Dean is aggressive at first, licking his way into the angel's eager mouth and grinding his hips forward. But he eases off quickly and his hands relax, smoothing over Cas's messy hair and heated skin. His kiss softens and deepens and he makes a satisfied noise as he feels Cas melt against him, moaning weakly and practically dangling from the handcuffs. He ponders smugly whether his angel was this helpless when that reaper bitch April touched him. Doubtful.
The thought irks him, though, and he breaks away from the kiss, keeping his hands on Cas. He stares at the angel, who is almost panting, head drooping forward and eyes still closed, lashes dark against his flushed cheeks. His lips are even more pink and swollen than usual. His hair, usually in some semblance of order, is a tousled mess, dark locks flopping forward over his forehead.
Not for the first time since becoming a demon, Dean wonders how the hell he managed to keep his hands to himself when he was human. Sure, he had enormous hang ups about his sexuality, but looking at Cas now he can't imagine denying himself something so sinfully delicious... an actual innocent angel, ripe for corruption. He shrugs. It's not a problem now, and he can keep Cas here all night, all to himself, and corrupt him past the point of no return.
"Finally," he says out loud, voice hoarse. Cas looks up at Dean slowly. Eyes hooded, pupils blown, the ocean colour has turned an inky blue-black. Even muddled by lust and roiling with emotion, he manages to muster up a pissed off expression.
"Why..." His voice is barely a crackle and he clears his throat, blinking rapidly. "Why are you doing this?"
He does his trademark squint then, suspicious and confused. Dean snorts with laughter at the idea that Cas thinks he has some kind of evil master plan based around cuffing him to a wall and having his way with him. He untangles his hand from the angel's soft hair and leans his forearm on the wall, keeping his other hand tracing patterns on Cas's bare hip inside his open shirt.
"Because I want to," he explains as though to a particularly slow child. Cas's squint increases, his mouth dropping open as he struggles to process this.
"No," he says eventually, a simple denial of what he's being told. Dean rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. He's already sick of this conversation. He decides that he needs to take charge; Cas can have a self-esteem crisis when Dean's done with him. With this thought in mind, the demon flashes a wicked grin.
"Yes," he assures him in a deep growl, before ducking his head and beginning a trail of hot, biting kisses across the angel's throat and clavicle. Cas groans and tips his head back as Dean sucks greedily at his pulse point. Inhaling the smell of Cas's skin, Dean makes his way down across his chest, laving his tongue across a nipple and hearing stuttered breath above him. Laughing softly against Cas's abdomen, he falls to his knees and begins to undo Cas's belt.
He hears his name, whispered like a prayer, and he slowly drags his eyes up Cas's heaving, bite-marked torso. The angel is staring down at him with a strange mixture of arousal and trepidation. Dean smiles darkly, green eyes shimmering and holding Cas's gaze as he takes off the belt and undoes the zipper. He doesn't break eye contact even as he wraps a sure hand around Cas's stiff cock, and the grin is still somehow there as he licks his leisurely way from base to tip. Dean thinks that he has never enjoyed a facial expression as much as Cas's in that moment; his mouth is hanging open in shock, eyes black with desire but glazed with utter disbelief.
Dean is aware that he should probably take things slow and not overwhelm Cas, but he's a demon, after all. This, as with everything else now, is about him, and he quickly decides that he wants to undo his angel as completely as possible. To that end, he keeps staring right at Cas as he swirls his tongue around the head and then draws the whole thing into his mouth, sucking and pressing and dragging his tongue across the tip. He's had this done on him more times than he can remember, but only recently has he started to explore performing the act himself. Still, he thinks he does a pretty decent job. He has to close his eyes a few times to really put some effort in, but as soon as he opens them he latches onto Cas's ruined gaze again, smirking around his mouthful.
Cas looks close to passing out; he seems unable to blink or look away and that dumbfounded expression is still there, although his chest is heaving and his breath is coming in wrecked gasps and undignified whimpers. Pulling Cas as deep as he can take him, Dean gives a low chuckle. That does it. Cas finally screws his eyes shut, giving a strangled cry and jerking his hips forward.
