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THWACK!
The impact, as always, forces Dean's body to jolt.
There's something very Pythagorean Theorem about a beating. a^2 + b^2 = c^2. Dean's cheeks + Castiel's belt = shock to the system. In order to know how big of a shock to expect, one had to calculate the sum of the leftover endurance of Dean's abused cheeks plus the intensity brought down by Castiel's belt. This is what he's been told because, of course, this job does not belong to Dean. The title of mathematician in this relationship belongs to the devastatingly handsome man who likes to be precise when doling out these euphoric beatings.
In this room, Dean's not the one in control. The shock strikes him. His muscles reflexively tense. Some drunken sound spills from his lips. He's not gagged when they do this. Castiel insists upon having occasional check-ins. It helps him with his formula for maintaining balance. Dean's happy to give him whatever he needs, especially if Castiel keeps taking him to paradise.
He's laid out over a table, not unlike one you'd get a massage on, a table big enough for two. Except this one belongs to Castiel and Castiel had a hole cut out near the middle, so Dean's dick could hang during beatings. But really it's because he didn't want Dean to find any relief with any amount of friction. Being tied to either end of the table makes this plan foolproof. His neglected dick hangs there, swollen, near bursting. But Dean won't complain. Can't complain. Dean isn't even in the room right now. He's floating up out of himself.
THWACK!
The leather welts. Dean jolts. Etc etc.
They've been at this for a while now.
THWACK!
THWACK!
THWACK!
Dean's skin is positively shimmering. His blood keeps rushing to his ass, leaving his fingers and toes very cold. His mind too. Completely vacated of thought. It's peaceful. It's heaven. There is only the belt and the beating and the emptiness. But it's not lonely. Not at all. It's like a summer's breeze passing over an untouched field of flowers.
Flowers don't care about how they're going to pay rent or what time to go to dinner with important business clients. Flowers only care to dance in the breeze and turn towards the sun.
"Dean~?"
There's a low voice now, singing to the flowers. Dean smiles serenely. It's such a nice voice.
"Dean~" it sings again, "Can you hear me?"
"Mhhhmhhhhhh…" Dean hums with the warmth of sunlight on his face. "I'm here."
There's a tickle running up the back of his calf. He tries to flinch away from it but can't. He's tied to Cas' table. Dean's eyes swim back to reality, away from the field, to the warm romantic lighting of the room he's actually in. Cas pets his head and Dean would nuzzle into the touch if he wasn't so bone-tired.
"Have you had enough?"
Dean's frown is dramatic enough to pout his lips. "Nooooo," he whines.
Castiel's fingers curl behind Dean's ear and caress down the side of his neck.
"Remind me of your safeword."
Dean chews on his lip to buy himself time. He knows it. Obviously. Of course, he knows it. It's long and obnoxious. Hard to say when he's this blunted. (Which is the point but he's conveniently forgetting that part right now.)
"Jefferson… Starship…" So stupid, Dean thinks, we should change it asap.
"Hmm." Cas brings his thumb to his drugged-thick bottom lip, rolling it down to part his mouth open. "Good. I wasn't quite done with you yet."
With a startling reminder of pleasure, Dean's suddenly very present. His eyes are open and focused as he closes around Cas' thumb enthusiastically, reveling in his familiar taste. God, when would he ever get used to him? When would it stop feeling this good to be used by him?
Cas walks away without a care, trailing his fingers away from Dean's eager mouth, leaving him panting and frustrated. Only now remembering his hanging dick and just how neglected its been this whole time. He humps the table which only frustrates him more. There's no reason for it, there's no friction to be found here. Dean resigns himself to the forsaken teasing table, limbs limp as Cas prepares whatever comes next.
His extremely sore cheeks are spread apart and Dean hisses. Then as a cold glass plug is being stuffed into his hole, Dean lets out a guttural groan. He had lube shoved into him forever ago, this is the first thing that's actually penetrated him since they began. Finally getting filled is like a smoke after an impossible day. Indulgent. Necessary. The girth of the plug is stretching him to an almost uncomfortable circumference. As always, Dean breathes through it. Moans into it. Humps nothing. Hangs defeatedly. And then.
THWACK!
"Ah!" A sharp surprise.
THWACK!
"Ahh-!" A stinging comfort.
THWACK!
"Hhhnng-" A… new pleasure.
THWACK!
Cas lands each blow directly where the plug sits, that way the plug also jolts forward, a rocking thud inside Dean, a roiling wave that plunges towards Dean's depths only to clunk back into its rightful place.
THWACK!
Dean doesn't mean for it to happen but.
THWACK!
His toes curl, his words slur into incoherency.
THWACK!
And his cock flexes as his orgasm drains onto the floor.
THWACK!
His groans drag on and on, connecting onto another between smacks like a spider weaving a web. One long continuous sound.
THWACK!
