth sloshed onto the plastic table cloth. "Beef no scallions."
"Can I have…" Castiel trailed off, hand half-raised towards the waitress, but she was already gone again. He sighed, debated docking her tip, and decided not to. There were so many reasons she might be rude. Who was he to judge? At least she'd gotten their orders right.
"Charlie recognized my bondage wounds and asked if I was a sub," Gilda explained around spoonfuls of soup. "At first she didn't realize anything was amiss – you know how she is, she was so excited to meet someone else in the life that she gushed every time we spoke, it was adorable – but Gerry's BDSM practice was so unconventional that it didn't take her long to realize something was seriously wrong. We got to be friends and I started to question my situation based on what she told me. I snuck computer time unmonitored – it wasn't easy – and researched on my own, and everything I found independently corroborated what she'd told me. When Gerry put together how much influence she had over me, he forbade me from seeing her, and when that didn't deter her – again, you know how she is – he stopped taking me to LARP. That was the last straw. She mobilized her faction from the game and they stormed his house, hacked the security system, broke down the door, and rescued me. When Charlie sentenced him to the in-game stockades as punishment, he threatened to sue for the damages to his home and she countered by pointing out he'd kidnapped me and imprisoned me against my will. Underneath it all, he was a coward, and everyone had my back.
"One of our other friends offered me a place to stay, a third set me up with a job as a receptionist, and Charlie backed off. At first I was distressed: I really liked her and she'd been my Princess Charming and then…maybe she didn't want me? It took close to a year for me to work up the nerve to ask her on a date. She giggled for like two hours after that. Told me she'd wanted to ask me but after what I'd been through, she wanted to be sure I was comfortable. In retrospect I'm glad it happened like it did. I would have gone out with her immediately, but the time apart gave me time to grow, helped me see what had gone wrong with Gerry, enabled me to really get to know her and make other friends, and gave the shine of new affection time to wear off. If we'd dated immediately, I think I would have made the same mistakes. Charlie wouldn't have let me, of course, but how much damage would we have done to our relationship trying to work through that?"
"Probably a lot," Castiel replied sadly, reflectively, though he knew her question was meant to be rhetorical. She shot him a sympathetic look around a mouthful of noodles. "That's basically what happened with Dean and I. Even though I had all those years in between leaving Naomi and meeting him, I didn't heal. I didn't even try to heal. I didn't realize any healing needed to be done, honestly. I'd internalized that things that went wrong were my fault to such an extent that even when I worked up the nerve to leave her, I took the need to do so as a sign of my own failures. If I'd been a better sub, wouldn't I have stayed? So when Dean and I started our relationship, we had to work through all of that, with the added challenge that I didn't realize I had anything to work through so I couldn't even warn him what my triggers were."
"It all comes down to trust." Gilda's sage words and knowing nod were only slightly ruined by the broth dribbling down her chin.
"Yes, it does."
"I don't think my experiences can inform yours very well, then; I trusted Charlie from the beginning." Castiel nodded absent agreement. There didn't seem to be much mirror between Gilda's relationship with Charlie and his with Dean, beyond that they both started out and learned the life with someone abusive. "The question you have to ask yourself is: do you trust Dean?"
The question hung in the air between them, tension unbroken despite an errant slurp as Castiel drank his soup.
His immediate, instinctual reply was of course I trust Dean. Years of skepticism of his own instincts kept him from saying that, though. Depending on when he'd been asked, he would have sworn he trusted Naomi as well. It had never crossed his mind that she was lying to him, using him, deliberately deceiving him, going out of her way to convince him that he was crazy. Naomi's manipulation of Castiel's schedules and time usage to convince him that only she could teach him to keep his life together was called gaslighting, so Dr. Ellicott had told him.
Dr. Ellicott didn't think that Dean was manipulating Castiel.
Castiel didn't think that Dean was manipulating him.
But what if he was wrong? He'd been wrong before and his misjudgment had proved catastrophic.