"Shit," he whispers once he's caught his breath, his voice sounding broken and weak. Dean lets go with a popping sound and grins wolfishly, running both hands firmly up and down the angel's trembling thighs.
"I would hope not," he teases, still licking his lips. Cas opens his eyes, looking concerned.
"No, Dean, I wasn't referring to what you just did. That was... Definitely not shit."
Dean gives a startled, genuine laugh and stands up, smiling into Cas's eyes. Fitting his hands to the angel's jaw, he dips in and presses a firm kiss to his lips. He mumbles against his mouth:
"I'd forgotten what a dipshit you are."
He kisses him again, slow and languorous, enjoying the way that a decent orgasm seems to have lowered the angel's defences. Cas is pliant against him, warm and giving. Dean hums his approval against soft lips then lets go and steps back. He drops his hands to Cas's waist, playing with his shirt and staring idly at the pleasant contours of his chest and stomach.
Cas coughs uncomfortably at the perusal and says in almost a whisper: "Dean... My trousers are still undone."
Dean smirks downwards, clearly unconcerned. "So they are."
The angel shifts against the wall, body tense, frowning heavily. He's not usually very bothered by nudity, but he already feels vulnerable enough like this, at Dean's mercy in every possible way. "Can you do them up?"
Meeting Cas's pleading eyes, Dean snorts and turns away suddenly, walking towards the bed.
"Do them up yourself, Romeo." He snaps his fingers carelessly and the handcuffs are gone. Cas almost slides down the wall, legs barely able to hold his weight. Glaring at Dean's broad back, Cas tugs his pants into place and fumbles for his zipper with numb fingers. Then he leans his head back, breathing hard, shocked and dismayed at how utterly wrecked he feels.
The only time he's ever actually come before was when he was human, and that just made him feel pleasantly tired. He knows that physical reactions are more intense for angels, but when he's at full power he has the strength and control to withstand such overwhelming sensations, like pain and varying temperatures; he assumes that extreme pleasure wouldn't be incapacitating for a normal angel either. But he's weak, surviving on a whisper of ill-fitting grace and rapidly thinning willpower. What Dean's just done has reduced him to a trembling, dizzy mess barely able to stand.
He hates it, hates how much he wanted it, hates how easy it was to forget how wrong it felt, hates how a part of him is rejoicing that becoming a demon appears to have made Dean want him. He's never been selfish where Dean Winchester is concerned and he doesn't want to start now.
Pushing himself upright, Cas watches Dean pour himself another tumbler of scotch from the bottle on the nightstand. His heart aches but his resolve is as firm as ever; he has to save this man, always, no matter what. Glancing up, he sees the angel blade sticking out from the wall. He checks Dean again, but his attention appears to be focused on the drink in his hand. Cas swallows hard and then looks back up at the blade, intending to grab it and attempt something stupid.
The blade is gone.
Cas closes his eyes, gritting his teeth. He slowly looks back to the bed and opens his eyes. Dean is smirking at him, twirling the blade in his fingers the way Cas taught him to years beforehand, the lesson sweetened by endless suppressed smiles and shy, electric brushing of fingers.
"Looking for this?" he asks, amused. Cas sways and leans back against the wall, glaring. Dean snickers and sits back on the bed, swinging his feet up and languishing against the headboard. He jerks his head at the space next to him. Cas doesn't move, splaying his fingers on the wall behind him. Dean's smile vanishes and he points the blade at Cas.
"Get on the bed," he commands in a flat voice. The angel gulps and slowly pushes off from the wall, stumbling over to the bed and crawling up to the indicated spot. Flopping onto his back, Cas closes his eyes and lets out a shaky puff of air. He can feel Dean watching him curiously.
"You're in bad shape, Cas."
Opening his eyes blearily, Cas looks up at the demon beside him, who is taking a sip of whiskey and slowly rotating the tip of the angel blade into the mattress beside him.
