Archive of Our Own ^beta

Humming along to the Pandora station Cas loaded up, Dean scrubs the pan hard. The fridge door shuts, the plastic containers loaded inside. Despite the adequate space in their kitchenette, Cas passes by closely behind him, one hand snagging on Dean’s hip like a paperclip overwhelmed by a magnet.

Cas presses a scratchy kiss to Dean’s nape, and Dean’s shoulders shoot up, hunching at the stubble. Dean elbows back at him, only for Cas to respond by grinding his cheek against Dean’s skin.

“You want soap in the face? ‘Cause this is how you get soap in your face,” Dean warns.

There’s a gentle pressure on Dean’s shoulder, a soft brush of hair against his cheek: maybe a kiss on the shoulder. “Thank you for making the lasagna again. I know it takes forever.”

Basically his entire Sunday afternoon. “Not like I have to cook for the rest of the week, though,” Dean points out.

Cas lets out a happy hum. He squeezes Dean’s hip again before letting go. “Anything else for the dishwasher?”

“Nope.” Then, right before Cas can press the button: “Wait, you’ve got, like, five mugs in the office.”

Cas straightens up and nods. “Right.”

As Cas leaves to get them, Dean focuses on the pan. On getting the burnt little corner off. On his own breathing.

He’s calm.

He’s staying calm.

By the time Cas is truly finishing loading the dishwasher, Dean’s heart is beating out of control, but Dean himself is calm.

“Oh, hey,” he makes himself say before Cas can bury himself back into the office, or maybe crash onto the couch for a change.

“Yes?” Cas asks, pausing with one hand on the kitchen island.

Drying his hands on the dishtowel, Dean licks his lips. “So, uh. You know how we’ve been working on me asking for the stuff I want?”

“The entire time I’ve known you, yes.”

Dean pops a middle finger over the towel.

Cas’ eyes crinkle. “What are you asking for, Dean?”

“Could we do a scene this week? Like maybe Friday?”

“One big enough for advanced warning?” Cas asks.

Dean nods.

“How much input do you want?” Cas asks.

Turning away for the moment, Dean hangs the towel back over the handle of the dishwasher. He smooths it down. “I know which challenge I want, and I know what reward I want.” He turns back to Cas, who looks at him with curiously narrowed eyes and a tilted head.

“This requires suspiciously little planning on my part,” Cas says.

“Suspiciously?”

“Normally a week of advanced notice means a lot of planning,” Cas tells him, reminds him. “Is the reward that complicated?”

Dean shakes his head, even though Cas has come dangerously close to hitting that nail on the head. “I just wanna make sure our schedules match up.”

“All right,” Cas says, and he returns to lean against the opposite side of the kitchen island. “What’s the challenge?”

“The, uh.” He can say it. “The good boy challenge. But not like a number of ways I’ve been good, you gotta decide on quality.”

Cas nods slowly. “We can do that. What reward-”

“And,” Dean makes himself add. Makes himself interrupt. Because this part, this is crucial. He swallows. “I gotta be kneeling.”

Cas’ eyes visibly darken. “You will be,” Cas promises, his voice taking a quick plunge down an elevator shaft. “Anything else?”

It’s not strictly necessary to Dean’s plans, but… “Could you maybe do the thing where you grab my head, and, y’know?” Dean gestures.

Cas nods very seriously indeed. “As a reward? Or a punishment?”

“However you wanna do it, babe.”

Another serious nod. “And the reward?”

Dean puts both hands down on the kitchen island, no doubt putting a pair of sweaty palm prints onto the surface. “I, um.” Keeping calm. Being terrified, but keeping calm. “I got you something.”

“To use on you?”

“To wear.”

Cas’ eyes immediately drop to Dean’s crotch with a look of intrigued hunger.

“No, for you,” Dean explains, feeling a smile flickering at the edges of his nerves. “For you to wear. If you want. I mean, you don’t have to, but if you did, it would be- I’d really-” Dean cuts himself off. “It’d be cool,” he finishes lamely.

“Is it a new vibrating cock ring?” Cas asks.

Dean’s brain blanks for a half a second. “No. But I did get new batteries for the old one, so we’re still good there.”

“That was the issue?”

“The lube gumming up the switch probably didn’t help either.” Dean clears his throat. “Should be fine now.”

“Are you going to tell me what the item is?” Cas asks.

The terrified part of Dean wants to fess up now.

The part of Dean that’s almost certain this will go well, that part keeps his mouth shut.

“It’ll be a good surprise,” Dean swears.

“I don’t think I’d like wearing a plug,” Cas continues guessing. “I definitely don’t want an extender—I don’t see any point being inside you if I can’t feel you. I’d rather we get a dildo if you want something huge.”

“It’s not a sex toy. That’s all I’m saying.”

“It’s not a sex toy, but it is sexy?”

“I think it’s sexy.”

The wheels and cogs keep turning behind Cas’ eyes, so Dean attempts to end the conversation by turning back to the stubborn pan.

Cas is a quiet man, quieter without shoes, so Dean doesn’t jump when Cas presses against his back with only a breath of warning. “Is it cowboy boots?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m not telling.”

“Then you’re being a brat,” Castiel informs him, nipping at Dean’s earlobe. “You know I hate missing information.”

“Maybe I want you thinking about it all week too,” Dean counters.

“Is it a lab coat?” Cas asks.

“I’m not telling.”

“Zorro mask.”

“Cas.”

“Han Solo cosplay.”

“I’m loving the list, babe, but I’m still not telling.” Dean rinses out the pan, rinses the suds off the bottom and his own hands. The pan goes in the drying rack, but he doesn’t go for the dishtowel, instead planting both hands on the lip of the sink.

Castiel grips him by the hips and drags his crotch across Dean’s ass. He does it hard, pushing Dean up against the counter. “Tell me,” he rumbles.

Chin dropping against his chest, Dean grins, going loose and pliant. “Nuh-uh.”

Back and forth, Castiel drags himself against Dean, a clothed and increasingly hard bulge. “Tell me, and I can build a scene around it.”

“Mm, nope.”

Castiel nips at his nape. “Tell me now, or I put you in chastity the rest of the week.”

“Do it.”

Castiel pulls back, visibly winds up, and holds his open hand aloft in warning.

Dean winks over his shoulder.

Castiel slaps Dean on the ass, hard.

Pitching forward, chubbing up against the counter, Dean groans. He wriggles his ass. “Not gonna tell you,” he goads in a sing-song.

“This is too soon after dinner,” Castiel grumbles, like it’s Dean’s fault the guy carbo-loaded up on garlic bread and lasagna, but that hardly stops Castiel from beating Dean’s ass until it’s singing hot and bright through his jeans.

After, shaking, Castiel wraps himself around Dean’s back. “I’d fuck you, but I don’t want to reward bad behavior.”

