Hotter Than Hell
Author's note: This one-shot is a sequel to: Heart-shaped Arrows and Dirty Deeds.
——
Dean Winchester wasn't a subtle man.
He could be, sure—when the job called for it, when someone's life was on the line, when it was demons or angels or some apocalypse round three bullshit—but when it came to seduction?
Subtlety was a waste of time.
So when he said he had a little "revenge" planned for Castiel after the Cupid fiasco the week before, he meant it in the most Dean way possible: loud, smug, and soaked in leather.
He stood in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom, adjusting the ridiculous pair of red devil horns perched on his head. They sat just a little crooked, but it almost made them better—like he was barely trying, which only upped the cocky factor.
The pants were painted on. Low-rise, deep burgundy leather, and so tight they made his ass look criminal and his dick look like a weapon. He'd paired them with nothing but black boots and a pair of red suspenders that hung uselessly off his hips. And the tail—fuck, the tail—swung behind him, absurd and plush and damn hilarious.
Dean grinned at himself in the mirror. He looked ridiculous. And hot.
Exactly the point.
"You want me in costume?" he muttered to himself, grabbing the little black pitchfork from the dresser with a wink. "Fine. Let's see how you like it when I'm the one with wings and horns."
Okay, no wings. But the tail was damn well trying.
He adjusted the front of his pants—mostly because his cock was already half-hard just imagining the look on Cas's face when he walked in. The angel would probably furrow his brow, mutter something like, "You look like a stripper from a 1980s hair metal video," and Dean would love it.
He gave himself one last once-over in the mirror, grinning.
Then padded barefoot across the bunker, boots thudding faintly on the cool tile floor. He didn't knock on the bedroom door. Just opened it and stepped inside like he owned the place.
Because he did. Because they did.
And Castiel was lying on the bed like a fucking dream.
Legs stretched out, back against the headboard, wearing soft black lounge pants and a long-sleeved Henley, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, collar tugged open. His hair was mussed like he'd just run his fingers through it, and a book rested lazily in his lap.
He looked up at Dean.
Paused.
Dean struck a pose—one hip popped, pitchfork resting on his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "Well?"
Another beat of silence.
Then Castiel blinked. Slowly. Deliberately. He closed the book with a quiet snap, set it gently on the nightstand, and stood.
He didn't smirk.
Didn't look amused.
Didn't blush, or look away, or even roll his eyes.
He just stepped forward.
Dean's confidence faltered for the first time in ten minutes. "Cas?"
"You wore that for me," Castiel said. Not a question.
Dean swallowed. His cock twitched. "Damn right I did."
Castiel reached up and—very gently—adjusted the horns on Dean's head.
Dean's mouth went dry. "How's it look?"
Castiel's fingers lingered in his hair. "Dangerous." He paused, voice dipping lower. "And all for me."
Dean swallowed. His cock twitched. "Damn right. After that whole Cupid thing, I figured it was my turn to make you blush."
Castiel's hand slid down the back of Dean's neck. Slow. Possessive.
Dean stiffened.
"And yet," Castiel murmured, voice dipping, "you walked in here already half-hard, hoping I'd fall apart for you."
Dean's breath hitched. "…I mean—"
"Thinking you'd have all the power," Castiel murmured, stepping closer. "That I wouldn't turn this around."
His chest brushed Dean's. His other hand landed on Dean's hip, dragging across the waistband of those obscene leather pants. "Thinking I'd beg again."
"Cas…"
Castiel tilted his head, like he was studying him. "Do you want me to beg, Dean?"
Dean swallowed thickly. "I mean—I wouldn't mind."
Castiel smiled.
Dean suddenly remembered how dangerous angels really were.
"Dressed up like this," he murmured, fingers skimming lower, barely brushing Dean's cock through the leather. "And you thought you were still in charge."
"Uh…"
"You're not."
Dean should've smirked. Said something clever. Taken back the moment.
But then Castiel sank to his knees.
And just like that, every smartass comeback vanished from Dean's brain.
Cas looked up at him, slow and steady, blue eyes burning. "If you want to play, Dean… then let's play."
Dean opened his mouth—and Castiel hooked his fingers into the waistband of his pants.
The suspenders slipped from Dean's hips, pooling to the sides like fallen straps of surrender.
"Wait, I thought I was the one getting revenge here," Dean muttered, trying to stay in control even as his heart hammered.
Cas tugged the pants down just enough to free Dean's cock, the cool air of the room brushing against overheated skin. "You are. This is your revenge, isn't it?"
Dean blinked.
"Your punishment," Cas said, brushing his lips over the tip of Dean's cock. "Is getting everything you want."
Dean let out a soft, stunned exhale.
And Castiel looked up at him, lips curled in that infuriating, devastating little smirk that Dean never saw coming until it was too late.
Then he opened his mouth.
And Dean forgot how to breathe.
Castiel didn't rush. That was what made it worse—or better, depending on who you asked.
Dean would've said worse if his mind was working well enough to form words, but right now, all he could manage was a shallow breath as Castiel's mouth hovered just above the flushed head of his cock, warm air ghosting over sensitive skin.
Dean's hands flexed at his sides. Not quite fisting. Not yet.