The flavorful broth, so enjoyable moments before, tasted like rancid, corrupted water as he took another sip but Castiel forced himself to swallow, grimacing at the bowl.
"Have you seen any coverage of the trial yesterday?" Gilda asked. Startled, Castiel looked up at her uncertainly. "I'd ask if Dean told you about it, but I know him – I'm sure he didn't."
"He didn't," Castiel agreed, "beyond indicating that he thought he'd done poorly, and I didn't look in to it."
"As you know, we were there," said Gilda. She picked at her bowl idly with a pair of chopsticks, finding the last few errant pieces of noodle and bean sprout floating in the broth. "Since you couldn't go, we figured it was the least we could do – same as we did for you last week. Dean was magnificent on the stand, almost as good as you were, and don't let him tell you otherwise. Despite Mr. Wisdom's attempts to discredit him, I doubt there was a single person in the courthouse who didn't leave convinced of two things: that Naomi hurt you as badly as one person can hurt another, and that Dean adores you. And I'm not saying this to pressure you or tell you that you should care about him simply because he cares about you. That's nonsense. You don't owe anything to people who care about you. Reciprocation is something you choose to grant, not something required. I'm just…I'm not sure, sorry, I know I had a point…" She trailed off, chewing at her lip, stirring bubbles of fat around the top of her pho.
"I know he loves me," replied Castiel softly, pushing his bowl towards the center of the table to show that he was done with it. "And I love him." A warm feeling blossomed against a tightness in Castiel's chest that he hadn't even noticed forming. "Trust isn't the same thing as love. I'm scared, Gilda. I'm always scared. That's Naomi's legacy, I guess. Dean isn't Naomi. I've never doubted him, that's not the issue. I never doubted Naomi, either, though now I see her for what she is. There's this voice in my head that never stops, pointing out every flaw in my logic, every flaw in me. My doubt in myself is at the root of all these problems. And I'm working on it. I'm on meds now. They help. Being with Dean also helps. Talking to Dr. Ellicott helps. Speaking with you and Charlie helps. But nothing cures it. There is no cure. When old fears are laid to rest, new ones arise – what if Dean grows impatient with me or decides I'm too damaged? What if we lose the trial? And when that's settled, I'm sure some new concern will arise that seems just as dire, regardless of how severe it actually is. It never ends."
"Dean told the courtroom that the most difficult thing about being in a relationship with you was how crippling your self-doubt was," Gilda said. "It was a deliberate connection things you'd said, things your therapist had said – it's a pity you guys called Alastair, Fitzgerald is one hell of a lawyer, he didn't need the help – and with Dean they brought it all together, made it clear that Naomi was at the root of your issues. It'd seemed weird to me, ending the prosecution's case with Dean – not that I know much about these things – but after sitting in the courthouse yesterday, it made sense. There was a whole timeline to Fitzgerald's presentation: showing how Naomi was your past, how that hurt you and damaged you, how her behavior was flagrant abuse beyond the bounds of an acceptable relationship regardless of what contracts you signed, and he capped the presentation off by contrasting her behavior with Dean's, made it clear that Dean was your future. The questioning painted a picture for the jurors: what an unhealthy BDSM relationship looked like, contrasted with what a healthy one looked like. But – and this was my original point, now I remember – in the end it's up to you. Based on my own experience, my own relationships, my own exposure to BDSM in many forms, my own familiarity with Dean…what you've got now is good. However, you don't have to know yet. You don't ever have to know."
"I think I know," Castiel confessed. "I want to ask Dean to marry me." Fear clamped around his chest again, his happy affection for Dean struggling against the clench of self-condemnation. Gilda snorted a startled noise. "But what if Dean—"
"No!" she cut him off sharply. With an effort of will, he looked up, met her clear brown eyes. "Don't do that to yourself, Castiel. You know what you want, right?"
