Dean stared at the spot Castiel had occupied mere moments before. He shook his head and let his smirk fade. The poor angel was probably embarrassed, aroused and confused. Dean hadn't missed Cas' expression of patented, angelic ignorance when he'd mentioned Cas should take care of his erection 'on his own time'. Castiel could raise Dean from the dead, defeat armies of demons, fly and do other angelic shit. Yet, when it came to basic human (which Cas kind of was now) needs, the man-angel was completely clueless. Dean would laugh if he wasn't concerned for Cas' health. The last thing Dean wanted was for Cas to be crotchety and uptight like Sam because he wasn't cleaning the pipes often enough.

He tossed the pen on the table and went to flop on the bed. The sasquatch would be back soon enough and they could talk demon knife logistics then. Until that point, Dean fully intended to log some time on the boob tube and down a nice, cold beer.

The motley trio spent the next few days discussing the demon knife. Cas seemed intent upon ignoring his embarrassment the previous day, though Dean doubted he could add to his awkwardness if he tried. But as the days passed, Dean began to notice an interesting change in Castiel. Every time the hunter picked up a pen—hell, anytime Cas went near a pen—the angel sort of seized up, like a string pulled taut. It first happened when Dean was jotting down Sam's order for takeout. It happened again when he grabbed a pen to scribble a list of stuff he needed to buy for the Impala. Noticing a pattern, Dean soon found excessive reasons to fiddle with pens and write shit down. He scribbled song lyrics, doodled, defaced and wrote on every available surface whenever Cas was around. Every time he touched a pen, the angel froze. His eyes went wide, pupils growing, and his lips parted ever so slightly, as if he was trying to calm his breathing.

Dean knew that face. Hardly a stranger to sex and the facial expressions that came with it, he knew the sensations plaguing Cas were of the coital nature.

Sure enough, the angel had a pen fetish.

Dean was having too much fun to let it go. The kinky side of him enjoyed tormenting Cas. He loved watching the small expressions that flickered across Cas' face. Lust, hunger, embarrassment, frustration, innocent confusion; Dean loved them all. Pens became a common accessory for him. He chewed on them, sucking on the caps and rolling the body between his lips. He twirled them between his fingers. He tortured the angel. All the while he watched with an innocent expression. He wanted to drive the angel crazy. He wanted to force him to that jagged cliff edge and watch as Cas finally took the flailing leap, dragging them both into the hot, sweaty abyss below.

Dean wanted to see what Cas looked like when debauched and thrusting himself into sins of the flesh as the last of his angelic innocence splintered into nothingness.

Maybe Dean had some kinks of his own. But that was hardly the point.

The entire ordeal came to a head a mere three days after Dean discovered Castiel's pen kink. Dean was doing his damndest to shatter the angel. That particular afternoon, Sam was out and Dean sat at the motel table, trusty pen between his fingers. Cas sat on the bed, pretending to watch TV. The hunter knew Cas' eyes were on him. He could feel the heat of the other man's gaze like the fire of an oven. He knew Cas' eyes would be wide, owlish and hungry as he stared at Dean with blown pupils and the heavy heat of lust curling in his gut.

The hunter continued his charade. He had a piece of paper before him and occasionally scribbled a random line from Kashmir. The writing wasn't the point. He brought the pen to his lips, tapping the tip against his bottom lip. He let it rest for a moment, settling it in the small dip there. His tongue darted out and pressed against the tip of the pen, swirling around it for a moment before retreating. He scribbled more nonsense. Again the pen returned to his mouth and Dean licked, nibbled and sucked on the pen like a porn star. The writing utensil would have felt shame if it could. In his periphery, Dean could see Cas was absolutely frozen. The angel's back was stiff as a board. Seemingly innocent, Dean continued his ministrations on the pen and waited with baited breath.

Castiel appeared behind him. Dean hid his smile and jotted another note. He was pretty sure he hadn't written English. At this point, he was beyond words. Anticipation bubbled in his chest and arousal snaked through his veins. He forced himself to play dumb.

He turned to the angel. "Need something, Cas?"

In a rush, Dean found himself thrown from the chair and pinned to the ground. Castiel loomed over him, his eyes more animal than human or angel. His lips were pink, no doubt he had been licking them raw in anticipation. A strong fist pinned Dean's hand—the one holding the pen—above his head. Their heated breath mingled between them and added to the electric charge dancing across their skin where they touched. Cas' expression was one of wild abandon, a man seized by such powerful lust there was hardly a shade of Castiel left in him.

A thrill rushed through Dean.

"You have been doing this on purpose," Castiel hissed. His tone was heavy, thick with lust and promises of equal punishment and pleasure to come.

"And if I have?" Dean asked. Castiel seemed to be lost, beyond words. Dean scraped his fingernails down the man's scruffy jaw. He rolled his hips against Cas', feeling heat pool in his belly. "What are you going to do about it, Cas? Huh?"

Fiery blue eyes met green ones. Dean pressed his lips to Castiel's in a sloppy, heated, open-mouthed kiss. The angel reciprocated for a moment and suddenly bit down on Dean's lip, hard enough to draw blood. He drew back and found Dean's ear.

"Punishment is warranted," the angel growled.

Dean was on his feet before he could blink. They stood outside the motel, in the alleyway behind it. Castiel pressed Dean against the dirty wall behind him. The angel invaded his space, giving him no room to move, breathe or think. Castiel was everywhere. His hand slid between them and came to rest at Dean's throat, squeezing. Dean gasped, lips parting and Cas dove in for a brutal kiss. A lashing of tongue and teeth, it expressed control as much as lust. Dean lost himself in the moment, reveling in the feeling of this new Cas he had uncovered. He tried to bury his hands in the angel's hair, but Cas pinned his hands against the wall. The rough brick dug into his shoulders through his t-shirt and the cold pressed in against his sides, but he didn't care. He rolled his hips forward, searching for friction and wanting to feel more of Castiel.

In an instant, Cas' hand had left his throat and locked onto his hip. His fingers dug in painfully and Dean could feel a bruise forming.

"On your knees," the angel demanded.

Dean obeyed. Cas unzipped his slacks. With a hand at the back of Dean's head, he guided him forward. Dean took Cas' cock into his mouth. It was deliciously bigger, warmer and harder than the stupid pen Dean had been tormenting Cas with. He began to suck, tongue and jaw working overtime to compensate for the angel's bulk. Cas' fingers dug into Dean's scalp and the hunter let loose a guttural moan. His jaw ached and the dampness from the ground was sinking into his jeans, but he didn't care. Full lips stretched wide, saliva ran down his jaw as he bobbed. With a strangled cry, Castiel came in a heady rush. Dean swallowed him down greedily, licking kittenishly at the tip as Cas pulled away. He dragged Dean upward and pulled him forward for a slow, languid kiss.

Dean lost himself in the slow sensuality of the kiss, the domineering nature of Cas' tongue as he plundered Dean's mouth like he owned it. The angel drew back. His hand found its place at the hollow of Dean's throat. His thumb circled the small dip between the hunter's collarbones. In a flash, it slid upward, resting over Dean's windpipe. Dean felt the familiar painful pressure and it sent a thrill of danger shooting up his spine like a shock. His eyes were glued to Cas'.

"Good boy," Cas murmured. He pressed harder on Dean's throat. "Come for me. Now."

Dean obeyed.