Dean grabs at one of Cas’ hands. Castiel immediately threads their fingers together.

“Anymore than I already have, I mean,” Castiel amends wryly. “Still good?”

“Mmhm.”

Castiel holds onto him a minute longer, staying just as hard against Dean’s ass the entire time.

Eventually, Castiel asks, “Do you have anything else you need to do before class tomorrow?”

“Huh? Uh, no?”

“Good. You’re my cockwarmer until I’m ready for bed. And no touching yourself.”

Dean holds off from rolling his eyes until Castiel can see him do it, but a sad lack of spanking results from it. Castiel orders Dean into the office, but allows Dean to get his cushion from the bedroom. By the time Castiel sets a towel down on his desk chair, Dean’s already in position, kneeling in front of Castiel’s desk with an absolute hard-on.

Castiel glances down and nods to himself, accepting Dean’s condition as his due. With quick, efficient movement, Castiel strips out of his pants and boxers. He sits down and gestures Dean into place, face impassive, cock twitching.

Dean stretches his jaw first, but quickly adjusts. He takes it and breathes through his nose, far enough down to feel accomplished, not enough to feel completely choked. In line with the punishment play, he initially keeps his hands folded behind his back, but Castiel taps on his shoulders almost immediately.

“Come here,” Castiel murmurs.

Dean shuffles forward on his knees and wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist. He closes his eyes and focuses on breathing, on taste, on the heady mix of sex musk and lingering shower products. Castiel begins to pet his hair, and then Dean hears the sound of Castiel’s laptop being opened up.

For a little while, Castiel types. Mostly, he doesn’t. His left hand almost always rests against the top of Dean’s head. Strong fingers scratch against his scalp.

Time slows down.

Castiel puts a sock-clad foot against the inside of Dean’s knee, nudging his legs apart. Dean kneels with his legs spread wide, jeans straining over his crotch.

Castiel plants his foot against Dean’s bulging fly.

Eyes closed, mouth open and drooling, Dean groans around Castiel’s dick. Groans loud and low enough for a satisfying twitch.

“I didn’t tell you to finish me off,” Castiel chides. He grips Dean by the hair at the top of his head, and pulls until Dean has to relinquish his oral conquest. Castiel makes sure Dean is looking back up at him before he says, “When I decide to come in you, I will tell you. Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, Castiel.”

“Good. Open up.”

Dean opens his mouth, and Castiel guides him back down, pulls him even further. Castiel pushes until Dean taps a rapid double-tap against Castiel’s ass, and only then does Castiel ease up.

When the urge to gag or cough fades, Dean taps again, a single time.

Castiel pushes him down again.

And again.

And again.

Fighting against gagging as hard as he can, Dean stretches his tongue out and just barely manages to touch Castiel’s balls.

“Good boy,” Castiel praises, as delighted as he is surprised. “Oh, Dean.”

Dean sucks on instinct, and Castiel yanks him off again.

“If you want my come, ask for it,” Castiel commands, both hands now gentle against Dean’s scalp. “You’re right, we do make you ask for what you want, don’t we, sweet boy?”

Dean mumbles it.

Castiel presses his foot down against Dean’s crotch.

Dean ruts.

Castiel takes his foot away, and Dean keens, pressing his head into Castiel’s hands.

“Ask,” Castiel orders.

“I want you,” Dean answers, because he’s beyond questions. This is a statement, absolute, and Castiel understands the sentiment immediately, even if he doesn’t give in to it.

Chest heaving, Castiel shakes his head. “Ask me for what you want, Dean.”

“Whatever you want to do with me,” Dean swears. “That’s what I want. Please.”

“Say my name.”

“Castiel.”

“Good boy,” Castiel says and fucks Dean’s mouth, the desk chair squeaking and rattling in a surreal backdrop against Castiel’s groans and Dean’s labored breathing. “Swallow,” he commands, and Dean does, throat working around Castiel’s heat even before there’s come to swallow.

When it’s go-time, Dean frees one oddly heavy arm from around Castiel, wraps his hand around that hot cock, and sucks just the head as hard as he can while fighting his way against Castiel’s flooding climax. Semen joins the trail of spit down the side of Dean’s mouth; Castiel wipes it away from both sides with his thumbs, looking down at Dean with fierce pride.

On shaking legs, Castiel stands up for a few seconds, but only to wipe his hands and refold the sex towel. He tells Dean to stretch his back and counts aloud, directing him. With the towel back on his chair, Castiel sits, spreads his legs, and gestures Dean back into position. He doesn’t give Dean his foot to rut against again. Instead, he reads news articles aloud on his laptop while petting Dean’s hair, absolutely ignoring Dean’s needy erection.

Eyes closed, ears alert, Dean hugs Castiel tight around the waist. Careful about sensitivity, he keeps swallowing to a minimum and minds the placement of his tongue. Going soft, Castiel’s cock turns from hot to warm, from attractive to endearing. He’s smaller, softer. Vulnerable. Dean’s mouth becomes a sheath, a hideaway, a place of safety.

When Castiel is hard, Castiel takes Dean’s mouth.

When Cas is soft, Dean takes Cas’ dick.

“Are you smiling?” Castiel asks, voice as gentle as his hands.

Dean hums around him.

Castiel scratches his scalp with both hands, turning that hum into a moan. He goes back to reading, but he only withdraws his hand to scroll or click around, returning it to Dean’s head immediately after.

At some point after Dean’s jaw aches but before he absolutely has to give up, Castiel does a quick double-tap against Dean’s shoulder. Hazy, Dean pulls off. He keeps his cheek on Castiel’s thigh, though.

“Bedtime,” Castiel tells him, their mutual regret clear on his face.

They get up. Castiel holds Dean steady as the sensation returns to his legs. Castiel picks up his discarded clothing, the towel, and Dean’s cushion, putting all of these away before joining Dean in the bathroom to brush his teeth. They both stubbornly brush until the two-minute timer on Cas’ electric toothbrush goes off, and Dean spends an entertaining amount of those two minutes touching Cas’ naked ass.

Back in their bedroom, Castiel tugs on Dean’s belt loops, drawing Dean along as Castiel walks backward to sit on their bed.

“Tell me and I’ll blow you,” Castiel tells him, clearly never having forgotten for a single second.

“It’s a surprise,” Dean insists.

“If you don’t tell me, it’s chastity until Friday,” Castiel states flatly.

Dean pops his fly and Castiel’s face lights up with victory.

That is, until Dean pushes down his jeans to reveal a new pair of panties: a simple white with black trim, cotton fabric, and emblazoned with the words Hands Off.

“Yeah, I kinda figured,” Dean admits.

Castiel stares at Dean’s crotch, absolutely floored.

Dean grins at him.