"Cas—"
A flicker of something sharp and sweet flashed through Castiel's eyes. "You've been very loud tonight."
Dean opened his mouth to retort, but then Cas's lips finally—finally—closed over the tip.
Soft. Wet. Perfect.
Dean's knees nearly buckled. His hands flew to Castiel's hair, fingers threading through the strands like a lifeline.
Cas didn't go deep—not yet. He just held him there, lips sealed around the head, tongue pressing just underneath, working in slow, deliberate circles. The kind of pressure that said I know what I'm doing. And I'm not even trying yet.
Dean hissed through his teeth, hips twitching despite himself.
Cas's hands came up, bracing on Dean's thighs—firm, immovable, an unspoken command. Stay still.
Dean's breath came short. "Shit, Cas—"
Cas pulled back. A slick pop echoed between them, obscene in the quiet. He looked up, lips already glistening, pupils blown wide.
"You were saying?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.
Dean didn't answer. He couldn't. His cock pulsed in the open air, red and leaking, aching for more.
"I see," Castiel murmured. "That's better."
Then he went back down.
This time, he took more. Dean groaned, the sound ragged, ripped from his throat as Cas sank lower, his mouth a slow, tight glide around his cock. The warmth, the pressure, the sheer control—it was enough to make Dean's legs tremble.
Cas set a rhythm, one Dean wasn't ready for.
Not fast. Not frantic.
Just deep. Measured. Devastating.
Dean's hands tightened in his hair, but Cas didn't stop. He just let Dean guide—not control, never control—and moved with that same calm certainty, dragging his mouth back until just the head remained in his lips, then swallowing him again in one fluid motion.
Dean's head tipped back, a groan vibrating in his chest. "Fuck—Cas—"
Cas hummed around him. The vibration lit up every nerve in Dean's spine.
"You're gonna kill me," Dean muttered, breathless.
Cas pulled back slowly, tongue flicking at the slit on his way up, until he released him with another slick sound.
"I haven't even started yet," he said.
Dean looked down at him, dazed. Wrecked. Already too far gone, and Cas had barely used his hands.
"You like this?" Cas asked softly. "Being on display like this?"
Dean's jaw clenched, but he nodded. The truth hit too hard to deny. "Yeah."
Cas tilted his head, voice low and thoughtful. "That's good. I want you to like it."
Then he bent down and dragged his tongue from the base of Dean's cock all the way to the tip.
Dean swore he saw stars. "Jesus Christ—"
"No," Cas corrected calmly. "Just me."
Dean let out a shaky laugh, but it turned into a gasp when Cas took him deep again—deeper than before.
All the way to the back of his throat.
Dean's hands clenched, hips twitching forward, but Cas didn't pull back. He held there, lips sealed tight, throat working around him.
Dean groaned—long, rough, broken. "Fuck—fuck—Cas, you can't—"
He didn't get to finish.
Cas pulled off slow, leaving Dean's cock glistening and aching, spit clinging to the head like a promise.
Then, with zero warning, he leaned in and spat on it.
Dean's legs gave out. He caught himself on the dresser behind him, barely managing to stay upright, heart hammering in his chest.
"Okay," he panted, "okay, I see how it is."
Cas looked up at him, eyes dark with amusement. "Do you?"
Dean exhaled hard, sweat beading at his temples. "Yeah. I underestimated you."
Cas leaned in, mouthing along the base of Dean's cock, kissing and licking, teasing with maddening slowness. "You did."
Dean gritted his teeth. "You're a fucking menace, you know that?"
Cas's lips curled. "And you like it."
Dean didn't argue. What was the point?
Cas took him again, setting a new rhythm—this one faster, wetter, intentional.
Dean's knees trembled, head falling back against the wall. Every pass of Cas's mouth was calculated, just enough to make his thighs shake, just enough to push him right there without letting him fall over the edge.
Dean's breath came in harsh gasps now. "Cas—I swear—I'm gonna—"
Cas stopped.
Dean nearly sobbed.
"I said," Cas murmured, standing slowly, "I haven't started yet."
Cas licked his lips, tasting Dean's slick across his mouth. Then he leaned in, pressing their foreheads together.
"Bed," he whispered.
Dean blinked. "What?"
"Lie down."
Dean hesitated.
Cas arched a brow.
And Dean obeyed.
The moment his back hit the mattress, Castiel was on him again—but not with desperation. With intent. He climbed over Dean slowly, straddling his hips, pressing down just enough that Dean could feel the heat of his body through the thin cotton of his lounge pants.
Dean reached up, but Cas caught his wrists.
Pushed them down against the bed.
Held him there.
His grip wasn't rough. Just… immovable.
Dean stared up at him, breathing hard. "Cas—what are you—"
Cas dipped his head, licking a slow, wet stripe up the side of Dean's throat. "That little outfit was meant to make me lose it, wasn't it?"
Dean swallowed. "Yeah."
"You wanted me to come undone."
"Yeah."
"But here you are." Cas's voice was velvet now. Laced with heat and menace. "Hard. Gasping. Desperate."
Dean groaned.
"And I haven't even taken off my clothes."
That earned a full-body shiver.
