Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dean was growing tired of waiting. His foot tapped anxiously on the floorboards. He jumbled his shoulders and tugged his flannel closer around himself. Benny had told him he and the rest of the guys would be here by now. Dean pushed his sleeve up and glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time since arriving. 11:07.

Maybe he should go back in his car. The early spring evening had been warm, but now it was starting to get chilly, and the amenities of Benny’s front porch weren’t exactly worth the cold. If Dean waited out here much longer, he wasn’t likely to be in the mood anymore when the guys did finally show up.

It had been too long since their last meet up, and Dean could feel that itch burrowing under his skin. It wasn’t an itch that could be scratched by going out to the local bar and picking up a one night stand - Dean had tried that, didn’t like it. Regular sex was unpleasant. He hated it. He had no interest in touching his own asshole, touching another guy’s asshole, or having another guy touch his asshole. And that’s all anyone seemed to want. The times Dean had tried just blowing his partner, it was presumed to be foreplay for anal.

And then, Dean had met Benny Lafitte. Finally, a man who understood that sex didn’t have to mean anal. A man responsible for giving Dean the best orgasms of his life without even stroking his cock, let alone his asshole. A man who Dean trusted implicitly with his innermost desires.

They weren’t exclusive - ha! - weren’t dating, but once he and Dean got to know each other, Dean knew there was no one else in the world who would be able to satisfy him. Their arrangement, plus occasionally a few collaborators, was all Dean needed.

At long last, the headlights of Benny’s truck turned into the driveway, followed by a sedan. Dean stood up from the porch railing and straightened his flannel. Benny pulled up his truck beside Dean’s Impala and cut the lights; the driver of the sedan parked behind.

Dean’s heartbeat was already picking up pace as the occupants piled out of the vehicles. Benny, Victor, Aaron, Jesse, Cesar, Boris, and -

Benny called out, “Hope you don’t mind an extra player.” He clapped a hand on the shoulder of the newcomer, who stood stiffly beneath Benny’s palm, eyes bugged out and trained on Dean.

A jolt of arousal pumped through Dean. Seven. His mouth watered, knees weak. Seven men, all focused on Dean. Seven men to worship, to be worshiped by.

Dean knew if he tried to speak, all that would come out would be a squeak, so instead he met Benny’s eyes and nodded several times. He swallowed the saliva building up in his mouth.

“Great!” Benny pushed the newcomer forward. The newcomer stumbled but recovered with grace, boots skidding in the gravel. He brushed down his trench coat, now trying to look anywhere but at Dean. “This is Castiel. He’s Liz’s confrère.”

Dean looked Castiel up and down. He didn’t seem to be the librarian type, what with the trench coat and tanned skin, and Dean could tell there were muscles bulging underneath his slacks. His muscles were as tight as a bowstring, spine was as straight as the arrow nocked to the serving. Dean wondered what had made Benny invite him to join tonight’s gathering, wondered what Benny had said to make him accept, because Castiel certainly didn’t look like he wanted to be there.

The other men regarded Castiel warily, as they always did when an outsider was brought in. Never mind that each of them had been outsiders once. Aaron licked his lips.

Once he climbed the porch steps, Benny held out his hand for Dean to take and pulled him in for a one-armed hug. A bear of a man, Benny always gave the best hugs. He wrapped his arm securely around Dean’s shoulder, his back. He smelled like burning wood and whiskey. Dean inhaled as deeply.

“You ready, brother?” Benny murmured.

Dean shivered. His neck tingled. “Fuck, yes,” he whispered.

“That’s my good pet.” Benny sucked a brief kiss below Dean’s earlobe. His lips were chapped, rough against Dean’s skin, but Dean didn’t mind. With an anticipatory smile, Benny let him go and fished the keys out of his pocket. He held them out for Dean “After you,” he said.

Dean took the keys from Benny’s fingers. There were about a dozen on the ring, but Dean knew by now which ones he needed to get where he wanted. Dean pulled the storm door open, hinges creaking, and it was held in place by Benny while Dean slid the brass key into the keyway of the front door. The cylinder rotated easily with the key, allowing Dean to pull down the handle and enter Benny’s house.

To call this a house was really a misnomer. Three stories, seven bedrooms, three and a half baths, a basement and an attic, and a kitchen larger than the Roadhouse’s - it was more akin to a mansion than any house Dean had ever been in. When Dean had asked about it once, Benny had claimed he just liked having his space. As the president and chief executive officer of a respected laboratory, he raked in much more than Dean could ever hope to earn in his day job. And on the side… well, Benny and Dean split the bounty 40/60.

Tonight wasn’t for profit, though; these gatherings never were. Every time he and Benny filmed themselves, they were careful to keep their identities hidden, which would be difficult with what they had planned. Dean and Benny had toyed once with the concept of Dean wearing a blindfold and keeping the camera aimed below their guests’ waists, but they never broached the idea with the rest of the group. Maybe one day, but not now, especially not with a johnny-come-lately. This was only for them.