“...You’re amazing,” Castiel says. “You’re still in chastity, but you’re amazing.”

He reaches up and pulls Dean down by the unbuttoned sides of his flannel. Dean bends down for the kiss, shuffling out of his jeans while they lock lips. When Cas pulls back, it’s with a fond look and a hand on Dean’s cheek.

“Do these mean I can’t touch you?” Castiel asks. “Or just your cock and hole?”

“If you tease me anymore tonight, I’m not getting to sleep.”

Nodding his acceptance, Castiel nevertheless helps Dean strip out of the remainder of his clothing before attending to himself. Much to Dean’s disappointment, Castiel puts pajama pants back on. When Dean groans his protest, Castiel simply raises an eyebrow and asks, “What was that about not teasing you?”

Dean hits the overhead light while Cas clicks on his bedside lamp. Dean does the same on his side. Their elbows brush as Cas scrolls through his tablet and Dean thumbs through his paperback. Before Dean can even find his place, Cas puts the tablet aside and drops his head onto Dean’s shoulder.

“Was I too rough?” Castiel asks.

Dean turns his head, kisses Cas on the forehead. “You were great.”

“You’re sure.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Finding his spot, Dean closes the book on his thumb. “Are you double-checking on the tapping system, or…?”

“I meant hitting you at the sink.”

“That was pretty great, too.”

Castiel nuzzles disagreement against Dean’s shoulder. “I hit harder than I’d meant to.”

“I was kinda goading you.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

Knowing better than to argue with that one, Dean simply says, “I would’ve been okay with harder. You’ve hit my ass harder than that with your hips, fucking me.”

“Have I?”

“Not like I’ve got a calibrated sensor in my ass cheeks or anything, but yeah, feels like it.”

Castiel hums an off-key note, falling somewhere between noncommittal and considering.

Dean wraps an arm around those strong shoulders, and Castiel shifts to lie against him. “Are you okay?” Dean asks.

“Are you okay with me turning a Friday scene into a week-long scene?” Cas counters.

Mentally riffling through his schedule, Dean nods. He’d picked this week for a reason, after all. Immediately after midterms—his final midterms, at long last—but before the absolute end of year crunch. Things at the garage are going well, and the antique car show they’re joint-sponsoring isn’t until summer. This is the best window of opportunity by a stretch.

“I give you the basics and you elaborate,” Dean reminds him. “It’s one of those awesome things you got going.”

Cas sighs. “Anxiety requires an active imagination.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean kisses his temple. “Time to get active about tormenting my dick all week.”

Tightening his grip, Cas huffs a warm breath against the side of Dean’s neck. “If I fucked you and didn’t let you come, would that be too mean?”

“Kinda disproportionate, punishment-wise.”

“Hm,” Cas hums, which isn’t necessarily agreement.

They don’t end up reading that night, but the kissing is a welcome substitute.

In the morning, Dean brews a full pot of coffee, showers, and finishes breakfast before Cas can drag himself into the land of the living. With bleary eyes and a vacant expression, Cas trundles into the kitchenette, trodding on the hems of his pajama pants. Dean watches him out of the corner of his eyes.

Cas reaches for the pot, finds it empty, and slowly turns to Dean—and Dean’s steaming coffee—with a look of absolute betrayal. Silently, Dean points his toast at his giant camping thermos sitting on the counter. Cas opens it and looks inside. He looks back up.

“I love you,” Cas grumbles in lieu of thanks. “Did you put sugar in?”

“Yep.”

“I love you,” Cas repeats, muttering into the thermos, puffing cooling breaths across it.

“Smooth talker.”

Cas grunts.

Dean hangs around a little later than usual. No reason not to: he’s the boss, after all, and his first class isn’t until the afternoon.

When Cas emerges from a shower of his own, he blinks at Dean in clear confusion.

“Want me to drop you off at campus?” Dean asks.

Cas visibly gropes around for the pieces of this mental jigsaw puzzle and slaps two together. “If you’re deliberately earning ways of being a good boy, I’m not sure it counts as much.” He thinks about that a little harder. “I’m not sure.”

“Felt like you were dropping a little last night,” Dean says, blunt the way Cas needs him to be.

“Oh,” Cas says, frowning. He comes over to Dean and wraps him in a tight hug, water still dripping from his hair and into the collar of his bathrobe. Cas holds on tighter still. “I think you’re right.”

“You want me to hang around?”

Steadily breathing in Dean’s scent from the crook of his neck, Cas takes a long moment to answer. He relaxes in Dean’s arms, though. “I’d like the ride, thank you.”

“Are we at guilty, paranoid, clingy, or ‘Shut up, Dean’?”

“Clingy,” Cas says, pointing out the obvious. He holds on a little longer. “Paranoid.”

“Okay?” Dean shifts to look him in the eyes, to see the way Cas bites his own lip in consternation.

“I don’t want this to sound bad,” Cas says.

“Cool, so you make it sound terrifying instead.”

“Sorry. It’s not. It shouldn’t be.”

“Okay,” Dean says, and keeps waiting. Then, he adds, “We don’t have to do this now.”

Cas shakes his head. “You know I hate not knowing something. Especially something important to you.”

Dean inwardly winces. “It’s not something I’m hiding, you know that, right?”

By the look on his face, it’s clear Cas doesn’t.

“Um.” Dean licks his lips. Looks down and intentionally fiddles with the leather bracelet on his left wrist. “It’s something we’ve kinda talked about before? Around it, maybe.”

Eyes on Dean’s wrist, Cas nods slowly. Something in his posture continues to hover, however, a thought that can’t sit down.

Following the path of experience, Dean waits.

Finally, Cas pieces his words together. “If I’m the Dom in the scene, I’m planning it,” Cas says.

“So, what, I was too specific? I shouldn’t have-”

“No,” Cas interrupts quickly, both hands raised to pacify. “You should tell me what you want. That you can… I know how significant that is for you.”

“Then what am I doing-” Dean catches himself. He resets the question: “What’s making this not work?”

“I don’t know what the item is,” Cas answers without hesitation. “Your reward. If I don’t like it, that’s akin to punishing you, and I don’t want to do that.”

“If you don’t like it, that’s me judging wrong,” Dean says, speaking over the churning of his stomach. He forces himself to add, “You can come up with a backup reward?” Not that Dean will want it, if he’s judged wrong, but Cas doesn’t need to know that.

Chewing his lip, Cas thinks about it, eyes narrowed, before nodding at last. “That’s reasonable.”

“Are we good, then?” Dean asks. “Not to drop this on you and run, but I gotta get some work out of the way before class.”

“No, that’s fine,” Cas says.

Still, Cas holds on a long time when Dean hugs him goodbye. When Dean pulls away, Cas tugs him back, thumbs hooked into Dean’s belt just the way that always melts Dean’s brain.