Dean tried to buck his hips, but Cas pinned him easily, grinding down in response.
Dean choked on a moan.
"You're lucky I don't make you come like this," Cas whispered. "With me still fully dressed. You, naked and begging. Not allowed to touch. Just feeling me."
Dean's hips rolled helplessly.
Cas let go of his wrists. "Touch me, then," Cas said. "If you're so desperate."
Dean didn't need to be told twice.
His hands flew to Cas's waist, dragging at the hem of the Henley, pushing it up. Skin. Warm, taut, flushed. He palmed up his chest, fingers brushing against hard nipples, and Cas shuddered.
Dean smirked. "There you are."
Cas didn't answer. Just leaned in and kissed him—hot, slow, punishing.
Dean gasped into his mouth as Cas shifted, grinding down again.
The friction was unbearable.
Dean tried to flip them—just once, just to see if he could—but Cas anticipated it.
He rolled his hips down hard, catching Dean's cock between them in a blinding spark of pleasure that left Dean breathless.
"No," Cas said, voice low and absolute. "You're staying right here."
Dean was shaking, fingers trembling where they gripped Castiel's waist. It wasn't fear. It wasn't just lust. It was being overwhelmed—completely, reverently undone.
Cas hadn't even taken his clothes off. Hadn't even undressed Dean fully, really—just those painted-on pants shoved halfway down his thighs, his boots still on, one sock tugged halfway off. He looked wrecked, halfway through dressing and undressing at once, while Castiel hovered above him, calm and fucking divine.
"Look at you," Cas murmured, voice like dark honey as he leaned back down.
He dragged his fingers across Dean's chest, thumbs brushing his nipples, smiling when Dean jolted.
"So reactive."
Dean let out a shaky breath. "What—what are you doing to me?"
Cas tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Nothing you didn't want."
Then he kissed him again—slow, consuming, just a press of lips and breath that stole Dean's air and gave it back with heat.
When he pulled back, Dean chased it, lips parted, dazed.
Castiel slid down the length of him again.
Deliberate.
Dean's heart stuttered. He knew what was coming. And he was not ready.
Cas settled between Dean's thighs like he was settling into church pews—reverent, slow, practiced. He didn't look up. He didn't need to. His hands pushed Dean's thighs apart wider, leaving him open, exposed.
"You thought dressing up would fluster me," Cas said softly.
Dean's fingers curled in the sheets. "It was supposed to."
Cas huffed a quiet laugh. "It did."
Dean looked down at him, surprised.
Cas's mouth curved slightly. "But not in the way you hoped."
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the crease where Dean's thigh met his hip.
Then another.
Then another, lower.
Dean hissed, breath catching.
"I wasn't flustered because I was embarrassed," Cas said, tongue flicking out to taste a bead of sweat off his skin. "I was flustered because I knew exactly what I was going to do to you."
Dean's hips jerked.
Cas's hands moved to his thighs again, holding them open. Not roughly. Just firmly enough to say: don't even think about closing these.
Then he bent forward.
Dean gasped as Cas licked up the side of his cock—one slow, broad stroke from base to tip that left him shaking.
"Cas—"
"Shh." Cas nuzzled his cock. "I'm not done."
Dean groaned as Cas opened his mouth again.
But this time, he didn't ease in gently. No slow tease.
Cas took him deep.
So deep that Dean's vision blurred. His entire spine arched off the bed. He shouted—he moaned—the sound ripped raw from his throat as Cas swallowed around him, hot and tight and fucking obscene.
"Jesus fuck, Cas—"
Cas didn't pull back. He sucked hard, then swallowed again, throat tightening around the thick length in his mouth.
Dean's hands flew to his head. Not to stop him. Just to hold on.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but survive the way Cas's mouth worked him—hot, ruthless, holy.
And Cas knew it.
He pulled back just far enough to let Dean feel every inch dragging along his tongue—slow, torturous—then plunged back down, until his nose brushed the hair at the base of Dean's cock and Dean whimpered.
Castiel moaned around him.
Dean twitched, whole body jerking. His toes curled inside his boots. His fingers tugged Cas's hair, but not to guide. Not to dominate.
Just to beg.
"God, Cas, you're—fuck, you're not playing fair—"
Cas pulled off slowly, the parting of lips dragging in a way that made Dean twitch.
His lips were swollen. His chin slick with spit. His eyes glowed.
"Fair?" he said, low and mocking. "You thought this was supposed to be fair?"
Dean blinked, dazed.
Cas smirked. "You came in here in leather pants and horns, Dean. You were begging to be ruined."
Dean groaned, tossing his head back against the mattress.
Cas didn't wait. He licked a stripe up Dean's cock again, then let just the head slide into his mouth. He sucked—deep, focused—and his fingers drifted down, wrapping around the base in a slow, twisting grip.
Dean choked.
"Cas—oh fuck, I can't—I'm gonna—"
Cas pulled off immediately.
Dean screamed. Almost. "What the hell, man—!"
Cas raised a brow. "Did I say you could come?"
"No," he ground out.
Cas leaned in, licking over the tip again, featherlight. "Then be good."
Dean bit his lip hard enough to feel it sting.