"Borrowed grace is running low," Cas explains shortly. Dean raises his eyebrows and then nods as though this is mildly interesting but not of great importance. Cas grits his teeth, remembering all the times that Dean's panicked and fretted over his wellbeing. He wants that man back so badly it's agonising.
"You dying then?"
Cas stares at the ceiling with blank eyes, his breathing steady now. "Yes."
Dean whistles low and knocks back another mouthful of drink. "Damn. What happens to dead angels, Cas?"
Cas doesn't reply. He's not interested in this conversation. His head hurts but otherwise, he's recovering fast physically; he no longer feels shaky or dizzy. At least the grace is still good for something. Dean doesn't seem bothered by his silence. Draining his glass, he sets it back on the bedside table and without any warning, twists and swings his leg over Cas so he's straddling the angel, leaning forward on his left hand, blade still gleaming in his right. Cas freezes and stares up at Dean. His heart rate picks up and his breathing hitches.
"You know, angel," Dean says conversationally, that fucking smirk back again. "I'm real glad you came to visit. Been thinking about you a lot, although that's nothing new."
As he speaks, he casually places the tip of the blade at Cas's throat, amused eyes fixed on the point. Cas's lips are parted and quick, tense breaths are puffing past them. He says nothing, fingers digging into the mattress.
"I don't know how it is for angels," Dean continues, drawing a neat little circle on Cas's Adam's apple. "But for humans, there's a fine fine line between pleasure and pain. As the song says."
He grins into Cas's eyes at this point, and despite himself the angel frowns in confusion. What song? Dean laughs softly, looking back at the blade. He digs it in a little, not enough to cut but enough to hurt, and Cas gasps, eyes flicking to the ceiling. Dean licks his lips as he draws the blade downwards, scraping across the hollow between Cas's collarbones and onto his sternum.
Cas bites his lip, not sure what to feel or think. He's frightened, but at the same time he's pretty confident that Dean won't actually stab him, so the fear is thin and superficial. Something about Dean's intense gaze and the coldness of the metal on his skin is sort of... thrilling, and he's not really in a position to analyse that. His stomach jolts as Dean stares at him and twists the point of the blade into Cas's chest, breaking the skin slightly. Cas hisses in pain and shock, eyes darting to the injury. A tiny flash of grace flickers in the wound but it's gone straight away; the break is too small to do any real damage. A drop of blood beads up, quickly gathering and rolling back towards the angel's neck.
Swooping down, Dean licks up the blood, running his tongue hotly across the smooth skin before sitting back up again. Cas whimpers at the contact and then stares dazedly at the demon above him, disturbed yet fascinated by the action. Dean is breathing a little fast and he blinks slowly at Cas. His eyes turn jet.
Breathing in sharply, Cas gazes into the black eyes, seeing the true demonic visage flicker nightmarishly over the sensual features of his favourite human. His heart is thundering and he feels lightheaded again, although not physically weakened yet. He knows that he should feel disgust and fear yet he licks his lips hungrily as Dean trails the blade down from the small cut, dragging the point just hard enough to leave a white scrape mark on the skin. He stops just above Cas's belly button, liquid black eyes moving across the firm muscles and lips quirking smugly.
"Mine," he barely breathes, tracing out the word across his angel's taut stomach with the point of the blade. Cas's skin jumps and he closes his eyes, making a distressed yet demanding sound in his throat, biting down on his lip. The metal nicking at his skin is a cold, jagged, scratchy sort of discomfort, but Cas feels overheated and to his frustration, he can feel himself getting hard again. He's going mad, he must be.
The blade leaves his skin and a splintering thud near his head makes him jump; Dean must have stabbed the weapon into the bedside table. He opens his eyes in time to see Dean descend upon him, gaze burning green fire again. The demon's mouth clashes with his, fingers carding through his hair and pelvis rocking insistently against his own. Cas makes a noise of what sounds like protest but it's belied by his eager hands, running up Dean's thighs and skimming over his ass. Dean growls against Cas's tongue and, in an impressive feat of maneuvering, he rolls them over whilst also shimmying up into a sitting postion.