“Am I being a control freak?” Cas asks, forehead against Dean’s. “I should be willing to let you surprise me during a scene.”

“You let me whenever you want me taking the reins,” Dean points out. “Maybe think of it like… that time you had me come up with the best weekend vacation.”

“I still approved the entire itinerary in advance.”

“Yeah, so now you can approve the whole night, minus one thing.”

“Okay,” Cas says, eyes fixed on the problem in the middle distance. “You’re right.” He presses a kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Thank you.”

“Course.” Dean kisses him back hard, already thrumming from the contact after being wound up last night. As he finally heads out the door, he’s absolutely certain: it’s going to be a tough week.

On Monday night, Castiel reheats lasagna for them both, but he insists on Dean’ kneeling at his side for forkfuls and ripped pieces of garlic bread. Dean’s wineglass has no stem, and even if Dean’s not much of a wine guy, there’s something about the glass in Castiel’s hand that makes Dean eager to drink.

Dean does his readings with headphones on and music up, Cas’ head in his lap while Cas watches TV. Each time Dean finishes one assignment or actually stops to take notes, Castiel turns his head and mouths Dean through his sweatpants. The resulting wet spot almost does more for Dean than the vague pressure and filtered heat.

Tuesday night, just before bed, Cas pauses in front of Dean’s dresser and opens the underwear drawer. The motions more reverent than intrusive, Castiel sorts through the options on the panties side. He pulls out one of the cheaper cotton pairs, feminine in only their cut and the pink font of the brand name. These panties have no room for a dick.

It’s why Dean falls out of them whenever he’s turned on.

Almost sleepily, Castiel opens his laptop on their bed and gestures for Dean to join him once he’s changed. Castiel loads up some mutually approved pornography and instructs Dean to sit on the other side of the laptop facing him. Once Dean’s in place, Castiel proceeds to jerk himself off, his eyes flickering between the screen and Dean’s increasingly straining panties.

Dean tries to tuck himself away once, and only once.

“Hands behind your back,” Castiel orders, and Dean forces himself to comply, even when the head of his dick finally pops out the top, his balls falling through the gap in one leg hole.

Working himself hard, Castiel slaps the laptop shut, rises up onto his knees, and claps one hand onto Dean’s bare shoulder. The other hand pumps faster and faster until, with a low groan and slitted eyes, Castiel comes all over Dean’s stomach and thighs, over Dean’s cock and panties.

Cas cleans him up before subjecting Dean to spooning, keeping Dean in front of him, leaving Dean with absolutely no ass to rub his dick against.

Somehow, Dean falls asleep like that.

Wednesday night, Dean has assignments from school and dinner with Bobby. Cas has his evening seminar.

When Cas comes home, it’s to recap the entire seminar at high speed over yet more reheated lasagna, all the while peppering in things he wished he’d changed or needs to include next class. Dean follows where he can, makes mostly the appropriate noises, and actually makes one salient point that stops Cas in his tracts before riffling through his bag for a pen.

“Say that again,” Cas tells him, eyes bright, and the fucking nerd takes goddamn notes as Dean points out the obvious.

After Cas does the dishes, he scours his shelves before pulling out three books. One, he drops into Dean’s lap, simply saying, “Chapter four.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean starts to read, only to wind up missing the rest of his TV show by sheer inattention.

Thursday night, the lasagna is finally gone, thanks to Cas’ relentlessness and many reheated lunches. After staring blankly into the fridge, Dean bites the inside of his cheek before making a dickish kind of food joke. He slaps some lunch meat and cheeses down on a wooden cutting board, adds a couple gherkins and pickle chips, then adds some pepperoni and olives for the hell of it.

Dean puts the laden cutting board down in front of the many papers Cas is correcting, and declares, “Charcuterie.”

With a complete lack of irony, Cas says “That’s very resourceful, Dean” and fucking starts eating.

No matter how long Dean stares at him, Cas entirely fails to notice.

Shrugging, Dean gets some bread and joins in, only to end up back on the floor and being fed by hand.

“I love that you ask for this now,” Castiel murmurs, feeding them both by turn, using only his left hand. It’s a little clumsy but keeps Castiel able to work throughout.

Besides, clumsy ain’t bad. Just means Dean has to lick Castiel’s fingers a little bit more.

“Yeah, well, I know you like feeding me,” Dean says with an embarrassed huff, as if he planned this.

Castiel looks down at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“Dean, I’ve been eating your cooking all week,” Castiel points out.

“Yeah, but-”

“You literally just brought me this this tray.”

Lacking a solid rebuttal, Dean stares up at Castiel for about five seconds. Then he opens his mouth and goes “Ahhh!”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel complies.

After Dean cleans off the board and tops off Castiel’s glass with the last of Monday’s wine, Dean brushes his teeth, rinses with mouth wash, and comes back to tuck himself wholly under the table. Castiel spreads his legs but leaves the belt and fly for Dean to enjoy. Cushion in place under the table, one earbud in and one of his car talk podcasts loaded up on his phone, Dean holds off on pressing play until after he’s got Castiel’s dick in his mouth, until after he can enjoy Castiel’s reaction to unexpectedly cool mintiness.

Castiel spreads his legs wider and furtively, carefully scoots his chair closer.

Dean ends up not needing the podcast. It’s much too fun listening to the complete lack of writing Castiel is doing. The hitching little breaths and the quiet creaking of the chair as Castiel rocks his hips against the rhythm of Dean’s mouth. When Castiel gets too close, Dean tries that ball-tugging trick Castiel loves to use on him, but it only holds Castiel off for a minute or so longer.

“Too sensitive,” Castiel hisses when Dean tries to go back down, after, so Dean comes up instead. He shuffles around the table leg on his knees.

Castiel, face flushed, pants unzipped and softening cock hanging out, Cas thumbs some escaping jizz back into Dean’s mouth. Tastes gross, even with the lingering mint, but even with post orgasmic lethargy lingering at their corners, Castiel’s eyes light up so brightly when Dean allows it.

They light up even more at the sight of Dean’s tented pants.

“Does it hurt?” Castiel asks.

Exhaling hard, Dean nods.

“Do you want to come?”

Dean nods.

“Tell me aloud.”

“Yes, Castiel,” Dean rasps.

Castiel shifts in his chair. He lifts one sock-clad foot and presses it against Dean’s straining dick, and Dean folds over Castiel’s leg, groaning as if he’d just been kicked.

“Tell me what you bought,” Castiel orders, rocking his foot from side to side, “and you can come.”

Dean muffles his moan against Castiel’s knee.

“You have ten seconds to choose. Ten… Nine…”

Dean spends the next eight glorious seconds rutting against Castiel’s foot, and then he takes a very cold shower. He spends the rest of the night popping boners like a teenager who just discovered HBO, only for Castiel to insist on being a little spoon come bedtime.