Cas didn't move for a second. Just knelt there between Dean's thighs, staring at his cock like it was something he'd summoned—something powerful and sacred.
Dean watched the way his eyes darkened.
The way his chest rose and fell.
And then—hell, then—Cas did something Dean wasn't ready for.
Another slow trail of spit landed on Dean's cock—slick, obscene, deliberate.
Dean's hips jerked.
Cas used his hand to spread it, twisting around the head, working it in slow circles with his thumb as Dean swore violently into the sheets.
"Please," Dean gasped, "please, I need—"
"Shh."
Cas leaned down again. Took him deeper than before. And stayed there.
Dean's eyes rolled back. His mouth fell open, soundless, as Cas swallowed around him over and over again, throat working like it was made for him.
The heat. The slickness. The control.
It was too much.
"Cas—please, I'm gonna—I can't—"
Cas pulled off again.
Dean nearly sobbed.
"Say it," Cas whispered.
Dean blinked, confused.
Cas dragged his fingers slowly up Dean's shaft, thumb smearing slick across the head. "Tell me who you belong to."
Dean groaned, half-laughing, half-dying. "You're such a fucking tease."
Cas just looked at him.
Waiting.
Dean swallowed hard. His whole body trembled with tension, with denial, with desperate, blinding need.
"You," he said.
Cas's brows arched. "That's not a sentence."
Dean hissed between his teeth. "I belong to you."
Cas smiled.
Dean's cock twitched in his hand.
"And don't you forget it," Cas whispered.
Then he opened his mouth again.
And Dean's breath stuttered.
Cas didn't go slow this time. He worked Dean.
Rhythm sharp, wet, and relentless.
His mouth was everywhere—down his shaft, over his head, back to the base, licking, sucking, kissing. Every movement was controlled, designed to push Dean to the very brink and keep him there.
Dean couldn't think. Couldn't move. He was sprawled across the bed like a man unmade.
He felt his orgasm building fast, blinding, violent.
"Cas—Cas—please—let me—"
Cas pulled off one more time.
Dean cried out.
"Do you want to come?" Cas asked.
Dean growled, "Are you fucking kidding me—yes—"
Cas smirked. "Not yet."
Dean nearly lost his mind.
The next thing he knew, Cas was crawling back up his body, kissing a wet trail across his chest, over his throat, until he reached his mouth.
Dean opened willingly. Their mouths met, tongues tangling, slick with spit and precome and breathless need.
Cas kissed him slow. Filthy. Possessive.
"You taste so good," Cas murmured.
Dean moaned into him. "You're evil."
"I'm your angel," Cas corrected, smirking against his lips.
Dean groaned. "You're gonna kill me."
Cas rocked his hips down, grinding against Dean's cock with maddening precision. "Not yet."
Dean was shaking.
Not from fear. Not even from the threat of orgasm, though that sat like a coiled wire under his skin. No, this was something else.
This was what it felt like to be laid open—every smart remark, every cocky grin, every illusion of control stripped from him like another piece of clothing he hadn't realized he was wearing.
Castiel knelt over him like he was studying him—like he was a holy text Dean didn't know he'd written.
Dean's cock was swollen, flushed red, twitching against the air, so wet it hurt. Cas hadn't touched it in minutes, and that absence was a presence all its own—like gravity. Like prayer.
"Look at you," Cas murmured, palm flat on Dean's chest. "You're so easy to read like this."
Dean tried to swallow. Failed. "Cas…"
"You get so quiet," Castiel said, dragging his thumb in a slow, reverent circle just over Dean's sternum. "So still."
"I'm trying not to come," Dean said, breathless.
Cas's eyes gleamed. "Good."
He leaned in again, brushing their lips together. Not a kiss—just a contact point. A tease. The promise of connection withheld.
Dean groaned and arched up, trying to capture it, but Cas pulled back just enough.
"Please," Dean whispered. "I need…"
Cas tilted his head. "What do you need?"
Dean's jaw clenched.
Cas smiled—soft, devastating. "Say it."
Dean shuddered. "I need you."
"You have me."
Cas's hand slipped lower, back to Dean's thigh, gripping him hard. He didn't touch his cock—didn't even brush it—but the closeness made Dean's whole body tense.
"I want to make you come," Cas said, voice like velvet and gravel at once. "But not yet."
Dean groaned, loud and helpless. "You're killing me."
"No," Cas whispered, leaning close again. "I'm giving you exactly what you asked for."
He kissed Dean again, soft and slow, but Dean was done with soft. He kissed back like a man drowning, groaning into Cas's mouth, desperate for contact, for friction, for anything.
Cas let him—for a second.
Then he pulled away.
Dean tried to chase him again, but Cas grabbed his jaw, fingers firm, forcing Dean to look him in the eyes.
"You do not set the pace tonight," he said.
Dean froze, breath catching in his throat.
"You wore that costume to provoke me," Cas continued. "To get a reaction. To see if I'd lose control."
Dean's eyes flickered. "Maybe."
Cas smiled. "But the thing you still don't understand," he murmured, "is that giving you what you want is the most powerful thing I can do."
Dean's cock twitched.
Cas noticed.
He always noticed.