Dean led them through Benny’s house to the door in the kitchen’s hallway. There was a key for this door, too, the smallest one on the ring. Dean’s hands almost shook as he unlocked the inconspicuous door and turned the knob. The door opened silently inwards.

Dean took a deep breath, then stepped forward. The air was brisk, but Dean knew from experience how hot and humid it was about to get, without any intervention. The handful of stairs descending into Benny’s converted garage groaned underneath the weight of each of the eight men as they climbed down.

The garage could have easily accommodated four cars before Benny converted it into his sex dungeon. Before meeting Benny, Dean had never seen a sex dungeon, but he had imagined them all painted red, embellished with an obscene amount of leather, and having chains dangling from the ceiling. Benny maintained that what he had was not a sex dungeon, but Dean begged to differ. What else could this be called? Sex garage didn’t exactly have the same appeal.

Benny was the one to flick on the lights, casting the whole room in yellowish glow. Abutting one wall sat a king-sized, four-poster bed with a boxy frame; the sheets on the bed were meticulously kept free from wrinkles when not in use. Various toys adorned the soundproofed walls: whips, gags, ropes, handcuffs… They had no use for any of that today, though Dean’s eyes lingered on each item. The furnishings had all been pushed to the side in preparation for their play, leaving the middle of the room empty.

Dean made his way to the center, where he belonged, shedding his flannel on the way. His shirt came next, then his shoes, everything thrown haphazardly toward the bed. He didn’t make an effort to put on a show for the guys, but he still earned a whistle of appreciation, probably from Victor, as he shimmied out of his pants and underwear.

“Like what you’re seein’, fellas?” Dean looked over his shoulder to see the men still gathered, clothed, at the foot of the stairs. It was always awkward, at first, but they would come around, they would all join him. He saw Castiel’s cheeks flushed red and smirked. “Don’t be shy.”

With that, Dean kneeled, the wood panel flooring cold and hard on his knees and toes. Dean wouldn’t have it any other way, though Benny tried to pass him a cushion. He liked the bruises, liked the ache it gave him. They were a physical reminder of their soirées, ones that would last for days, unlike the emissions that washed off him as soon as he showered.

The most confident of the gang was Victor. He strode forward and circled around Dean until they were face-to-face. Well, crotch-to-face. He tugged on his tie as he gazed down at Dean, who waited with bated breath for the show to begin. Dean heard the shuffle of feet as the other men grouped loosely around them.

Victor was the only one Dean had invited to Benny’s house. They had met when Sam’s then-girlfriend was arrested for smuggling drugs and attempted murder. Ruby was now five years into her thirty year sentence, and though Dean and Victor don’t hang out much anymore thanks to Victor’s promotion, Dean still considered him a close friend. Close enough to share this with. It helped, of course, that Victor possessed that authoritative manner that drew Dean in like a moth to a flame. The moment they had met, Dean had known he was fucked (but not in that way. Gross!).

His cock was also Dean’s favorite. It was thick and long, always hard just for him, at least for the night. When Victor unfastened his pants and pulled it out, Dean found his mouth watering. Victor’s full lips smirked down at him.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He jerked it in Dean’s direction, and Dean didn’t have to be told twice. He leaned forward and captured Victor’s dick. He started with open kisses along the shaft, and when the cock was nice and wet with his saliva, Dean plunged it into his mouth.

However much he admired the male form, Dean didn’t particularly care for blow jobs all that much, but, damn, was he good at them. Not only was Dean a fast learner, but he knew how to read people, knew how to interpret their nonverbal cues to give them the best experience possible. And he could store all of that information for later. He knew what he had to do to make each member of the gang feel special, loved, happy. Blow jobs were really just a means to an end for Dean, much more tolerable than anal. There were still things he could enjoy about the whole experience. His favorite part was when his partners touched him, held him by his hair, took control, went to town.

Victor wasn’t like that, though. He preferred that Dean put his back into it. After a stressful day in the office or in the field, all Victor wanted was to have another man do the all work, though he was too proud to allow himself to be truly submissive. This was okay with Dean, so long as he got his payload.

So he sucked, he labored, he hummed. With his right hand, he pumped what he didn’t fit in his mouth. Victor was so lengthy that Dean could have used both hands and still had enough to suckle. His tongue spilled out over his lip, licking the underside of Victor’s massive member as Dean slid up and down. Dean’s chin dampened with his own saliva, a mockery of that feeling Dean was truly after.

Victor was normally a stolid partner, but every once in a while, Dean could coax a grunt from him. He did so now by prodding his inner cheek with the tip of Victor’s cock, smearing the sensitive head over the softest part of his mouth. The sound reverberated in Dean’s ears, and he added to it with his own protracted moan. Victor’s breathing hitched, and he jerked his hips, the only involvement he would offer Dean. Salty precome seeped onto Dean’s cheek. He suctioned Victor’s cock back into the centerline of his mouth, swallowing the thin fluid down his throat. It wasn’t what he was after but was a promise of what was to come, and Dean lapped it eagerly.

