So, I thought for a while about what fic to put up today, and I was going to do 'the bird story as planned' but my roommate said I should put up more smut So, here is part one of...well, light bondage is now a theme :P Sorry if this came off as bad or silly.

Also, for BHJ, and her thing for sweater vests

Don't forget to look for 'Ink – By Sarah Goodwin' on the amazon kindle store, and on

Dean had thought long and hard about what to give Castiel for Christmas.

He knew it wasn't really about Christmas, it was a lot more important than that. But 'Christmas' was a better reason than, 'because I thought I'd lost you, again. And you came back, and I don't know how to get back to normal after you went crazy and killed a bunch of people'.

Castiel had been God. There was no coming back from that. He'd also been dead, and well, whilst pretty much everyone of Dean's acquaintance had come back from that at some point or another, Cas included, this last resurrection had been such an outside chance that Dean had made his peace with the angel's death.

Getting him back had been a miracle, and Dean didn't toss that word around a lot.

But it had been. Cas had literally woken from the dead – three days after Dean came back to his hotel room to find the naked ex-angel tucked up in his bed, unconscious and as neat and tidy as if his mother had just brushed his hair.

A gift in itself.

Now though, now things were strained. Castiel couldn't look him in the eye after trying to dominate him (and everyone else on the planet) and Dean couldn't think of any way to broach the silence that had surrounded the dark heart of Castiel since the war in heaven.

It was too much, too bad, to recover from.

But Dean was trying goddamn it.

It would be easier if, like Sam, he could call Castiel a friend. But, for all that he was friendly, he could never call Castiel just his friend. It was a realisation several years in the works, and each time he'd had to redefine exactly what Castiel was to him, Dean had gone just a little bit more out of his depth.

And, when he realised what he had to give Castiel, more than that, what he wanted to give Castiel – it cracked any illusions on his part as to how he saw the ex-angel.

There was a lot between them, and in the past few years, the gratitude and camaraderie of those early, apocalyptic times had undeniably grown darker. Castiel had lied to him, Dean had torn Castiel down and berated him for a year, Castiel had made deals with demons, and so had Dean. They had grown distant, and desperate, and Castiel's final move on Purgatory had hurt Dean deeply – as it was a denial of the bond he'd thought they'd shared.

And then, the dark days of Castiel's divinity had come to pass.

And then his death.

As Dean enters the hotel room, eyes finding Castiel reading on the bed, he wonders what it must have been like – to have all that power, to want all that power, and then to lose it. To become worthless in your own eyes – weak and barely tolerated.

"Cas?" He says, and he's nervous, despite himself.

Castiel looks up, not meeting his eyes as usual.

"You're back." He says quietly, like he expected Dean to leave him for good.

"'Course I am." Dean fidgets.

Cas' eyes take in the beige fabric wrapped around Dean and confusion overtakes his features.

"Why are you wearing that?"

Dean looks down at the trench coat that he'd borrowed. He hoped that he was absolutely ready for this.

"I needed..." His mouth dries up. "I wanted to..."

Castiel senses that a serious conversation is about to occur.

"Please don't make me talk about it." He asks quietly. "Dean...I was wrong, I was...bad...and I want to forget, to make amends...please don't..."

"You liked it." Dean says.

Castiel's eyes find his this time, surprised and appalled.

"No...I..."

"You liked, being powerful...being in control." Dean swallows. "Because...being an angel, you didn't have much power, even over yourself...and I...was an ass...and you liked...teaching me a lesson."

Castiel shakes his head mutely, but his cheeks are growing redder.

"That's ok you know." Dean tells him quietly. "I mean, people feel like that a lot – and maybe you did a lot of bad stuff, when you were that powerful – but that doesn't mean that everything you felt, when you were...God...was bad."

"I was a monster." Castiel says quietly. "I can never be allowed to be like that again."

"What if I let you?" Dean can feel the heat in his body now, and he wonders how much of this is for Cas...and how much is for him. For the deeply ingrained need for someone to have that kind of power over him. The do or die command. "What if...I let you take control...and then after, I take it right back...safe, consensual...private."

"What are you..."

Dean undoes the trench coat, nervous fingers finding the belt awkward. Still, as he opens the coat, slides the fabric from his shoulders, his arms, and drops it to the floor, he feels sure. Castiel's expression only proves that he was right, a potent, predatory mixture of desire, authority and astounded affection.

Dean tucks his hands into the pockets of the uniform pants, feeling the slightly too tight school sweater vest pull across his chest. His heart beats hard under the catholic school crest on his blazer.

"Hello Sir."