Cas moved again, this time shifting lower—back between Dean's legs, back into his space. He settled there, hands braced on Dean's thighs, and just looked at him.
Dean didn't dare move.
"You've always had power," Cas said. "The kind that lights a room up. That commands attention. You burn with it. You carry it in every step."
Dean panted through gritted teeth. "Cas—what are you—"
"I love that about you."
Cas leaned down, lips brushing the inside of Dean's thigh, just above the crease.
"But power doesn't always look like that."
He licked a stripe along the inside of Dean's leg.
Dean bucked involuntarily.
"Sometimes," Cas murmured, "it looks like surrender."
And then he did it again—kissed him there, just to the side of his aching cock, ignoring it like it wasn't screaming for attention.
Dean sobbed through a groan.
Cas moved to the other thigh. Kissed there, too. Slow. Deliberate.
Dean's hands clutched the sheets like they might keep him tethered to the bed.
Cas licked up the other side of Dean's shaft but still didn't touch it directly. His breath, his presence—everything burned.
Dean was losing it.
And Cas knew it.
"You're beautiful like this," Cas said.
Dean growled. "You're a fucking menace."
Cas chuckled, dragging his tongue up the center of Dean's cock in one excruciatingly slow stroke.
Dean's head thudded back against the mattress.
"You say that like it's a complaint."
"I'll show you a complaint," Dean muttered, hips twitching upward.
Cas stilled. "Dean."
Dean froze.
Cas's gaze flicked up. "Stay still."
Dean swallowed. Nodded.
Cas rewarded him with a kiss—on the head of his cock, lips parting just enough to suck gently for half a breath.
Dean whimpered. That was the only word for it.
Cas hummed.
"Good boy," he said.
Dean whined.
And Cas's eyes darkened, like he could taste the way that broke him more than anything else tonight.
"You like that?" he asked softly. "Being told you're good?"
Dean didn't answer.
Cas kissed his hip. "You'll answer when I ask."
Dean hissed through his teeth. "Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I like it."
Cas smiled, almost gentle now. "That's all I wanted to hear."
Then he ducked his head and swallowed him whole again.
Dean gasped so violently it sounded like a sob.
Cas moaned around him—like he'd been starved for it—and that sound, that feeling, sent Dean's eyes rolling back in his skull.
Cas started bobbing his head now—slow at first, building into something more dangerous. One hand wrapped around Dean's base, stroking in tandem, twisting just enough to make his stomach clench.
Dean cried out. "Cas, Cas—I can't—please—"
Cas pulled off. Again.
Dean was sobbing now, halfway between a curse and a prayer.
Cas wiped his mouth slowly, eyes never leaving Dean's face.
"You're so close," he said.
Dean nodded, wild-eyed.
"Do you want to come?"
"Yes."
Cas leaned in, close enough to kiss but didn't.
"Then beg."
Dean's jaw clenched.
"Cas—"
"Beg for it."
Dean stared up at him, eyes wide and dark and wrecked.
And then he broke.
"Please, Cas," he whispered. "Please. I need to come. I need your mouth, I need your touch, I need you. I'm yours, I belong to you, I'll say it a thousand times, just please—I'm so close—"
Cas kissed him.
Dean gasped into it, almost surprised.
Then Cas pulled back, lips swollen, breath warm against Dean's cheek.
"You're not ready yet."
Dean screamed.
Cas didn't laugh. He didn't mock. He just watched the way Dean writhed, the way his body begged even when his mouth didn't.
Then he kissed him again. Slow. Lingering. Calming.
"I'm going to take care of you," Cas said softly.
Dean groaned, tears prickling behind his eyes.
"But I'm going to do it right."
He shifted again, fingers wrapping around Dean's cock—finally, finally—stroking him slow, steady, with just enough pressure to keep him from tipping.
Dean gasped, hips jerking.
Cas kissed his chest, his neck, his lips, all while working him with an almost clinical focus. Like he was measuring responses.
Dean was falling apart. "Please, Cas—I need it—I need you to—"
"Shh," Cas whispered. "Let me."
Dean let go.
He gave it all away in a shudder and a breath—and Cas stopped, again.
Dean collapsed into his shoulder, undone.
"Cas," he said, voice ruined. "You're going to kill me."
Cas kissed his jaw.
"No," he whispered. "I'm going to make you feel everything."
⸻
Castiel had taken Dean apart with nothing but his mouth.
Not even his whole mouth. Just the threat of it. The precision. The control. He'd mapped Dean's body with reverence and undone him with nothing more than focus and breath, dragging him to the brink and leaving him teetering, twitching, drenched and gasping against the sheets.
Dean wasn't sure how long he'd been hard. Or how long he'd been begging. Or what century it was.
All he knew was Castiel.
The weight of him, now, as he straddled Dean again—this time bare. The soft press of his inner thighs brushing Dean's hips. The long drag of his hands down Dean's ribs. The way his breath stuttered—just once—as he reached between them.
Dean barely noticed when Cas finally slicked them both.
What he did notice was the stillness.
Cas was hovering.
Holding Dean in his hand, hard and flushed and aching, cock pressed right up against his entrance.
Not moving.
Dean's entire body was locked tight.
"Cas," he whispered, the word ruined, reverent.