Dean used his free hand to fondle with Victor’s balls. The scant fuzz prickled his palms. For as impressive as his cock was, Victor’s testicles were less so, but they held what Dean was working for and deserved attention, too. He pulled his mouth off the member and dove down for the crown jewels. They slipped to and fro within the large sac, slithery and evasive, but Dean was able to hold them both in his trap. His tongue lathed over the seam keeping them apart. All the while, Dean carried on with jacking Victor’s member.

Around him, the onlookers wheezed and whined. The dulcet sounds of cocks in hands filled the room. The sex dungeon was starting to get toasty.

The angle began to make Dean’s neck ache, so he dragged himself away from the balls and brought the dick back into his mouth, but not before licking up its entire length. He had barely began to find his rhythm when Victor finally rasped, “I’m close!”

Yes! This is what Dean had been waiting for. He kissed the rolled-down foreskin and pumped the cock with his fist. Victor’s eyes were closed, his mouth pressed in a concentrated line as Dean brought him up to the finish line. Dean squeezed Victor’s balls gently, urging them to let go.

At long last, Victor grunted again, and the first shot of his creamy white seed flew out of his urethra, spattering onto Dean’s cheek. Dean continued to wrest Victor’s cock, careful to keep its aim on his waiting, beaming face. Spurt after spurt of come rained down upon him. Arousal thrilled through his body. It had been so long since he’d been wetted and marked like this, and he relished every last drop.

“Oh,” an unfamiliar voice gasped. Dean smirked internally while he laid his tongue out for Victor’s leavings to enter his mouth. If Castiel liked what he was seeing, then Dean had no reservations about Benny’s invitation; Castiel would fit in just fine.

When finally Victor’s juice ran dry, Dean swallowed the driblet that landed on his tongue and blinked up at the man. There was semen in his eyelashes, but he didn’t care. Victor’s breathing was ragged, and there was a hint of a smile in his mouth. Dean waited until Victor opened his eyes to say, “Thank you, sir.”

Victor chuffed, then stepped back. His turn was over. Dean looked around the circle to see who would take his place. The newcomer? Someone more familiar? Dean didn’t have to wonder long before Jesse took it upon himself to steal the second-best seat of the show. Well, everyone in the room would probably contest that honorific. None of them deigned to get on their knees, but that suited Dean just fine. Everyone all wanted to be the ones to fuck Dean’s pretty face - everyone, that is, except Cesar.

Jesse and Cesar were a package deal. This whole exhibition really started when Benny had invited them for a showing and Jesse had decided to get in on the action. Cesar had just made himself comfortable on Benny’s spanking bench while Benny and Jesse had taken turns paddling Dean into submission and spraying him with their jizz. Later that evening, Jesse had rode Benny like he had been born to do so; Cesar’s eyes never left the display. Dean had thought that they were being unfair to Cesar, even though it had seemed the man had voluntarily sidelined himself, but Cesar later explained to him that it was his kink to be cuckolded. Dean never pretend to understand it, but he was a sick freak, too, and just went with it. Nowadays, they engaged with Dean and Benny whenever the mood arose, and it was always the same: Cesar watched, and Jesse played. Sometimes there were insults, but most of the time, Cesar seemed indulged by Jesse’s pleasure alone.

Cesar didn’t budge from his position at Dean’s three o’clock as Jesse got into position. Jesse’s jeans were already open and rolled down to free his cock and balls. There was a bead of precome on the tip - Jesse had been masturbating while Dean satisfied Victor. Dean licked it up flamboyantly, then swallowed Jesse whole. Jesse was neither as large nor as solid as Victor, but he still filled Dean’s mouth entirely. His musky, leathery scent pervaded Dean’s nostrils.

“Fuck, yeah. Give it to him!” Cesar urged. Dean wasn’t sure which one of them he was talking to, but they both took his words to heart. The grip on his hair tightened, and Jesse slammed Dean up and down his cock. The tune of Cesar’s beating fist was music to Dean’s ears, even muffled as it was by the sloppy racket his mouth made on Jesse’s member. A moan was fucked out of Dean’s throat, drawn out and genuine. Dean opened his watering eyes to look up at Jesse’s normally hard-lined face relaxed, mouth split open as he, too groaned.

Fresh precome flooded Dean’s mouth and saliva dribbled from his lips. Dean tried once to swallow, but the brutal pace Jesse appointed prevented his throat from being able to act properly. He thanked his lucky stars that he at least never had to train himself to stop gagging for this; it came naturally to him to open his esophagus and let Jesse in deeper. His nose smashed into Jesse’s pubis, but it was already a little crooked, anyway.