Dean’s stuck in boxers under pajama pants, the pull-string double-knotted, but the firm ass against him is entirely, infuriatingly naked.

Hours later, groggy and aroused in equal measure, Dean wakes to an odd combination of moaning and laughter, a hot dick in his hand.

“Whuh?” Dean asks. Reality fits too well into his dream—a horny mess of jerking off and jerking off, and yet never being able to feel it, let alone come—before he puts two and two together and realizes the dick in his hand isn’t his own.

“Keep going,” Castiel rumbles, wrapping his hand around Dean’s. At the same time, Castiel strains away, and Dean experiences some bewildered mixed signals before he realizes Castiel is going for the tissue box. They make it just in time, and Dean grinds against Castiel’s ass until, panting, toes curling, he has to stop or come.

Castiel throws back the sheet to look down at him through the dark.

“Hold it,” Castiel urges. “Just like that. Hold it for me, Dean.”

Throwing an arm over his eyes, Dean whimpers. Even his nipples ache, hard to the point where it’s nearly an itch.

“Say my name,” Castiel orders gently.

“Cas,” Dean groans.

“Am I pushing too far?”

Dean shakes his head beneath his arm, eyes closed tight.

Quietly, slowly, Castiel talks him down. He tells Dean he’s allowed to come now, just the once, and they can call it a nocturnal emission.

Eyes wet, Dean shakes his head, but his dick’s leaking so much, it might as well be crying too.

Castiel brushes the tears away only from the corners of Dean’s eyes. “You’re so good for me, Dean. You can do this. You’re the little spoon now, I’ll stop pushing so hard.”

“I can do this,” Dean repeats.

“You can,” Castiel agrees, turning him over. He slots up behind Dean. He takes both of Dean’s wrists in one hand and folds their arms over Dean’s chest.

Hot and cold at once, Dean whimpers, pressing his ass back against Castiel’s soft cock. Castiel refuses to let Dean roll onto his front.

Over the course of an eon, Dean’s heartbeat slows. His dick pretends to soften, but never fully commits.

“Such a good boy,” Castiel murmurs against the back of his neck.

They fall asleep like that, and when they wake, Dean still hasn’t come.

Friday is a tired and horny affair, which is how it stops from being a completely anxious one. Dean’s done with classes by noon, joins Cas for their regular lunch, and heads back to the garage to wrap up his day. He’s jumpy, practically twitchy, and his staff notices pretty easily.

“Today’s the day,” Dean explains, and that’s enough for both Benny and Garth to nod understandingly. Neither asks for details, and thus Dean survives another day without dying of embarrassment.

He drives home on the early side, or at least early for him. His phone beeps with a text along the way, but when Dean checks it at a red light, it’s not Cas asking for a ride home.

It’s Bobby, a simple and surprisingly sentimental If I could do it, so can you.

Dean’s closing the apartment door behind him before he texts back an equally simple Thanks.

He double-checks that Cas is taking the bus home, and then he lets autopilot take over. Frozen pizza in the oven. His homework spread out over the coffee table instead of in the office, so he can keep an eye on the front door. Hot pizza in the face, leftovers in the fridge. A beer. A shower and a scrub around his hole. A change of outfit. A second change of outfit. Another check that he has everything he needs on him. A quick test kneel, and yeah, he needs to use jacket pockets, not jean pockets.

He rifles through his closet until he finds a suitable light jacket. The inside pockets are big enough for both lube and Dean’s prize. That decided, Dean puts his cushion on the kitchen island, a clear signal for Cas to pick whatever location he wants Dean to kneel.

By the time Cas walks through the front door, Dean’s accomplished absolutely none of his homework, and he can’t even care. Cas closes the door hard, locks it commandingly, and drops his bag. He doesn’t remove his loafers. The suit jacket stays on. Tellingly, he hasn’t loosened his tie, and it’s a different one than Castiel had worn at lunch. Now, it’s the one Dean bought him their first anniversary.

The entire time looking at Dean, Castiel immediately takes the cushion off the island.

“Bedroom,” Castiel orders.

Dean stands from the couch.

“Crawl.”

Dean drops.

“In front of me.”

Dean crawls.

Castiel opens the bedroom door for him and flicks on the lights. “There,” he commands, placing the cushion down beside the bed, close enough that Castiel could stand or sit.

Dean kneels. He lifts his head and straightens his back.

“Do you have any reasons to delay?” Castiel asks.

Dean runs the usual mental check: he’s used the bathroom, the oven isn’t on, he’s suitably fed, and he knows they have lube. He hits the end of the list and says, “You haven’t had dinner.”

“I had a to-go sandwich on the bus,” Castiel answers, a sliver of fondness slipping through his heat. “Any other reasons?”

“None, Castiel.”

Castiel steps forward, grasps Dean by the hair on the crown of his head, and drags Dean’s face against his own crotch.

Mouth open, eyes closed, Dean moans. Hands clasped behind his back, he only just manages to resist grabbing Castiel by the hips.

“Who are you, Dean?” Castiel demands, rubbing his hard-on against Dean’s cheek.

“I’m your good boy.”

Castiel tugs Dean’s head back. Makes Dean look up at him with hazy eyes. “Louder.”

“I’m your good boy!” Dean answers, loud enough to get them kicked out of any library.

“Tell me how.”

“By wanting to be.”

That gets Dean a hard dick back against his face, softened by a thin cushion of slick fabric. Dean inhales deep and long. The fingers in his hair stroke him down.

“When you’re mine,” Castiel instructs quietly, “when you’re all the way mine, tell me you’re ready.”

Dean nuzzles a nod and keeps breathing. Pulls in the low musk of arousal. Savors the cushion beneath his knees and the return of the devastating ache in his crotch. Feels the fingers in his hair and the fabric against his cheeks and nose and lips as Castiel gradually turns him, unrelentingly uses him.

Dean sinks. He falls inside his own skin until he’s nestled up against the edges of it. His mouth waters. His world turns clear and hazy, a flawed and shining gemstone. He breathes and he relaxes, feeling shivers replace aches, finding his body as he loses his mind.

“I’m ready, Castiel,” Dean murmurs.

Slow enough not to startle or leave Dean ungrounded, Castiel relinquishes his grip on Dean’s hair. Telegraphing his movements by shifting his weight first, Castiel steps back.

Untouched and cold, Dean lets himself whine.

“I’m trying something new tonight,” Castiel explains, finally loosening his tie. He pulls it over his head.

Remembering the existence of his arms, Dean unclasps his hands from behind his back and offers them to Castiel, wrists together. He even pushes up the sleeves of his jacket first.

Castiel shakes his head. “I said, new.”

And he slips the tie over Dean’s head.