Cas follows breathlessly, chasing Dean's mouth and nipping at his lips, quickly becoming lost to desire. He's unaware that he's being tugged upright until he finds himself arranged in Dean's lap, chests pressed together, thighs either side of the demon's hips. Trying to pull back but finding himself held in place, he blushes furiously at the intimate position. When he walked into the room he was a barely even a sexual being, having only partaken in intercourse once and only ever really having lustful thoughts about one man. To find himself spread messily across the lap of that man, touched all over by his hands and eyes, feeling his arousal rub against his thigh... It's overwhelming.
Dean either doesn't notice how Cas is unravelling, or doesn't care. He sucks mercilessly at the angel's throat until it bruises, mumbling approval at the low moans his ministrations produce. His hands are busy undoing Cas's tie and shoving his coat, jacket and shirt off of his shoulders, leaving Cas to wriggle his arms free. Boldly, Dean runs his palms up from Cas's trousers to his shoulders, feeling the texture of the skin. His fingers skitter across Cas's broad chest, rubbing at the hard nipples then ghosting over the sensitive skin on his sides, the movements rough and greedy.
Cas is unaware of the noises he's making as he tugs his arms out of the tangled material behind him. He groans out Dean's name just before his lips are captured in a deep kiss. Head spinning, he allows himself to be kissed rather than kiss back; he's busy trying to fumble Dean's shirt buttons open. He manages it fairly quickly and wrenches the material off of the strong, freckled shoulders. Opening his eyes and pulling back from the kiss, he stares in fascination at the bare chest, licking his lips unconsciously. His blue eyes are once again almost black, the pupils fully blown as he gazes at the old tattoo over one pectoral. Ducking his head down, he presses a kiss to it.
Dean chuckles breathlessly, running one hand through the mess of dark hair, closing his eyes as he feels warm lips upon his skin. Cas settles one hand on Dean's bare waist, fingers digging in to the thick flesh and muscle there. His other hand goes to Dean's left shoulder, unerringly placing itself without hesitation and with startling tenderness over its long-gone imprint. The demon freezes at the touch, at the protectiveness and adoration communicated through the gentle pressure. No.
Wrenching back, he grabs Cas's offending hand from his shoulder. The angel brings his head up to eye level, breathing hard. Dean doesn't want to discuss this. He just wants to feel good. Staring into glazed barely-blue eyes, he pushes Cas's hand down to his stomach and then lower. Cas bites his lip, the action unintentionally arousing, and Dean keeps one hand on Cas's while he uses his other to fumble his own zipper open. Holding Cas's helpless gaze, he pulls Cas to touch him, sinking teeth into his lower lip in a mirror image of the angel. Cas exhales in a rush and slowly looks down, mouth parted and cheeks blazing as he strokes Dean's cock, bumping against Dean's own fingers.
"Look at me," Dean bites out and Cas jerks his head up, startled. He stares at Dean as though hypnotised, feeling rough fingers guide his own movements, surer and firmer and faster by the second. Then Dean is kissing him again, moaning and swearing into his mouth. Their bare chests bump together and Dean snakes his free hand around Cas's waist, fingers splaying against the small of his back to pull him flush against his torso, their hands still moving and sliding between them. Dean's mouth slips wetly down to Cas's neck, latching on as his hips jerk and buck them both. It's hot and slippery and Cas thinks dizzily of the old Impala fantasies, sweat on leather-
"Cas, fuck, oh, fuck..." Dean almost keens into the angel's skin as he comes and Cas gasps at the heat of it on his fingers and stomach. Dean is shaking and limp in his arms, sweat sliding against him and lips damp on his shoulder. Cas kisses the dishevelled brown hair as his mind clears.
The moment should be wonderful, intimate and quiet and close. But Cas is trembling, his throat tight and his eyes burning. It's too close to everything Cas has wanted since he met the hunter, but he can't forget how twisted it is. It's not real and he has to put Dean first. He screws his eyes shut, wanting just a few more seconds of this for himself.
The door slams open.