Even as his lungs were cut off from air, Dean didn’t fight. His chest burned to catch a breath, but Jesse’s animalistic thrusting made that impossible, too. Dean couldn’t even gather his bearings, his mouth was fucked so senselessly. His entire world narrowed down to the cock in his mouth and his dwindling oxygen supply.

“Ease up.” The voice sounded like it was coming from far away, but Dean recognized it as Cesar, on his port side. Jesse obeyed and hauled Dean halfway off his member. Fresh oxygen aerated Dean’s lungs as he was finally able to take a breath. While his lungs screamed in relief, Dean couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed. Jesse was now more careful with him, though he still pounded Dean like there was no tomorrow. The tip of his cock now only nudged the back of his throat, never again pouring beyond and into his esophagus. Dean whined at the tickle.

“You’re doing so good.” Cesar’s voice was strained; he was getting close. Jesse wouldn’t finish until Cesar told him he could, another strange layer to their dynamic Dean would never fathom. He saw the determination furrow Jesse’s brow and pinch his lips shut. “Fuck!”

Jesse keened. “I’m gonna - I need to —”

“Go ahead, mi corazón.”

That was all Jesse needed before he pushed Dean off and orgasmed. The abruptness of his release blindsided Dean, who gasped and gaped as he kneeled there on the floor, feeling strange for not being in motion. Come sprayed like a firehose over his face, branding him like iron. Dean was so wet, though this was practically only the beginning. There was still so much in store for him.

The sound of footsteps fell on the floor. Dean squinted open his eyes to see Cesar sidling next to Jesse, cock excited and leaking in his hand. He might be hard for his husband, but his ejaculate was all for Dean. Cesar took aim and jettisoned his spunk onto Dean. Dean moaned again, exhilaration racing through him. Though his own dick had remained untouched, it, too, was now seeping.

Panting heavily, eyes closed, Dean was all smiles. Fuck, he had to look absolutely filthy right now, and he was loving every moment of it. Everyone was enjoying their time with Dean. He made everyone happy. That made him happy. Maybe he did understand more about Jesse and Cesar’s relationship than he previously thought.

“Thank you, sirs,” he said with a stuporous smile on his face.

Boneless, Jesse allowed himself to be tugged to the side by his husband. Cesar remained solid as a rock, though his cock betrayed just how affected he had been. He threw a wink Dean’s way while Jesse wasn’t looking.

Before they could even properly vacate their spot, Boris interposed himself between the Cuevas’ and Dean, grinning widely. Jesse stumbled, Cesar holding him steady, and they both cast a wary glance at Boris. Boris shook his untamed array of hair out and settled in. Dean swallowed a lump down his throat.

He wasn’t sure who brought Boris along, as no one really seemed to get along with him all that well. Dean knew he was an old army bud of Benny’s, but even Benny kept his guard up around him. Still, he hadn’t yet done anything too untoward. He liked to call Dean pretty and streak his precome over Dean’s mouth with his cock. So what if Dean always felt a little dirty after Boris had finished with him?

Still, he tried to make it good for Boris; the better he got it, the sooner he would be done, and the sooner he would clear out of Dean’s mouth. Dean would pull out every trick of the book.

Boris’s erection swung in Dean’s face, pale and smooth. It wasn’t especially big, but it packed a punch when Boris shoved it between Dean’s lips. There was noise behind Dean, and he sputtered a moment, then remembered himself and began to rock back and forth along the shaft.

“Such a pretty mouth,” Boris murmured, tracing a finger around the seal of Dean’s lips. Dean shut his eyes and tried to savor the touch, to ignore who was on the other end. The hand scratched along his stubble, the hollow of his cheeks, back to his lips. Dean felt slimy, and it wasn’t just from the come covering his face. He tried to ignore the feeling, but when Boris purred, “So pretty for me,” he just couldn’t help himself.

His jaws tightened without moving his lips, bringing down his teeth to Boris’ sensitive head, scraping under the crown. Boris’ caressing hand immediately turned into a slap and cuffed Dean right off his cock.

“Hey!” Benny exclaimed. There was a large commotion in the circle, but Dean was too dazed to investigate. His vision swam.

“He bit me, man!” Boris said. “I was just defending myself.”

“’S okay, Benny. My fault.” His cheek stung, blazed red. He tried to dredge up even a scrap of satisfaction for having pained Boris, but all he felt was pleasure at having been slapped himself and chagrin that Boris had been the one to inspire it. The feelings warred inside him, but neither one of them came out ahead.

The circle was murmuring. There weren’t exactly rules to this little game other than play nice and be respectful. No one was sure of how slapping qualified.

Dean knew Benny was about to kick Boris out, but Dad didn’t raise no quitter - Dean had to finish this. If this was the last time Boris was allowed to participate, though, Dean wouldn’t quarrel. He steadied himself with a breath. He bat his eyelashes up at Boris. “I won’t do it again.” Boris waited with an arched eyebrow. Dean swallowed back his pride. “Sir.”