Leaning down, Castiel tightens it snugly against Dean’s throat.

“Can you breathe?” Castiel asks, offering no explanations in the face of Dean’s confusion.

“Yes, Castiel.”

“Demonstrate.”

Dean breathes in so deeply, it makes him dizzy.

Gripping the tie by the long end, not the short, cinching end tucked beneath, Castiel shifts his weight and passes the tip of the tie between his own legs. With his right hand behind his back, Castiel pulls, drawing Dean forward by the neck until Dean’s face is again flush to Castiel’s crotch. With his left hand, Castiel again grips Dean by the hair.

“Hands behind your back, Dean,” Castiel commands.

Dean obeys.

“I should find a suitable belt for this,” Castiel muses. “Bind it around the back of your head and keep you trapped with your mouth around my cock.”

Dick twitching in his jeans, Dean answers, “Please.”

Castiel gives a tug on the tie, jerking Dean tighter against his clothed erection. The tension around his neck is just shy of enough.

Dean groans.

Loosening the tension on the tie, Castiel instead pulls Dean back an inch by the hair. “Tell me how you’ve been my good boy, Dean.”

“By asking,” Dean answers without needing to think, addressing Castiel’s crotch. “Wanted this, asked for this. Being your good boy just the way you trained me.”

“What else?”

“Trusted you to give it to me.” Dean looks up at Castiel properly before pressing a kiss against the bulge in his slacks. “‘Cause I know you love me being your good boy.”

That gets Dean another firm drag by the tie. That gets Dean’s face humped.

“More,” Castiel orders.

“I planned a good week,” Dean answers. “Checked my schedule, checked your schedule. Wasn’t just celebrating a good midterms, I thought this out in case you wanted to, y’know. Do what we did this week.”

Castiel’s look of pride swallows Dean up.

“And I wanted this on a Friday,” Dean continues. “So we could fuck all weekend if we wanna.”

Another facefuck.

“Tell me how you’ve been good at school.”

Dean grins up at him. “Fucking aced my midterms. Studied bits every night, wasn’t even worried on test day.”

And another.

“Tell me how you’ve been good at work.”

“Been taking more pictures for the website,” Dean answers. “Even let Garth take pics with me in them.”

“Tell me-”

“And-”

They pause.

“Go ahead,” Castiel commands.

“When I couldn’t focus today, I let myself come home early instead of fucking up paperwork or making a dangerous mistake,” Dean adds.

Dean gets a finger in his mouth for that. He swirls his tongue and sucks.

“Very good, Dean,” Castiel praises. “Who were you taking care of?”

“Everyone,” Dean says, popping off. “Me included. Even you too, ‘cause I’m not making you worry.”

“Tell me how you’ve been good to your family.”

Dean licks his lips and takes a chance.

“Just told you,” Dean says. “I didn’t make you worry.”

The look on Castiel’s face.

The released tie, the sudden drop.

The hard kiss.

“And I love you,” Dean continues through it. “And I fed you, and made you coffee with sugar in it, and I love you. Know I already said that, but I get guilty sometimes, ‘cause I don’t tell you enough. But your good boy doesn’t get guilty, your good boy gets better, so I’m saying it, I love you.”

Knee-walking, Castiel straddles Dean, kissing demands against his neck and mouth, gripping Dean’s wrists behind Dean’s back. Castiel wraps Dean up in his whole body, their jackets open, Castiel’s buttons rubbing into Dean’s t-shirt.

“You’re my good boy,” Castiel tells him, pressing down against Dean’s desperate hard-on. “You’re such a good boy.” He kisses Dean hard but not deep, breaking away instead of giving Dean tongue. “Tell me what you want.”

“I wanna keep going,” Dean answers. “Please. I’ve got more. Wanna tell you how good I am.”

“In a minute,” Castiel says, and they kiss and keep kissing. They nearly tumble onto the floor, but Dean breaks position to catch them both. With deep, aroused chuckles, Castiel rights himself with his arms around Dean’s shoulders. “Does my good boy want me to stay on his lap?”

“Your good boy wants to kneel in front of you,” Dean replies.

Shaking, Castiel stands.

Dean offers him the tether of the tie, and Castiel threads it back between his legs again, looking at Dean for a nod of approval. With his other hand, Castiel starts on his belt but stops when Dean shakes his head.

“No reward yet,” Dean tells him. “Need to keep going.”

Castiel holds up a finger.

Dean falls silent, waiting for Cas to compose himself.

A long minute of heavy breathing later, Castiel nods. “Tell me, Dean.”

“I’m not just asking,” Dean explains. “I mean, yeah, I’m asking, asking is kinda the thing, but it’s only a part of it. It’s like, I want… I want. I’m allowed to want, it’s good I want, wanting is a good thing, and asking is a good thing, and there’s… Okay, I’m kinda dizzy. But I’m-”

Dean silences himself at a touch to his lips.

“Breathe,” Castiel urges. He bends down and takes the tie off Dean. He brushes his fingers around Dean’s neck, maybe tracing a red line of his own making. “We have all night. All weekend. You’re right, you planned this well, sweet boy.”

Dean breathes. He makes himself hold Castiel’s eyes as long as he can stand it, but the wave of terror never comes, only the rising tide of vulnerability. And so he looks and looks and keeps looking.

“Continue,” Castiel orders.

“I’m making plans,” Dean explains. “Like the garage, all the photos. It’s not just for the website. I’m making a portfolio. For the car shows, y’know? I don’t just want to sponsor them, I want to judge. I’m gonna show how much I know about restoring classic cars, and then I’m gonna keep going until I get to be a judge. That’s the new dream. It’s not just the garage anymore. I want more than that. I’m planning on more than that.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, visibly awed.

“I know what I want to do with my life,” Dean continues. “I didn’t think I’d… But I do. I seriously, actually do.

“And I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Graduating soon, it’s put a lot of stuff into context. Like, yeah, I knew a lot of the shit already, but the networking’s been huge. Getting the right terms, figuring out how to explain stuff or ask for stuff, that’s been the most important across the board. So, yeah, it’s corny as shit, but even though you never had me in a single class, you’re still hands down my best teacher, ‘cause you’ve been working with me on that since day one.

“So I know what I’m gonna aim for next. Finishing school, breaking out into the car show world. Yeah, I’m nervous, but I’m not scared as shit anymore. I know things are gonna change when I’m not on campus all the time anymore, but I get to ask for how things change. And that’s why…” Dean swallows thickly.

He shifts his weight.

Holding Castiel’s gaze, he moves his leg and rises, now kneeling on a single knee.

He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and sees the exact moment Castiel realizes what Dean’s pulling out.

“That’s why I’m asking you to wear this,” Dean tells him, opening the ring box.

Castiel drops to both knees, takes Dean by the face, and kisses him yes.