Cas met his gaze.
"I want you inside me," he said, voice like velvet dragged over heat. "But on my terms."
Dean's breath hitched. "Always."
Castiel's fingers tightened just slightly around Dean's cock. Not to stroke—just to hold.
"I'm going to take you," he murmured. "I'm going to ride you the way I want. And you're going to lie there and feel every fucking second of it."
Dean moaned, loud and unfiltered. "Yes. Fuck, yes—Cas, I want it—I want you."
"Good," Cas whispered.
Then he moved.
It started slow.
Of course it did.
Cas lowered himself just barely—just until the head of Dean's cock nudged his rim.
Dean seized under him, eyes flying open, a choked sound escaping his throat.
But Cas didn't go further.
He rolled his hips instead—one small, taunting circle that did nothing but smear slick and heat and threat over sensitive skin.
Dean growled. "You are evil."
Cas smirked. "You've said that before."
He rolled again. Just a little. Just enough.
Dean's cock twitched violently in his grip.
"Fuck—please—"
Cas rocked back. Up. Paused again.
Then he sank.
Just an inch.
Dean screamed.
Not a full sound—not a yell—but that deep, involuntary groan that started in the spine and rattled up through the lungs, stolen by sheer sensation.
He could feel Cas open around him. Heat and pressure and tightness—so much tighter than he'd even remembered, so perfect it bordered on surreal.
Cas stopped again.
Dean's hips lifted off the bed in a reflexive thrust.
Cas held him down.
"You don't move," he said, low and dangerous.
Dean whimpered. "Can't help it—"
"Yes, you can."
Cas reached up, lacing their fingers together, pressing Dean's hands into the mattress above his head.
"You want this?" he asked softly. "Then stay still."
Dean nodded, frantic.
Cas rewarded him by sinking a little further.
Dean's eyes rolled back.
"Fuck, Cas—you're so—tight—holy shit—"
Cas let out a soft breath, more a hiss than a moan. He was feeling it, too—Dean could see it in the tremble of his arms, the twitch in his thighs.
But he owned it.
He was still the one in control.
Dean was just something to be used.
And he loved it.
Halfway down now.
Dean's cock throbbed inside him, buried in heat, throbbing with every heartbeat. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Cas sat still on top of him, shifting only slightly—just enough to adjust. Just enough to drag more friction out of every nerve ending in Dean's body.
Dean's fingers tightened around his. "Cas—please—fuck—"
Cas leaned in.
Brushed his lips over Dean's. "You're doing so well."
Then, without warning, he dropped the rest of the way.
Dean shouted.
His hips jerked helplessly off the mattress, finally buried to the hilt, cock squeezed in velvet heat so good it made his vision go white.
Cas let out a slow, satisfied breath against his mouth.
"You're inside me," he whispered.
Dean nodded, barely coherent.
Cas kissed him.
Deep. Dirty. Messy.
Dean gasped into it, every inch of him shaking.
Cas ground down once—just once.
Dean moaned so loud it broke into a whimper.
"You ready?" Cas asked against his lips.
Dean's voice was cracked. "Yes. Please. Ride me."
Cas smiled.
Then he started to move.
The rhythm wasn't fast.
It wasn't hard.
It was intentional.
Cas lifted his hips just an inch—then dropped them again, slow, controlled, dragging Dean's cock along every tight inch of his body.
Dean was ruined.
He couldn't move. Couldn't speak. All he could do was feel—feel Cas around him, feel the wet heat and the slow glide and the sheer power radiating off every movement.
"You feel so good," Cas murmured, lips brushing Dean's throat. "So big."
Dean's hips jerked again.
Cas bit him. Gently. Just enough to remind him: stay still.
"I said I was going to ride you," Cas whispered. "So stop trying to fuck up into me like an animal."
Dean groaned.
Cas rolled his hips again—this time with a little more force, a little more purpose. He clenched around Dean just as he dropped down, and Dean cried out, the sudden burst of friction lighting up every nerve in his body.
Cas licked along his throat. "You want to come?"
Dean nodded, frantic.
"Not yet."
Dean sobbed.
Cas settled into a rhythm.
Up. Down. Circle. Drop.
Each movement different. Each one carefully measured to keep Dean at that edge—so close he could taste it, feel it in his fingertips, in the pounding of his heart, in the tight coil of his spine that never quite snapped.
"You love this," Cas said softly. "Don't you?"
Dean panted. "Yes—yes—"
"You love being used."
Dean's voice broke. "Yes."
"You love how tight I am. How I control you with just my body."
"Yes—fuck—Cas, please—"
"Then be good."
Cas tightened around him again, hips grinding in that perfect angle that made Dean yell.
He was beyond pride now. Beyond words.
Just moaning. Gasping. Pleading.
He wasn't even trying to top anymore.
Cas had him. Owned him.
And he wasn't letting go.
Castiel rode him like he was never going to stop.
Like Dean was something holy—something to be worshipped, yes, but also used.
The rhythm had changed.
It wasn't slow anymore.
It wasn't gentle.
Cas moved with purpose now. Sharp thrusts down onto Dean's cock that made obscene, wet sounds echo in the room. Every time he sank down, he clenched—tight, deliberate—like he wanted to squeeze the breath out of Dean's lungs.