Boris glared triumphantly across the circle. “Good boy.” He didn’t look down at Dean until Dean drew him back into his mouth. Dean could feel the nerves of the others in the group, agitated and uneasy. Directly to Boris’ left was Aaron, who had been masturbating to the scene in front of him until Boris had hit Dean; now, he simply held his cock in his hand and scrutinized every twitch of Boris’ fingers.

But Boris didn’t lay another hand on Dean throughout the rest of his turn. Dean didn’t let his smarting cheek hinder his ability to suck Boris’ dick, but he did pop off early and let Boris complete himself with his fist. There wasn’t much force behind Boris’ ejaculation. The first spurt of precome dribbled down Boris’ shaft and onto his fingers, but he made sure the rest of it smeared across Dean’s fastened mouth, even venturing for the first time to Dean’s cheek, the one he had slapped. Dean held his breath all the while.

“All right, that’s enough,” Benny said. There was an edge to his voice, though he tried to keep it casual. “Let the other boys have fun.”

With a contained grimace, Boris shifted his weight onto his heels, his cock dropping from Dean’s face. He schooled himself back into his trademark grin before looking back down at Dean expectantly.

Dean blushed, not wanting to meet Boris’ eyes anymore. “Thank you, sir,” he ground out.

“It’s my pleasure,” Boris said. He bowed slightly at the waist and abdicated his position.

Before any one else could move, Benny cut through the circle. He crouched down to Dean’s level, concern shimmering in his eyes. His dick rubbed against Dean’s side. He was the only other one in the circle who had taken off his clothes.

“You all right, cher?”

“I said it’s okay,” Dean insisted. His gaze burned into Benny’s, begging him to understand. He shifted his weight; his knees were starting to ache now. Voice dropping, Dean added, “Besides, you know I like it rough.”

That seemed to convince him, though the bolt of his jaw tightened. Sighing, he heaved himself back up to full height and pointed at the first person his gaze landed upon. “You up next?”

Dean shook his head of his last encounter as Aaron stepped up to the plate. The smallest and most unassuming member of the group, he was also the newest, other than now Castiel. Victor had extended an invitation to him last year, and he and Dean had gotten along immediately. They were both into the same nerdy roleplaying games, both enjoyed cooking, and were major flirts. They hung out a lot on the weekends, usually just watching movies and eating the snacks they made. Among the ranks of Benny and Charlie, he was one of Dean’s closest friends.

It’s never been weird between them, though, just as it wasn’t with Dean and Benny. They were just friends who happened to engage in sexual activities with each other. No big deal. Even though Dean occasionally found the lines blurring, that was just a consequence of how coquettish they could be. He wouldn’t change their relationship for the world.

Aaron’s enormous balls spilled over the hem of his drawn sweatpants, just begging to be taken into a mouth, but even more striking was his cock. Aaron was the only one in the gang who had been cut; the head of his penis bloomed like the cap of a mushroom, fat and flushed. Dean wrapped his lips around the tip and played with it using his tongue. This made Aaron moan, and he ran his fingers through Dean’s hair. He didn’t grip, like Jesse did, just held Dean in place while he lathed over the most sensitive part of Aaron’s penis. Dean’s hand fondled the rest, twisting and tugging relentlessly.

“Oh, Dean.” The hand wandered to Dean’s occipital bone and pulled him in closer. Dean took the hint and began bobbing up and down Aaron’s cock. He built up to a simple rhythm, and all the while, Aaron cradled the base of his skull. Everything between them was just so easy, so nice, but Aaron was too soft to be able to satisfy Dean completely.

Dean moaned around Aaron’s cock. With each nod of his head, he took Aaron in deeper and deeper, until his cock was poking the back of his throat. Aaron shivered, shaking Dean with him. “Dean!” he called out again.

Aaron had always been the easiest to please. It didn’t take long for him to enclose his hands on his cock, signaling for Dean to stand down. Aaron’s hips juddered as he wrung himself, using the same motions Dean had, except he could thumb the slit and spread the oozing precome all over his head. Dean licked his lips, wanting a taste, but he could be patient, especially when he had a one man show right in front of him. Besides, he had another subject to attend to.

Dipping his head down low, Dean nosed at Aaron’s sack. The smell of him was strongest here, pleasant like an old book. Taking a deep breath, Dean pulled Aaron’s right nut into his mouth. It was heavy, potent with seed. Dean sucked on it, feeling the testicle slide around its loose sack. He gave the left nut the same treatment, but instead of releasing it, he let his teeth tease the firm globe inside. Aaron, at least, didn’t mind a little nibble; he whimpered and gasped Dean’s name. Dean couldn’t suppress his Cheshire grin, and he finally had to let Aaron’s testicle go.

“Come for me, baby,” Dean encouraged. He locked eyes with Aaron’s big, wide ones, and Aaron gulped. “Shower me with your jizz!”