They fumble the ring box to the floor twice before they manage to get the ring on Castiel, both of them laughing like the idiots they are. It fits perfectly, a wide silver band with a trio of modest stones.

“When did you,” Castiel starts to ask.

“Measured your class ring,” Dean says.

Castiel kisses him down against the floor. He pulls back too soon, but he pulls Dean with him, tugging Dean up to his feet and—bizarrely—out of the room.

“Uh, bed’s that way, big guy,” Dean says.

“Hold on,” Castiel says, following his own advice to lead Dean around by a fistful of t-shirt. Into the office they go, right up to Castiel’s desk, and then Castiel releases Dean to yank open the desk drawer, rip out a caddie of pens and post-its, and rip open the little box of staples behind it.

Except there are no staples in the cardboard box, just another, smaller, more velvety box.

“When,” Dean starts to ask, eyes wide, mouth falling open.

“When you were ordering your class ring,” Castiel explains. He pops the box and gets the ring on Dean. “I was going to- Your graduation party- I thought- Do you like it?”

“We’re getting married!” Dean says, very intelligently.

“Do you like it?” Castiel repeats still holding Dean’s hand, his ring finger.

“Holy shit, they almost match,” Dean says, grabbing Castiel’s hand to compare. Dean’s has a single, larger stone set into the band, but the silver is the same shade, and while Castiel’s band has two lines etched into the metal, framing the trio of stones, Dean’s ring has a single line, interrupted only by the single diamond. “How did we do that?”

“You like it,” Castiel says, half a question.

“Holy shit,” Dean says, and kisses him. He pulls back abruptly, unable to choose one course of action when there’s too much to say and do and feel. “Did you tell your parents you were doing this? ‘Cause they got this bigass smiles when I told them I was asking this week-”

“You told my parents?”

“I maybe asked their blessing,” Dean admits. “Don’t worry, I said I was asking over a quiet night in, to not freak you out with a public proposal. Totally silent on the BDSM stuff.”

“I asked Bobby,” Castiel says. “For the graduation party, I said we’d need a moment alone and he asked why and I told him and he hugged me. Then he called Sam, and Sam helped me with the ring-”

“That fucker,” Dean interrupts. “That’s why they match! Fucking bitch picked out both rings!”

“He was very certain you’d like it,” Castiel says, looking at their hands together.

“We’re getting married,” Dean says.

“We’re getting married,” Castiel says, which is both redundant and totally okay.

“We’re getting so fucking married,” Dean agrees, and this is the point where Castiel drags him back to the bedroom, now by the belt.

Fully clothed, Castiel strips Dean down in quick, efficient motions. He pushes Dean down onto the edge of the bed, kneels on Dean’s cushion, and blows him like he needs to drink Dean’s come to live. Fucking shaking, trembling all over, Dean comes as hard from the hot mouth around his dick as he does from the week of chastity, as he does from the sight of silver against Castiel’s hair where Dean holds desperately to him.

Castiel licks him up, pushes him down, and snowballs him. Dean swallows it all up, a display of submission he knows always drives Castiel wild. Dean pushes Castiel’s suit jacket off, but doesn’t get much farther than that; Castiel rises up to shove down his suit slacks, to yank off his socks. White shirt still buttoned, he climbs on top of Dean in record time, straddling Dean’s chest.

Hands pinned against their headboard, head propped up against pillows, Dean opens his mouth only to be thwarted. Castiel keeps his thrusts small, his hips swaying. His hard cock waves back and forth in front of Dean’s face, beckoning obscenely.

“Ask,” Castiel demands.

“Please let me suck my fiance’s dick,” Dean begs, playing it up, and Castiel’s eyes go so very round, so very dark. “I want my future husband’s cock in me, please, baby.”

It absolutely backfires. Between tiny bursts of fucking Dean’s face, Castiel pulls out again and again, commanding, “Say it again.”

Dean says it again.

And again.

And again.

Castiel teases both of them so hard and so long, he has to stop to get them both water. Using his tie, he tightens the loop around Dean’s wrists and leaves him tied to the headboard. Pausing in the bedroom doorway, erect cock peeking out from the hem of his shirt, Castiel turns back to Dean and says, “If you can get it up again by the time I return, we can use the vibrating cockring. Do not untie yourself.”

Walking away with loud footsteps for an unshod man, Castiel takes his time. The kitchen cabinet closes. The fridge door grumbles about ice, and the glasses ping. All the while, Dean strains desperately inside his own mind, fixated on Castiel, on his dick, on the weight of the ring around his finger.

Castiel returns to find Dean twisted over and humping the bed. Castiel stops short but says nothing. He approaches, sets both glasses down on his beside table, and stands there, looking down at Dean with dark, hooded eyes. He has the sex towel draped over one arm.

“Didn’t untie myself,” Dean gasps.

“I can see that,” Castiel says, inspecting his abused tie. Putting the sex towel down first, he rolls Dean back over, taking care to turn him in the direction that loosens the twisted binding on Dean’s wrists. That done, Castiel runs one proprietary hand down Dean’s arms, across his chest. Down his stomach. Through his pubes.

And up.

Slowly.

Just a fingertip.

Up.

Dean’s desperate, half-hard dick.

“Please,” Dean begs.

The corner of his mouth pulling to the side, Castiel climbs on top of him. He presses his knee up between Dean’s legs, tight against Dean’s balls, and lets Dean’s dick fall against his thick thigh. Castiel leans over, takes the glass with the bendy straw in it, and has Dean drink. Castiel flexes his thigh. Dean sucks the straw like he would Castiel’s cock. He swallows the way he will when Castiel makes him, when Castiel wants him to.

By the time Castiel sets the glass aside, Dean is properly hard.

Not all the way. Not ready to come.

But undeniably hard.

“We can use it,” Castiel allows.

Dean slumps in grateful relief.

“What does my good boy say?” Castiel prompts.

“Thank you, Castiel,” Dean answers.

“Good boy,” Castiel says, and kisses him. Castiel pauses to drink as well, quick about it, messy about it, droplets running out of his mouth and wetting his shirt, already damp with sweat. Finally, Castiel ditches the shirt, but not before using it to wipe more sweat off Dean’s forehead and his own.

Castiel releases Dean from the tie as well. He kisses and massages Dean’s wrists, his fingers, and he pays special attention to one.

“Turn over,” Castiel murmurs. “Hands and knees. No, wait. Arms folded, head down.”

Dean complies. Sweat dries against his back, prickling his skin. When Castiel fails to touch him, Dean flexes his ass and widens his stance.

Ice jingles in the glass as Castiel drinks once more, clearly taking his time behind Dean to look his fill.

“There’s lube in my jacket,” Dean says against his folded arms.

Castiel hums, an appreciative sound.

“Wasn’t sure which room you’d pick,” Dean adds against the silence.

