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Cas always takes care of Dean, always gives him exactly what he wants, what he needs. This time is not any different.
It had become quite the ritual between them. Like a perpetual motion machine, of the kind not allowed by thermodynamics. A push and pull, a give and take. The kind they rarely talked about but always seemed to end up finding their way back to, usually in the haven of their bedroom.
It started as an argument, technically. Dean had mouthed off earlier, testing limits he knew damn well existed– eyes bright, grin sharp, knowing exactly how to push. Cas had only raised an eyebrow. By the time they were alone again, the air between them was tight and humming. Dean likes to piss Cas off as much as he can, just to hear that he is a brat who needs to learn his place. It drives him nearly giddy with excitement to picture, to anticipate it.
Dean steps into the room quietly, closing the door behind him. The faint scent of Cas’s cologne mingles with the lingering warmth of the bed. He pauses for a moment, taking it all in: the soft light, the way Cas is there, calm and magnetic.
Castiel sits on the bed, shirt and boxer shorts on, waiting for him.
Dean could still feel the ghost of rope around his skin, the faint bruises pressed around his body like fingerprints of devotion. They throb faintly when he moves. He shivers, not from fear but from the delicious weight of memory. His body remembers before his mind does. He shifts slightly, testing the marks, a small shiver traveling down his spine as he remembers the way Cas had tied him.
“What do you need, Dean?” he asks.
Dean doesn’t answer, just looks sheepshily at Cas where he’s sitting, shyness and desire mixing, eyes dark and earnest, and drops down to his knees. It’s a little silly, Cas thinks, that Dean is still ashamed sometimes of the things he wants, of the things he needs. But it’s alright, they have a lifetime to correct this. To undo the things done in the decades before they met.
Cas exhales slowly, the sound low, almost a growl. His fingers flex against his thigh. Dean’s eyes flicker up once.
Cas’s breath hitches. His hand doesn’t hesitate before it finds Dean’s hair, threading through it, holding him there, not forcing but not letting go either. His other hand cradles Dean’s jaw – tender.
His thumb strokes along the hinge of his jaw, as if testing the tremor that runs through him. There’s care beneath every motion, even now, even when Dean’s pulse is thrumming out of control.
Dean swallows hard, throat dry, and lifts his gaze. His hands twitch on Cas’s thighs, unable to sit still from anticipation. Cas’s fingers brush his hair, tugging gently at the roots as a reminder: he’s in control. And Dean melts under it, wanting every second of the tension, exposing the line of his neck.
“Eyes on me,” Cas says, voice low, velvet, commanding. “I want to see you while you do this. I want to see how much you want it, Dean.”
Dean lifts his gaze, meeting Cas’s, dark and molten, stormy blue. He licks his lips and reaches out, fingertips brushing Cas’s hips briefly before settling on his thighs. He can feel the sharp edge of Cas’s command, the promise of what’s coming, and it coils in his stomach like fire.
He pulls his underwear down just enough to put the elastic underneath his balls, cock bobbing out. Half-hard. He gives the head a tentative lick. Cas curses under his breath.
Dean grows more confident, sucking at the head, bobbing up and down.
Cas’s hand firm on the back of his head, grasping tight on the strands of his hair – tendrils of pain on his scalp going straight to the heat pooling low in his belly. Pushing him down until his nose is burrowed in his happy trail. Dean’s surrounded by his warmth, his taste, his smell – clean and musky and manly and dizzying.
Dean’s thighs shake with the effort – there are still marks from ropes there, Dean loves them. He wishes they were deeper, harder– like he would feel them for weeks. His hands twitch where they grasp at Cas’s thigh.
Cas pulls back to rub the head of his cock on Dean’s lips, smearing precome, teasing. And push back.
“You’re so beautiful, Dean. I love seeing you like this.” His hips hike up as if he can’t stop them.
Dean groans around him, throat working, gagging when Cas thrusts deeper. Tears sting in the corner of his eyes, but he doesn’t stop.
Cas stills, breathing harder, his voice low and sharp as thunder. “Look at me,” he says. Dean obeys. Cas tilts his chin up, thumb brushing the corner of Dean’s mouth, tracing the damp edge of his lips. “Do you trust me?”
Dean’s answer is written all over his face: yes, yes, always.
And Cas pushes him down on his cock again, harder. Tears streak down his face.
“That’s it,” Cas says, voice ragged. “Take it. Show me you can be good for me.”
Dean nods as much as he can with a cock down his throat, desperate to obey. To please. He might come in his pants if Cas keeps going on like this. Rough, commanding.
He looks at Cas, eyes asking for something he can’t bring himself to ask out loud yet. He’s pulled back by the hand gripping his hair – string of saliva connecting his lips to Cas’s thick cock.
He holds Dean by the jaw, carefully, and pulls his hand back. Cas looks at Dean, looks at his hand, where it stands. Palm out.
As if he asks “Is this what you want?”. Dean nods quickly, flush climbing up his neck into his cheeks. Tear stained face, spit licking lips. He is a vision. Cas could never have dreamed up something so wonderful. He is obsessed.
Cas smiles faintly, almost tenderly, as if he can’t believe he gets to touch him like this. Cas’s hand stills midair. For a heartbeat, everything freezes – the air charged, Dean trembling, waiting. He wants it, he needs it so bad.
And his palm connects. Not too hard. Just firm enough to leave heat blooming under Dean’s freckled skin. Dean gasps, the sound breaking halfway between a moan and a cry.
Cas’s eyes soften immediately, thumb tracing the mark he just made.
Cas alternates pressure, pressing his fingers into Dean’s jaw, tugging at his hair, then delivering a sharp, stinging slap across his cheek and then pushing his cock past his parted lips. Just a little bit. Just until he is shaking, hips twitching.
Dean gasps, lips parting, eyes wide, throat still working, moaning against Cas. Each smack sends heat flooding lower, making him squirm and shiver. Cas hums in approval, tugging at Dean’s hair to keep him in place.
“Such a good boy,” He murmurs, leaning down to brush his nose against Dean’s ear “I adore you.” Cas says, caressing his stinging face.
Dean smiles at him, dazed and adoring, breathing hard. Cheek heating. When they’re like this, he gets loopy, hazy. Like he’s floating inside his own body in the best of ways.
“Open.” Dean complies, the pink of his tongue poking out over his bottom lip. Cas gathers saliva on his mouth and lets it dribble out. “Swallow.”
Shoves him back on his cock. Thick thighs bracketing his body.
The rhythm slows; everything about Cas shifts from punishing to reverent. His hand moves from Dean’s face to the back of his neck, holding him steady, thumb stroking gently at the nape
They stay there for a long moment, neither speaking. Dean’s hands are still shaking when Cas leans down, pulling him gently up by the chin. He presses their foreheads together. Dean laughs under his breath and Cas’s mouth curves just slightly.
Cas hums in return, tracing his thumb along Dean’s throat, grounding him.
He pushes Dean down on the bed, climbing over his body, between his legs, to pull him into a kiss, stripping their clothes off so fast and hard he can hear his shirt ripping a bit at the edge. He eats Dean out slowly, until he’s begging to be fucked. And takes him hard, just the way he likes it. Legs over Cas’s shoulder. This way they can kiss and breathe in each other and Cas can whisper sweet nothings into Dean’s ears until he’s coming between them so hard it splatters on his chin.
When they break apart, both are panting, skin flushed, eyes soft. The world beyond this room ceases to exist.