“Ah!” Aaron orgasmed with a shout. Dean watched his seed fly from the cut head of his member, landing delicately on Dean’s face. Dean was saturated at this point, absolutely dripping, and there was still more to come. Aaron’s seal splattered all over him. Spunk pitched into his eyelashes, clung to the corner of his eye. Another spurt from Aaron’s cock launched onto his collarbone.

Dean wanted to touch, wanted to slather every inch of his skin in their come. He was a painted whore, the white cream seeping down his face, spilling onto his chest. He was so close to being covered, he could feel it; so close to coming himself that it burned. For the first time that night, Dean allowed himself to touch his own cock, not enough to sate, just enough to quench his thirst, and he moaned shamelessly. Fuck, it felt so good! “Thank you, sir!” His hips bucked up, driving his cock into his fist. He was so goddamned messy; he wished he could see himself.

Heavy footsteps brought Dean back to the matter at hand. He dropped his weeping cock and opened his eyes to see the newcomer standing in front of him. Castiel had relaxed some but was clearly still unsure. He licked his lips as he stared down at Dean, hands fumbling with his trousers.

“Come on, big boy, show me what you got!” Dean leaned in closer - Castiel was so far away - and stretched his neck up so Castiel could see the column of his throat, the swell of his Adam’s apple.

Castiel was an unknown, a new challenge for Dean to overcome. Anticipation built up in his core. How would Castiel like to have him? Would he rather Dean slave over his cock, or would he fuck Dean like the slut he was? Did he have any quirks that would make this interesting? Would he pet Dean, or call him names?

Castiel gulped and shuffled nearer. He glanced briefly across the circle, then returned his amazed eyes down to Dean. A groan eked out of Dean’s mouth. He was too insatiable for patience.

At last, Castiel unbuttoned his pants and unzipped the fly. Dean realized he had shed the trench coat already, and good thing, too, because it was absolutely sweltering in the sex dungeon now. With a huffy breath, Castiel slid down his pants, exposing his his erect member and the hairy muscles of his thighs. It was the most veiny cock Dean had ever seen, so long and so glorious and all for him. Dean’s mouth watered, and he looked up through his come-soaked lashes at its owner.

He seemed to be getting over his nerves quickly. His fingers carded Dean’s hair, causing Dean to moan, eyes fluttering closed. His touch was so tender at first, lulling Dean into a false sense of security before he was yanked into position. His jaw fell open, and Castiel took the opportunity to slowly ease his cock into Dean’s maw. Dean suctioned his tongue to the underbelly, sank his cheeks in to fully envelop Castiel. The sensation of the squiggle lines of his veins rubbing against the insides of Dean’s mouth kept Dean grounded as Castiel brought himself to the hilt within Dean’s throat. He was deep enough that Dean couldn’t breathe now, but he didn’t fight it. All of the air would have rushed from his lungs if it could. Very quickly, Castiel was sweeping Dean off his feet.

Castiel was entirely in control. He held Dean in place for thirty three beats of Dean’s hurried heart, then just as slowly as he had conducted him forward, he leisurely pulled him back off. As soon as he could, Dean inhaled through his nose, trying and succeeding to keep himself regulated. Castiel smelled fresh, like ozone, or laundry detergent. Now stopped with his lips curled around just the head of Castiel’s cock, Dean blinked up at the man, who was staring down at him raptly.

“Impressive.” Castiel’s voice was a resonant rumble, and Dean’s core shivered. He sucked on the tip of Castiel’s dick, trying to convey to him to keep going, but Castiel didn’t seem interested in that at the moment; instead, he used his grip on Dean to turn his head to the side, as though trying to get a different angle. His gaze was intent on the puddles sloshed across his face, and when he finally seemed to have his fill of leering, he returned his heady eyes to Dean’s. Dean felt as though he would drown; all of his willpower melted, and he completely gave in to Castiel’s whims. There was something about Castiel’s intensity that excited Dean almost as much as the resolution they were building toward. He gave another suckle of Castiel’s head, ready to be taken on the ride of his life.

Castiel started with a few languid thrusts of his hips. Dean loosened his jaw. He tried to grasp the base of Castiel’s cock, help him out, but his assistance was batted away, and he settled for steadying himself on Castiel’s thigh as Castiel accelerated into a zealous rhythm. It didn’t take long for him to reenter Dean’s esophagus, though he only did to quickly. Castiel was truly thrusting now, and he took every opportunity to bury himself as deep as he could go. Dean breathed when he could, tried to ration his oxygen consumption, because as much as he’d love to pass out on Castiel’s dick, he didn’t want to miss a single second of the best fuck of his life. His face was as messy as it’s ever been, and Castiel was pushing all of his buttons.

Dean lost himself in Castiel’s tempo, nothing more than a hole fo Castiel to fuck himself with. So when Castiel’s thrusts turned shallow, a sour note of dismay rang in Dean’s head. He was quickly corrected when Castiel uttered, “Prepare yourself.”

