The shower spluttered to a stop almost half an hour later, and I smiled to myself. Castiel's groans of satisfaction had been auditory, even from my spot on the sofa where I was reclining with a beer. He emerged a few moments later, a towel – fortunately - around his waist, looking pink and happy.
I cast a wry eye over his body, and nodded approvingly. "You look... Good," I noted. His hair was shining and sleek, and while his skin was still marred with gaping wounds, they were no longer packed with debris, instead looking raw but healthy. He beamed at me, wide and unprompted.
"Thank you, Sir. That was very nice." His voice was stronger now, spurred on by the simple act of self-care, before he hesitated, looking down. "... What would you like me to wear?"
I blinked owlishly. "You can wear what you like, dude." He nodded slowly, turning back toward the bathroom, and I winced at my oversight. "I'll get you something of mine." He'd arrived in nothing but a tattered pair of dress pants, stained by months – years, down here – of abuse; they weren't exactly the sort of thing you wanted to wear fresh out of the shower.
He paused, offering me another melting smile. "Thank you, Sir."
I shook my head once more as I rose, moving past and becoming him into the darkness of my bedroom. "It's just Dean," I murmured, turning to rifle through my drawers and extracting a soft, well-worn tee and a pair of jogging bottoms. I'm not giving an angel of the Lord my underwear, I decided firmly when my hands hesitated. Turning back, I found Castiel close behind me, water beading and running down his chest, a faint steam rising from his skin. Swallowing, I raised my bundle. "Clothes. I'll, um..." Inching around his semi-naked form, I dropped the clothes on my bed before pausing in the door and glancing back.
Castiel had already dropped his towel, his back to me. The macabre mess of his skin continued across his ass, littered with hundreds of long, ugly gashes in a range of stages of healing – whip marks, I noted with detachment. Imprints from a belt were embedded there too, sprinkled across his upper thighs, giving way to something that looked possibly like a burn, peeking from the gap between his legs, turning the skin into a puckered, topographical map of flesh. Castiel's head turned just enough to catch me looking, and an embarrassed flush traveled up my cheeks. "Sorry. I was, uh..."
Words failed me as he pivoted fully, standing unabashed before me. "I'm yours to do as you see fit," he reminded me gently, his words and voice sending a shiver down my spine. "You're more than entitled to look at me as much as you wish."
Part of me wanted to creep from the room, cringing with shame at being caught, but instead I faced him. "I told you, Castiel. I'm not... It's not like that, not here." He didn't respond, but merely raised an eyebrow, glancing at the bed between us. "It's for sleep," I countered, feeling the flush in my face deepen.
"Demons don't typically sleep, Sir."
Despite myself, I had to fight back a smirk at his quick retort. "It's Dean. And you're right, most don't. Bodily functions are a choice, not a requirement. But I intend to stay human – or as close as I can get – for as long as I can. So I sleep. I also eat. I also feel," I added, voice lowering. How could I explain to this celestial creature that I kept my human functions, and all its messy emotions, intact, so that I didn't slip fully into the realm of demons? That the only disconnect I allowed myself was a mortal one – a flimsy disassociation that came back tenfold in my nightmares? He wouldn't understand.
Castiel looked shamed, eyes downcast once more. "I see. I apologize for presuming, Sir."
I shook my head slowly. "I understand. After everything you've been through, why the hell would you trust me?"
A wry, sad chuckle escaped me, and I sighed. "I hope you'll see in time that I have nothing to ask of you, Castiel. Maybe you'll even learn to relax a little."
As if on cue, his shoulders loosened, head rising infinitesimally. "Yes, Sir."
"That wasn't an order," I countered, eyes widening. "You don't have to relax..." Words failed me, and I sighed at the confusion evident on the angel's features. "Hasn't there ever been a time you've just done something? Because you wanted to, not because you've been ordered to?"
His mouth moved silently for a moment, then he shook his head. "Before... This, I was an angel of the Lord. I acted only as ordered. And when I was ordered to obey Crowley instead, I did. So when Crowley ordered me to obey you..." He met my eyes briefly, a weak smile gracing his lips. "Well- If I may be so bold... You're making it mildly difficult to discern what exactly your orders are."
I hesitated, took off guard by his candor. "That's because I don't have any," I replied eventually, struggling to explain such a foreign concept to a creature whose entire life had only ever been obedience.
Wasn't mine the same, once upon a time? I mused, brief snatches of forgotten commands issued by an absent father echoing in my mind. I remembered all too well how it felt to be lost without order, how fear of doing the wrong thing had been almost crippling, and how I'd fallen back into my role as a good soldier the second he came calling, quietly grateful for someone else to be in control once more.