"…I think I do…"
"Just as you don't owe Dean anything, he doesn't owe you anything," Gilda said. "He is your dom but he doesn't control you, and you're his sub but that doesn't mean he has relinquished the choice to end things if he must. You know what you want," she repeated with emphasis. "That's the hardest part, and you've got it. All you can do now is tell him, clearly, just as you do when you're planning scenes before executing them. The sex part has always been easy for you, hasn't it? It's this emotional stuff you struggle with. Asking Dean to tie you up, cut you, whip you, that's a no-brainer. Asking him to do those things even though he cares about you, asking him to do those things because he cares about you – that's what's hard. Well, Cas, all you can do is ask. Dean trusts you to express your limits, to say what you want and don't want. You have to trust him to share how he feels."
Castiel blinked.
Just like having sex last night after the scene.
The tight feeling around his chest vanished.
When Castiel had arrived in Dallas, Dean had yet been distant. Despite everything they'd talked about, everything they'd done together, Dean had never told Castiel about Alastair, never revealed his hurts, had never expressed affection for Castiel outside of the praise he heaped on Castiel during scenes. Praise felt good but it also felt rehearsed, scripted, a part of their sexplay done because Dean got off on saying nice things to him and Castiel got off on being hearing them said. Every word was true from Dean's perspective, Castiel was sure of that, but outside of a scene it was easy to doubt, easy to convince himself that Dean only thought Castiel perfect when he was obedient. Even their months as boyfriends hadn't dissipated that worry. They'd gotten to know each other, shared midnight Skype calls, watched movies together, talked about their days and their lives and their hopes and aspirations, but emotional intimacy had eluded them.
Over the past week and a half, that final barrier had crumbled.
Over the past week and a half, Dean had told Castiel about Alastair, told Castiel about his family, made it clear that should Castiel ask, Dean wouldn't hold back from him any longer. Dean had told Castiel that he loved him.
Over the past week and a half, Castiel had finally learned Dean well enough to trust him without reservation. Dean had finally learned Castiel well enough to trust him without reservation.
"Gilda," Castiel asked, confidence restored, demons quieted. "Would you go ring shopping with me?"
"Now?" The word came out rich and warm through Gilda's toothy smile. The waitress negligently tossed their bill on the table without a word.
"If you have the time…"
"Do you mind if we wait a little?" Disappointment settled on Castiel's shoulders. He wanted to do this now. He didn't want to wait. He wanted… "I'm just gonna call Charlie to come join us. She'll kill me if she misses the chance to influence this decision." Gilda reached for her cell phone and the disappointment vanished as if it had never been.
Castiel was really going to do this.
Love coursed hot through his veins, no arousal, only affection and care and trust and security. Dean was gorgeous, but he was so much more than that. He was a beautiful person, with a handsome personality, a lovely work ethic, a charming sense of humor, a stunning faith in the people around him. He was brusque and aggressive and sometimes spoke before he thought; he was kind and generous and self-sacrificing and humble.
More than once, Castiel had said he was in love with Naomi, believed himself in love with Naomi, but he'd never felt anything like this. Dean wasn't Naomi, and Castiel wasn't the same person he'd been when he was with Naomi. They'd each come a long way, alone and together, and Castiel marveled to think how much more they might grow in the years to come. He wanted to do that, wanted to see Dean do that, wanted Dean to influence how Castiel changed and to be able to influence how Dean changed. He had never wanted anything more. If Dean wanted the same, they'd be able to have it together.
As expected, a new fear immediately replaced the ones so recently dissipated. Of course I trust Dean, but what if he doesn't feel the same, what if he doesn't love me the way I love him? What if he sees me as "for now," while I see him as forever?
"I was thinking something titanium," Castiel said as Gilda finished texting and set her phone aside. Reaching into his pocket, Castiel pulled out his wallet, withdrew a credit card, and placed it with the bill on the edge of the table. "Nothing fancy. I think he'd like something simple better. And I want to get the inner band engraved."
"Oh?" There was a mischievous twinkle in Gilda's eye. "What do you want it to say?"
Castiel broke into a wide smile. "Well…"
Endnote: I expect it'll be about a week before the next chapter - Thursday or Friday. Thanks for your patience, everyone.