“That’s very thoughtful,” Castiel rumbles, as quiet as a distant earthquake. Finally, he cups Dean’s ass cheek with one damp, slightly chilled hand. He rubs his thumb over Dean’s hole. “Did you clean yourself out too?”

“Basic shower stuff.”

Castiel hums, this one more thoughtful than the last. “I want you wet when I open you up.”

“Lube’s in the-”

Dean yelps, a freezing pressure pushing wetly against his hole.

Withdrawing the ice cube, Castiel ducks his head to blow hot air down Dean’s crack.

“Fuck,” Dean gasps.

Castiel does it again, working the corner of a cube against his rim. He takes it away, uses the pad of his finger again, but each time Dean fractionally warms back up, he gets more of the ice. His folded arms get wet, maybe with drool, maybe with tears, but Dean keeps his ass nice and high, waiting for whatever Castiel wants to give him.

But he can only wait so long when he wants so much.

“Spank me,” Dean gasps. “Hit me with the ring on.”

Castiel rubs his left hand over Dean’s ass, the metal a welcome new sensation. “Hm, no. I don’t… Not enough restraint, Dean.”

“I’m good with bruises.”

“If I split your skin, I can’t fuck you as hard,” Castiel tells him.

“Another time?”

Castiel kisses the small of his back. “Of course.” Another puff of warm breath, and Castiel freezes.

“What?” Dean asks.

“That can be part of our wedding night scene,” Castiel whispers, awed.

Dean’s dick jerks hard. It bounces up against his stomach.

“Aw, fuck, Cas, fuck me,” Dean begs.

“Getting there, sweet boy, hold on for me.”

Castiel moves away to get the lube, but he comes back with a speed Dean heartily appreciates. Then Castiel goes and pauses again, but-

“Oh, baby, yeah…”

-Dean can also appreciate a chilled band of silver against his ass, Castiel gripping Dean’s left ass cheek, spreading him only to play with yet more ice.

“Cas, please.”

After the ice, the lube doesn’t come close to feeling chilly, even without Castiel warming it. Castiel pushes more and more inside him, punctuating some with an ice cube, wriggling in more with a warm finger. Dean pushes back with trembling thighs and controlled breathing. He circles his ass, working Castiel’s finger, then fingers, increasingly toward his sweet spot.

“Tell me you need it,” Castiel orders, voice as low and deep as the pit of lust he’s dug inside Dean.

“Need it,” Dean pants.

“You love it.”

“Love it.”

Castiel removes his fingers from Dean’s hole. He breathes on it once more, making it twitch around nothing. He pats Dean’s ass with his left hand, a firm swat that’s still a far cry from a true spanking. “Beg, Dean.”

“Fuck my hole, please fuck me, come in me, lube me up with jizz, put it in me, give me—Yes!” Dean shouts.

Not at Castiel fucking him, not yet, no.

Dean cries out at a familiar sound.

A buzzing.

A vibration.

“Up or down?” Castiel asks, finally pressing the tip of his dick to Dean’s rim.

“Down,” Dean begs immediately. “Against my balls.”

Shuffling forward on the sex towel, Castiel pushes in. Spreads Dean open from the inside. The air itself trembles as Castiel pushes deeper, deeper, until Dean lets out a long, sighing moan as the cockring presses against his rim, as the vibrator nestles tightly behind his balls.

“Up,” Castiel orders.

“But it’s down?” Dean asks, befuddled by lust.

“You, up,” Castiel says, tugging at Dean to make himself clear.

Grabbing weakly at the headboard, Dean somehow manages to lift himself up, to sit back against Castiel’s dick, his ass cradled by Castiel’s hips.

Castiel drapes himself across Dean’s back. Bites at Dean’s shoulder. Wraps an arm around Dean’s middle and a hand around his dick. Between the pressure inside him and the vibration buzzing into him, Dean’s lost. All he can do is clutch at the headboard and run at the mouth. How Castiel makes sense of the babbling filth, Dean will never know, but maybe it’s Dean’s body Castiel is listening to.

The thrusts are slow. At their deepest, they grind. Castiel’s hand drops from Dean’s dick to his balls, presses them back against the vibrator, presses the button on the side of the toy.

Dean’s cock twitches almost in time with the pulses of vibration.

“Yes?” Castiel checks.

“Yes.”

Castiel fucks him. Thrusts in hard, pulls back slow. Has to pull back slow, Dean’s ass clinging to him so hard, Dean’s body resisting even the most temporary escape on Castiel’s part. When Castiel does pull out, Dean shouts in uncomprehending frustration, but Castiel pulls him compliant, pours him over.

Once on his back, Dean wastes no time wrapping his legs around Castiel’s waist, even as Castiel fusses with insignificant details like adding more lube or rotating the cockring. God, it looks so good there, like a misshapen bow on Castiel’s dick, all wrapped up for Dean’s pleasure.

Castiel pushes back in, and Dean pulls him down. It builds again, builds higher and tighter, Dean’s dick rubbed between their stomachs, his ass stretched tight, his fiance’s mouth against his. His thighs tremble and his back aches, and he has Castiel, he has him, he has him.

Dean comes all over him in long shaking pulses, ass clenching, hands clutching, legs wrapped tight. Almost before he can gasp out a moan, Castiel groans “oh, thank God” and comes inside him with short, pounding thrusts that push Dean farther up the bed. They catch themselves against the headboard, foreheads pressed together, bodies entwined as tightly as they’re able, and something in Dean finally, finally starts to breathe.

Castiel removes and turns off the cockring, and they lie there a long time, breathing.

“We should clean up,” Castiel murmurs eventually. He stretches. Prompts Dean to do the same.

“Later,” Dean says. He holds on to Castiel’s back and shoulders as Castiel pushes himself up. He lifts his head when Castiel returns with the glass with the bendy straw, its ice now melted. Dean drinks cold water, feels the chill line his throat and spread through his overheated body.

“Finish it,” Castiel urges when Dean stops.

Dean shakes his head. “You drink. Yours has ass juice in it now.”

Wrinkling his nose, Castiel finishes off the glass. He sets it aside.

Together, they wriggle off the sex towel and make perfunctory attempts at wiping off the worst of the mess, the best of the mess. They collapse again immediately after, lying side-by-side, just looking at each other.

“This was a good idea,” Castiel says softly. He rests one hand on Dean’s cheek. Presses his thumb against Dean’s lips.

Dean presses a sleepy kiss to the digit.

They doze. They wake. Regretfully, Cas sits up, squinting against the lights they’d left on.

Despite the aches deep inside him, Dean gets up too. He grabs the glasses and urges Cas to stand.

“Pizza in the fridge,” Dean says. “And more water.”

His expression fond beyond measure, Cas rises, kisses him softly, and follows.