"I think I understand," I admitted softly. Castiel's eyes glowed, and he moved a little closer – reminding me, suddenly and unavoidably, that he was still entirely nude. My eyes drifted to a corner of the room as I continued. "If... If that's what you need, at least for now, I suppose I can... But I won't punish you. I won't ever lay a hand on you, that much I swear," I added, my gaze gravitating back to his at the force of my words. All previous, shameful notions of releasing my anger had gone, replaced only with pity and sympathy.
He nodded slowly, the muscles of his body, tense and defined, beginning to release. "Thank you, Sir," he replied, his voice a grateful whisper. I swallowed around the lump in my throat, and looked away again.
"So... I guess... Get dressed? And then we can talk about what sort of things you do." My mind latched on to the obvious, and yet another flush warmed my cheeks as I exited the room, deeply unnerved and confused by the unlikely situation I'd found myself in.
When Castiel emerged a minute later, I was chewing on a hangnail and staring vacantly into my half-drunk beer. The sound of the bedroom door opening broke me out of my stupor, and I looked up in time to see him step from the room, fingers caressing the fabric encasing his body uncertainly. My clothes were large on his lithe form, cuffs dragging at his heels, and there was something undeniably delicious about it. I coughed, looking away. "Good. You look... Good."
"Thank you, Sir," he replied, moving toward me with enviable grace. I cleared my throat, dislodging the thoughts of taking those clothes back off him, and took another swig of my beer.
"Take a seat," I offered, pausing while he settled himself demurely beside me. "Can I get you anything? Beer, or... Beer?"
This earned me a wry smile and a shy glance. "I think you misunderstand my role here, Sir. It's supposed to be I who fetches things for you."
I laughed a little at that, nodding. "I suppose." Another brief pause, this time while I thought of the best way to approach the topic. "... So, was that the sort of thing you did for Crowley? Fetched him drinks?"
Castiel met my gaze briefly once more, before looking down at his hands in his lap. "The King of Hell doesn't have much need for sustenance," he replied quietly. "My duties were mostly... Of a more intimate nature."
I nodded softly, feeling the flush encroach on my face once more. "Yeah, that… Sounds more like Crowley," I responded, letting out a wry laugh.
"Would you like me to perform similar services for you?"
The question was blunt and straightforward, but I snapped my head back to him in time to see his eyes flick the length of my body, almost considering. Swallowing dryly, I shook my head. "I don't fuck as a transaction, Castiel. The only people I take to bed are as willing participants, not slaves."
He winced at the edge to my words, and looked away once more. "I… Never said I was unwilling," he breathed, his voice almost imperceptible, gaze locked on the ground. "I'm more than willing, in fact. I aim only to please, Sir. In whatever manner you decide."
My jaw clenched of its own accord, logic fighting drive, trying to ignore how very easy it could be - he really would do anything I asked of him at a moment's notice, because he actually wanted to. But then it struck me, and my stomach recoiled, every inch of libido drained from my system.
"Castiel… Have you ever wanted to do those things? Outside of duty?" I added, as he opened his mouth to respond. It closed again slowly, teeth clicking together.
"I… Want to do my duty," he countered uneasily, his brow furrowing a little. "My own desires aren't relevant, Sir."
"Are you kidding?" I snorted, running a hand through my hair. "They're very relevant." I straightened my back, suddenly struck with an idea - one which would either make or break the psyche of this already fragile, damaged creature. "Castiel… I have an order for you."
He practically glowed, dropping his head in his subservient way before glancing up into my eyes, the cerulean depths so delighted and satisfied. "Yes, Sir?"
"You… Are never to obey an order unless it's something you want to do," I breathed. A crease appeared bertween his brows, and I smiled lightly. "I'll give you orders, if that's what you want. But you have to decide whether or not to follow them. Whether it's what you want."
His expression cleared a little, and he nodded, albeit uncertainly. "But… I want to serve."
I shook my head, frustrated by the circular nature of the conversation I found myself in. "But besides that. You said your desires didn't drive you to the actions you performed for Crowley - well, here it's the opposite. You should only obey my orders if they align with your underlying desires and wants. I know it might be hard to figure out at first, and that's ok - we'll take it slowly. Figure out what you like, and what you don't, and work from there."
He nodded again, stronger now. "I understand, Sir."
I let out a short, sharp laugh, both relief and vexation entwined in the sound. "Dean. It's Dean."
He paused, and a pointed canine nipped at his lip thoughtfully. "… I am choosing not to obey that order. Sir," he added, the ghost of a smirk hinted in the dimple of his cheek.
I opened my mouth, stunned, then chuckled, draining the dregs of my drink. "I… Suppose I brought that on myself, right?" I mused, lips pursing in amusement. His eyes danced with humor, something akin to happiness stirring deep in the oceanic glimmering, and I couldn't help but laugh. "Well, how about a beer?"
He smiled shyly, scrambling to his feet. "That… I can do."