He knew what Castiel was asking of him immediately. With the crown of Castiel’s dick scrubbing his tongue, Dean breathed in as much as humanly possible, nourishing every single alveoli in his lungs. The moment he stopped, Castiel pulled Dean’s mouth firmly down to his curly pubic hair. Dean’s sopping chin rested on his globular sack, transferring some of his precious semen to Castiel’s scrotum. His heart sprinted between his overfull lungs.

Obstructed, no more air could pass in or out of Dean’s airway, but he could still massage his throat. He contracted his muscles experimentally, and was rewarded with the sweetest sound on planet earth. Castiel moaned, voice roughened like an ocean storm. Dean’s palm rushed to the shaft of his own dick and pressed it emphatically onto his thigh, trying to curb the heated desire that pooled in his groin. It wasn’t his time now - he always came last - but Castiel seemed determined to break procedure. His nails scratched the fuzz at the nape of Dean’s neck as he held him, motionless, in his public hair.

Dean could feel his face reddening as his body craved to exchange the excess carbon dioxide it made with fresh oxygen. His chest smoldered needfully. But Dean resolved to stay for as long as he was able. He could do this. Daddy didn’t raise no quitter.

It struck him too late that it was dangerous to engage in breath play with strangers, and without a safeword to boot. Benny would intervene if he thought Dean’s life was in danger, right? Anxiety squirmed in his chest, alongside the last remaining oxygen atoms he had at his disposal. What was he doing? His head spun in place.

And then he felt fingers on his throat, stroking the bulging pillar of his gullet. Castiel’s touch was cool on his overheated skin, reverent in the honeyed way his digits spread wide to encompass all of him. The worry was wiped from Dean’s mind, and he flexed his muscles again, ears popping. He wanted to give Castiel even a fraction of the pleasure he was feeling himself. Even in his brief moment of fret, his arousal never wavered. It coursed through him like lightning, energetic and wild. Like potential energy, he was an arrow aimed to fire, a roller coaster at its highest point, a dam holding water at bay.

There was only one way the energy could be released.

On the edge of consciousness, his cock throbbed and pulsed with euphoria. If he could moan, he absolutely wound have as his orgasm exploded from him. There was such a finality to the emotion coursing through him that Dean was relieved with that knowledge that it was over. He had climbed higher than he had ever thought possible - there was nowhere for him to go but down. He didn’t even have a body anymore, just a throat and a spending cock, no lungs to speak of.

But then, he found that he did have lips when Castiel trawled his cock back out, and he found he that he did have lungs after all when he could finally exhale all of the pent up gas stored inside and replace it with oxygen in heaving, greedy gulps.

The muscles in his pelvis continued to fire, egged on by avid neurons wanting to prolong this experience as long as they could. Dean was certainly not going to argue, though he was so oversensitive it was starting to become painful. Wave after wave swelled over him, ebbing with each pass until they were nothing but weak ripples on the sand.

And then he found that he also had knees: Somehow, he had remained kneeling throughout the entire ordeal, and he registered that his knees were sore something fierce.

“Ohhh,” he droned.

Indistinctly, he heard noises all around him, but couldn’t discern a single one. Every single thought Dean’s ever had was bleeding out of his head - all except one.

Blinking, Dean’s eyes adjusted to the brightness of the light. Standing above him was Castiel, his dripping cock poised directly at him. Dean saw him pump it once, twice before the pearly emission fired at his face. He felt struck dumb, unable to react as a deluge of come rained down upon him. It concentrated on his cheek, then a stream bombarded his lips, held agape in his awe. Castiel persisted until he had wrung out the last dregs of his orgasm. He had marked Dean completely.

Dean’s heart palpitations were starting to subside as he returned to a rhythm and rate more closely approximating normal. His breathing, also, equalized. His gaze was ensnared by Castiel’s.

“Y’all enjoyed yourselves?” Benny’s big voice broke the spell binding Dean to Castiel. He turned his shoulders to face his friend, who was walking over as he maintained his erection. An eyebrow lifted at the state Dean was in. “Oh, cher.”

Dean blushed with a guilty shame and he dropped his gaze. He had never lost control like that before. Even in the submissive role he was so fond of, he always held onto some modicum of power, whether that be by sharing it with Aaron, doing all the work to Victor, or retaliating against Boris. The Jesse/Cesar situation was weird, but he had power there, too, in doing things to Cesar’s husband that the man could not do for himself. Here… Dean just gave it all away. It reminded him, a little bit, of his relationship with Benny.

“Don’t you have something to say?”

Dean’s head snapped back up. Benny was looking at him with an agog eye, still working his cock with his left hand. Dean stared back, dumbfounded, until his brain finally caught up to the meaning in Benny’s words and the expectant expression on his face. Oh, right.

He turned his attention back to Castiel, who hovered, spent, above him still. Though Benny stood taller than Castiel, the dominating presence of the latter made up for any difference in height. His hands had returned to his sides.