Dean's hands were still pinned.
Their fingers were still laced, pressed hard into the mattress, a lifeline neither of them dared break.
"Fuck, Cas," Dean gasped, voice cracking with the effort of not coming. "You're gonna—you're gonna kill me—"
Cas didn't stop.
Didn't even slow down.
He just rolled his hips again, riding Dean deep, grinding in a tight circle that made both of them groan.
"You think this is killing you?" Cas murmured, breathless but in control. "You're not even close."
Dean whimpered.
That's what it was, really. A low, broken sound dragged from somewhere deep—helpless, aching.
"God, you're so big," Cas gasped. "You feel so fucking good inside me."
Dean twitched, a jolt tearing through his core.
"You're mine like this," Cas said. "Mine to use. Mine to take."
Dean groaned. "Yes—fuck—yes—yours—always—"
Cas slammed down on him then—harder than before.
Dean shouted.
His whole body jerked.
Cas smirked, mouth parted, sweat dripping down his throat.
Dean had never seen anything so beautiful.
It wasn't just rough.
It was intimate.
Cas leaned in between thrusts, whispering things into Dean's skin—things Dean couldn't always make out, lost to the haze of heat and slick and the sound of their bodies colliding.
But some of it broke through.
"So good for me."
"Take it. Just take it."
"I love you like this."
That last one did it.
Dean's breath caught. His eyes opened—wide, startled, raw—and Cas was watching him.
Not smug. Not teasing.
Just open.
"You're perfect," Cas whispered, still fucking himself on Dean's cock, slow and brutal. "You always have been."
Dean broke.
"Cas—I can't—fuck—I love you—I love you so much—"
Cas kissed him.
Deep. Dirty. Sweet.
It was the kind of kiss that made it impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began.
And all the while—still riding him.
Harder now.
The headboard banged.
The mattress creaked.
Dean's boots dug into the bedspread, trying to ground himself, but it was no use. Cas was everywhere—tight and hot and fucking relentless—and Dean was unraveling fast.
His grip tightened on Cas's hands.
His breath came fast, stuttered, trembling. "Cas—please—please let me—"
"No," Cas said, but it came out shaky.
His own control was slipping.
Dean felt it—in the way Cas trembled, in the breath that hitched when Dean's cock dragged over that sweet spot inside him again.
He was close, too. And he was holding back.
Dean couldn't take it.
"You're so fucking hot like this," Dean said, voice ragged. "So good. So tight."
Cas groaned, loud and desperate.
Dean used it. "You want to come?" he whispered.
Cas nodded once. Sharp. Fast.
"You want me to make you come while you ride me like a fucking god?"
Cas shuddered, his hips stuttering mid-grind.
"You want me to fill you up, Cas?" Dean gasped. "You want to come while I'm still inside?"
Cas moaned—a broken, ragged sound.
And then he broke.
It hit like lightning.
A silent tremor first. Then a choked cry. Then the spasms—tight, sharp, devastating—as Cas came untouched, his whole body seizing like he'd been unplugged from heaven and dropped into fire.
His cock jerked between them, come striping Dean's chest in quick, involuntary bursts.
Dean felt every twitch. Every squeeze.
And that was it. His orgasm ripped through him like fire—hot, relentless, all-consuming. He came deep, hips jerking, throat raw with sound.
He came deep, buried to the hilt, cock jerking inside that perfect heat, spilling everything he had into Cas's clenching body.
Endless. Like falling.
He was shaking when it ended, breath shallow, skin electric.
Cas collapsed against him, shaking. Dean's arms came up instinctively, wrapping around him—not because he could hold him together, but because he needed to be held, too.
Neither of them moved.
Time stopped.
For a while, there was just breathing.
Touch. Warmth.
Dean's arms were numb.
Cas's chest rose and fell against his.
His cock was still inside him, softening slowly, twitching with aftershocks.
Dean pressed his lips to Cas's temple. "Jesus Christ."
Cas chuckled softly, trembling. "Close."
Dean laughed—breathless, broken. "Cas…"
"Yeah?"
Dean swallowed. "That was—fuck, that was…"
Cas kissed his jaw. "It was everything."
Dean nodded. "You were incredible."
Cas smiled against his skin. Then, after a long, quiet beat, Cas pulled back slightly. Just enough to meet Dean's eyes.
His face was flushed, lips swollen, hair wild. He looked fucked-out—but something sharper flickered in his expression.
Not done.
Not yet.
Cas leaned in, breath brushing Dean's ear.
And then, voice low and dark and filthy, he said:
"Do you want to fuck my brains out now?"
Dean froze.
A slow, wicked grin spread across his face.
"Oh, baby," Dean rasped, voice still undone from everything Cas had just done to him. "You have no idea."
Castiel raised a brow, flushed and breathless, still draped over Dean's chest. "Then show me."
Dean didn't answer. He didn't need to.
His hands, no longer pinned, found Castiel's waist. Cas shivered.
Dean rolled them—slow and sure—and hovered above him, flushed and grinning. "You sure?"
Cas nodded, breath catching. "Always."
That was it. That was the switch.