Leather. Jolt. Groan. Drip.
Dean's plummeting through the floor. His fingers twitchingly spent.
The field is different now. He's laying in it. Staring up at the sky. Tall trees surround him, swaying in the piney breeze. Peeks of blue between the leafy green.
"Such a good boy," he hears the voice praise over the wind. "So good for me."
Despite being in the woods now, Dean can tell when Cas enters him. What was once glass, is now skin, and it's so much hotter than a plug could ever be. There's a wet stamping on the back of his neck. A kiss. And the sensation moves all over. His shoulder. His back. His arms.
Dean's so inebriated, so at peace, that it feels as if sleep is imminent.
"Come back to me," Cas whispers and a tickling breeze ruffles Dean's hair but the breeze is actually Cas' breath.
Dean's too dizzy to respond. Floating in and out of coherency.
"Dean~" He sings sweetly, "come back to me, baby."
But the steady thrusts keep Dean under the drugging lullaby of Cas' domination. The undulating pleasure of Cas' cock pushing into his hole and the stinging pain of Cas' body pressing into his welts, it's the perfect mixture for dipping beneath the waves of consciousness.
The best he can do is force out a muddled: "Mmmhhhhgggbb…"
"My perfect boy," Cas praises. His adoration oozes as he licks at Dean's neck. "I'm gonna paint those pretty red cheeks of yours with my come."
Dean whimpers. His wrists tug at their leather cuffs.
"Yeah? You like that idea?"
He wishes he could beg. But whimpering will have to do so he whimpers some more.
The thrusts increase. The pleasure skyrockets and the pain dulls. And then he's empty and hot white ropes smear onto his searing hot flesh and Dean's panting with exhaustion and Cas is groaning with appreciation.
Then. Total complacency.
Maybe he notices his binds being undone? Maybe not. Dean couldn't tell you how he gets onto their bed but that's where he wakes up, thirsty beyond words. He has the overwhelming urge to cry and murmurs the grogginess of sleep out of his throat.
"Shh, come here, try not to roll over just yet."
Dean realizes his warm pillow is actually Cas' chest. He nuzzles into him, his nose to the nook of Cas' neck, his leg slung over his waist. Cas keeps an anchoring hand on Dean's thigh to keep him from moving to his back. Dean's grateful but his ass… yeah, sore was an understatement. Throbbing, pulsing, and breathing fire like a dragon? That was a closer approximation. Dean takes a deep breath through his nostrils and tries to remember that he loves this by focusing on small pleasures. He kisses Cas' salty neck. He ruts against his hip. And if he's not careful, he's gonna be rearing to go again within seconds. The best aftercare truly is just another round.
He keeps sucking on Cas' neck like he's got something to prove, like marking him with a hickey will make them even somehow, regardless of the fact that Dean asks to be beaten. Begs, more like.
"Did you have fun?"
Dean breaks away long enough to say, "You have to ask?"
Cas chuckles, "Yes, I do."
"Maybe this'll answer your question."
Dean switches to the other side of Cas' neck and straddles him. After rocking in his lap, he's able to get Cas' cock right where he wants him and sinks down the length of him, sighing against his collarbone. It's a little painful to sit so Dean remains laying over top. Cas groans and brings Dean up to his mouth. Cas is careful to keep his hands off his ass, opting for clawing up his shoulder blades, dragging him down to better fill him.
"I love everything we do," Dean says into his mouth.
Cas breaks away from their kiss, buries his face in Dean's chest, and squeezes his arms around him tightly.
"Good," he whispers, "Okay, that's good."
"Cas? What's wrong?"
Cas hooks his chin over Dean's shoulder and shakes his head, still squeezing the air from Dean's lungs.
"Nothing. I just needed to hear that."
"Hmm. Did I scare you earlier?"
Cas takes a deep breath. "It's always scary, Dean. Like- thrilling, y'know. But sometimes, it tips the other way."
Dean nods. He understands completely. He's been there. He cradles Cas' face, thumb brushing his cheek. His eyes do look a little bloodshot.
"It felt good to me," Dean reassures.
"I know. I know, I believe you."
"Really good."
"Okay," Cas smiles and kisses him softly.
"But we can stop if you don't like it."
"No, I'm alright. I just needed you to remind me."
Dean kisses his forehead.
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
Cas' next kiss has tongue.
"Can I keep riding you?"
They chuckle. Cas says, "Please do."
Dean doesn't need to be told twice. He lifts his ass and then sinks back over Cas' cock, relishing the silky stretch.
"You feel good," Dean says. Another understatement.
Cas moans, "God, so do you."
After they share another round of orgasms, this time soft and slow, Cas forces Dean to drink a whole glass of water and Dean tempts Cas into another nap. All in all, a perfect kind of day. One with flowers and forests and beatings. One with reassurance and kisses and lovemaking.