Dean reached far down within his raw throat for the script he was provided. His voice was nothing but a croak as he said, “Thank you, sir.”

Castiel blinked and licked his lips. He appeared to be on the verge of replying but couldn’t find the words. His face was sapped from any emotion other than dazed tiredness. Dean knew the feeling well, and he couldn’t help but wonder… could Dean really have given him the best orgasm of his life? Because Castiel certainly gave him the best orgasm of his life. Castiel, and everybody else.

He looked around the circle at his friends and Boris. Jesse was seated, leaning against Cesar’s legs and nearly falling asleep. Everybody else stared at him with a sort of amazement coloring their expressions. Victor’s lips turned down in an impressed U. Aaron’s eyes were wider than saucers. Cesar nodded his head respectfully. Jealousy brewed unchecked in Boris’ scowl.

Then there was Benny. His smile verged on predatory as he bowed down to Dean’s level. “You’ve made a mess,” he said conspiratorially, and his eyes darted over to Castiel’s boots.

Dean followed his line of sight. Splattered all over the black leather exterior of Castiel’s footwear was semen. Dean’s semen. A new guilty blush burned his cheeks. He had marked Castiel, and he hadn’t even had permission. “Sorry, sir,” Dean rasped.

“Oh, it’s, uh, fine,” Castiel stammered, feet shuffling. His voice was even rougher than before. “I can wash them in the sink.”

“Nonsense,” Benny said. He struck a palm to Dean’s shoulder; Dean fought to stay upright beneath his influence. “Boy, why don’t you clean up the mess you’ve made.” With that, he pushed Dean toward the ground, and this time Dean did not resist. He caught himself with his hands before his face could smash against the floor. The toe of Castiel’s boot was inches away from his nose.

Up close, the smell of leather and seed was intoxicating. Dean closed his eyes and inhaled. There was a hint of dirt on the tail end of his breath that was almost masked by the earthen smell of the leather and muskiness of the seed. He took another sweet gulp of air, savoring the perfume in front of him.

After he had drunk his fill, Dean flickered his eyes open. There was not a single drop of semen on the floor; it was all on Castiel’s boots. A drop clung precariously to the lifted lip of the outsole. Carefully, so as not to besmirch Castiel’s boots further, Dean ducked his head down. His tongue lapped around the rubber outsole, rescuing that perilous bead from doom. The taste of spunky petrichor daubed his tastebuds; Dean had never known a boot could taste so sweet.

He narrowed his tongue to scour the welt. Semen had gotten into every crevice of Castiel’s shoe that it could, and it was Dean’s responsibility to make sure he was spotless. The welt’s stitching stimulated the tip of his tongue, reminding him in an absurd fashion of the veins of Castiel’s cock.

Above him, Dean heard a hitch in Castiel’s breathing as he moved on to the vamp. Dean flattened his tongue to lathe along its long, gentle curve. Here, the taste of leather was the strongest and the spray of seed most concentrated. The leather’s subtle texture tickled every one his tastebuds as he slurped up the large, briny globules clinging to the crown of Castiel’s boot.

The laces and eyelets were the trickiest to clean, but Dean put his all into it. It wasn’t enough to just lick the surface of the laces, because he could feel the seed eluding him by clinging to the other side. His tongue wormed and wriggled to infiltrate the lattice of rope securing Castiel’s foot within the boot. And the set eyelets, already engaged with the laces, had no room for his probing tongue to delve for wayward sperm. Still, he tried, dipping his tongue into each of the metal rings like his life depended on it.

There was just one mass of jizz on Castiel’s left shoe, right over the toe box. Dean lashed his tongue over it rapidly, but he didn’t stop there. He toiled over this boot just like he did the first, leaving it damp and glossy and clean.

When he was done, Dean hoisted himself back onto his throbbing knees and beseeched Benny and Castiel for approval. Benny’s thumb wore at the purpling crown of his cock.

“Good boy,” Benny commended. Dean melted under the praise, even as his back straightened. His tongue protested as it was stretched once again to lick his moist lips. “I’m thinking it’s worthy of a treat.”

Yes. Dean lifted his chin, closed his eyes, and awaited the final load of come to shower him in its creamy goodness.

A heavy splash touched down on his eyelid, followed by another over lips. Dean couldn’t help but swipe it into his mouth as soon as it landed. The tang of leather still pervaded his tongue, turning his sup into a brackish mouthful. Another spatter squirted across the bridge of his nose.

Breathing in deeply, Dean opened his leaden eyelids. Benny’s head was haloed by the light, silhouetting him and casting his features in shadow. He stood proud beside Castiel, who looked his equal in every right. A surge of indescribable emotion swelled in Dean’s aching throat, catching the words that would express just how grateful he was for the opportunities presented to him today. Dean swallowed the feeling up; he would examine it later. For now, there was only one thing to be said.

“Thank you, sir.”