Dean kissed him—slower now, deeper. No teasing. No games. Just yes.
When he finally pushed back inside—still slick, still hot—Cas arched with a gasp. Dean groaned.
He didn't set a brutal rhythm this time.
He rocked into him slow. Steady. Every thrust a promise.
Cas wrapped his arms around Dean's back, pulling him closer. Their chests stuck with sweat, hips grinding slow and deliberate.
"You feel so good," Dean whispered into his neck.
Cas clung tighter. "Don't stop."
Dean didn't. He moved with care now—like worship, like memory. Like this wasn't about proving anything.
It was about staying.
They came together this time—slower, quieter, no thunder, just release.
After, Dean stayed inside him, still moving gently, holding Cas like he'd slip through if he let go.
Cas dragged a hand through Dean's hair. "You're soft," he murmured.
"You're lucky I didn't fuck you through the wall," Dean muttered, breath warm against his shoulder.
"Next time," Cas said, smiling.
Later—how much later, neither of them knew—Dean rolled onto his side, tangled up in limbs and breath and the scent of sex clinging heavy in the air.
Castiel was limp beneath him. Not from weakness, but from satisfaction so deep it had wiped out the sharp lines of his body. Every muscle was soft. Every breath slow.
Dean kissed the edge of his jaw and whispered, "Hey."
Cas hummed, eyes still closed.
"You alive?"
"Barely," Cas murmured.
Dean laughed quietly, too spent to do more than shake against him. "Same."
Silence stretched—comfortably this time.
Dean stayed pressed to him. He could feel their combined mess between them, but he didn't move right away.
He liked this.
Loved this.
The way Cas melted into him.
The way their pulses matched.
The way everything in the world felt quiet when he was wrapped around this man.
Eventually, though, Cas shifted with a soft wince.
Dean sat up immediately, eyes narrowing. "You okay?"
Cas opened his eyes, a soft smile playing at his lips. "Sore."
Dean looked guilty for exactly one second before Cas added, "Good sore."
Dean smirked. "Damn right."
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Cas's shoulder, then his neck, then the underside of his jaw.
Then he pulled back, rising carefully from the bed.
"Stay," he murmured.
Cas didn't move. "Not going anywhere."
Dean moved on autopilot.
Warmed washcloth.
Soft towel.
A bottle of water cracked open and handed off with a quiet, "Drink this."
Castiel watched him through half-lidded eyes, expression softening with every gesture.
"You're very gentle when you're not destroying me," he said after a while.
Dean laughed as he cleaned the mess from Cas's stomach, careful and slow. "You say that like I didn't almost pass out from you riding me like the end of the world."
Cas's eyes twinkled. "You're welcome."
Dean gave him a playful swat with the cloth. "Menace."
Cas caught his wrist. Brought it to his lips. Pressed a kiss to the heel of his palm.
"I love you," he said, simply.
Dean's breath caught.
He looked down at Cas—the mess of him, the glow in his eyes, the reverence that never went away even when he was being the filthiest creature alive—and his chest ached with it.
"I love you too," he said, voice rough.
"Even in wings and a toga?" Cas teased.
Dean leaned in and kissed him slow. "Especially then."
They changed the sheets together.
Dean insisted.
He grumbled about it the whole time, muttering things like, "We should just burn them," and "You're lucky you're pretty," but his hands were steady. He tucked the corners tight, smoothed the fabric like he gave a damn.
Cas lay back down with a groan, stretching like a cat, arms over his head, muscles relaxing as he settled into clean sheets.
Dean crawled in beside him, this time in boxers, shirtless, the devil horns long discarded somewhere on the floor.
Cas looked at him.
"Do you know why I let you win tonight?" he asked softly.
Dean blinked. "You think I won?"
Cas smiled. "Yes."
Dean snorted. "Baby, you were riding me like you were conducting an orchestra. You conducted the whole damn symphony."
"You always say I'm bad at metaphors."
"Yeah, and I stand by it."
Cas rolled onto his side, facing him fully. "You won because I gave it to you."
Dean quieted.
"Not just the reins," Cas continued. "But… me. All of me. I trust you. And I wanted you to feel that."
Dean didn't speak.
Couldn't.
Not right away.
So instead, he reached out and cupped Cas's cheek, thumb brushing under his eye.
"You've always been mine," Dean whispered.
Cas leaned into the touch. "Yes."
"And I've always been yours."
"I know."
They didn't speak after that.
They didn't need to.
Just breath. Touch. The quiet thrum of something bigger than both of them.
Two bodies, tangled. Two souls, tethered.
Outside the bunker, the world could've ended.
But here?
Here, everything they gave up became something they could hold.
Later still, Cas turned into Dean's chest and mumbled, "If you bring that tail back next time, I might have to tie you to the bed."
Dean grinned, already drifting. "Yeah?"
Cas's fingers traced patterns on his back. "Yes."
Dean was quiet for a beat, then murmured, "I was supposed to get revenge."
Cas chuckled. "You did."
Dean lifted his head. "Did I?"
Cas leaned up and kissed him slow. Warm. Final.
"You got everything you wanted."
He did.
He got Cas.
(And maybe next time, the tail would stay on.)
—The End—