fic: one first, one last
title: One First, One Last
pairing: 2014!Dean/2009!Castiel
rating: NC-17
warnings: knifeplay, bloodplay, rough sex
summary: Castiel doesn't like to hurt but he will do whatever he can so that Dean Winchester hurts less.
notes: ~2300 words. Written for blindfold_spn from the prompt: “Because it would be kind of sad and fucked up if that Dean was the one who rid Cas of his virginity. A million bonus points for shotgunning and/or knife/gunplay.” Originally posted here.
Castiel keeps a tally in his head of all the people who have died for the Winchesters. It goes 'One more dead. One more down, one more gone, one more human lost.' It's like a mantra in his head, an obsession that won't stop. Castiel counts everybody that dies, keeps a running tally in his head, knows that one day, that one more gone will probably be him.
"Everyone dies, Cas." Dean says from across the room, like he's the one with the magic powers. His appearance startles Castiel, as last Cas had heard he and Sam were in search of a case, some random side trip to distract them from the apocalypse at hand. "Everyone dies. Even me. Especially me, actually. But even you will die now. It's not the end of the world. Oh, wait." Dean chuckles bitterly at his poor excuse for a joke, tosses the bottle of beer into the trash (he always has alcohol in his hands anymore, Castiel notices), where it lands with a resounding clunk.
The bed groans as Dean flops down on it, beaten frame and mattress that smells like smoke, like death, and there's three or four springs that poke up in awkward places. Castiel has spent two nights watching Dean toss and turn in this room, in this decrepit old house, and he thinks he may hate the fact that they chose to squat here more than either Winchester themselves, how its burnt walls and once majestic banisters creep into their souls and beat them down with the reminder that nothing lasts. Castiel knows Dean doesn't do much sleeping when everything smells of death and he can't do anything to stop it. "Everyone dies," he echoes, settling onto the bed next to Dean. Dean turns and looks at him, almost looks through him, like he's been looking at everyone lately, and it unsettles Castiel, annoys him almost. He knows what Dean's thinking about, who Dean's thinking about, and he really wishes he could help Dean let it go, at least enough to take all the anger and pain and lay it to rest, anything to make Dean smile again. "Dean," Castiel says, and Dean focuses at him, stares at him and waits for him to say more. "Dean," Castiel says again, softer.
Dean kisses Castiel a lot when he's drunk, hard and rough and almost as though he wishes Castiel were someone else. He always tastes of beer and stale tobacco, of pain and death, and he always runs off moments later, refusing to speak to Castiel for days afterward. Castiel expects this encounter to be no different, but as it turns out, he expects wrong. "I want to fuck you," Dean whispers against his mouth when he pulls back, licking at the corner where he's drawn blood.
Cas' mouth is suddenly dry and his heart beats a little faster. "Okay," he croaks out, and Dean pulls him down the bed, climbs on top of him. Cas watches as Dean jerks off his boots, peels off his pants. It's hot in the tiny room, suffocating almost, and Cas can feel the sweat run down his sides onto the bed, can see the line it runs down between Dean's thighs once he takes his boxers off and stands pantsless in front of him. He doesn't bother with his shirt and Castiel knows instinctively that Dean doesn't want to bare all to him, doesn't want Castiel to see all the scars he's picked up since Castiel pulled him up from hell, how his body is almost just as marred than it was when he went there. Sometimes Castiel thinks Dean wishes Cas had never come in the first place.
Dean is rough and unforgiving with Castiel's clothes, ripping at his coat, his shirt, his tie, and jerking down his pants, giving Cas no time to rethink his choice, no time for Cas to remove his own clothing. Dean chuckles when he pulls off Castiel's briefs and his dick bumps up against his stomach, leaves a wet streak in the hair curling low on his abdomen. "Wet for me already, huh." Castiel will be anything if only to hear Dean chuckle again.
Dean swipes at the wetness then wraps his hand around Castiel and jerks a few times in rapid succession. Castiel gasps Dean's name and Dean stills his hand, runs it up Castiel's chest and cups his face. It's a gentle move, so unlike the Dean Castiel is used to. Their eyes meet and Castiel can see Dean waiting for his permission, even as he knows this will be the last quiet moment he gets, the last gentle act of a damaged man. He nods his head once and Dean flips him over in an instant. One of the broken springs pokes up into his chest unforgivingly, rubbing against his solar plexus like it's asking him 'what are you doing, what are you doing' and hurting him until he answers it. He ignores it as best he can.
Castiel is no stranger to the idea of sex, has spent enough time around Dean to understand the concept, to grasp the concept of want and need. He knows of Dean's wants and needs and he doesn't expect much but he's surprised at how little prep Dean gives him before pushing the head of his cock into Castiel's ass with only spit and the smallest amount of Castiel's pre-come as lube. It's cruel and harsh and not for the first time it makes Castiel wonder what put Dean in the mood he is tonight.
The stretch of Dean's dick hurts and Castiel struggles against him, tries to wiggle out from underneath him to let him know, but Dean shoves his head against the dirty mattress, captures Cas' hands into one of his larger ones, holds Castiel down as he stretches his asshole open and settles balls deep against him. Castiel stops struggling and squeezes his eyes shut, tries to relax against the pain. Dean sighs when he's fully inside and lets go of Castiel's arms and head.
Dean waits a moment before moving, actually giving Castiel a chance to adjust to the intrusion. Castiel is grateful, but when Dean starts to move again, Cas can't help the painful grunt that escapes him. "I'm hurting you," Dean says. It's not a question.
"Yes."
"This your first time taking it up the ass?"
"This is my first time engaging in any sexual act other than the times when you drunkenly kiss me."
Dean makes a small noise, says something Castiel can't quite hear, his head still pressed into the dirty bed and his blood pumping loudly in his ears. Dean moves his hips slightly and Castiel gasps, the movement causing pleasure. Dean moves again at the same angle and Castiel feels his toes curl in response. "I'm not stopping," Dean says.
"I don't want you to."
Dean tugs at Castiel's waist, moves him up onto his hands and knees and pulls his cock out. Castiel feels empty. "I still don't like hurting you," Dean mumbles. Castiel starts to respond, though he's not sure quite what to say, when Dean continues, "but I want it. You're the only person... I need to hurt you." Dean's voice is wrecked, and the look Castiel sees in his eyes when he cranes his head over his shoulder is one he hopes to never see again. Castiel doesn't like to hurt but he will do whatever he can so that Dean Winchester hurts less.
"Do what you must," Castiel says gently, "I will forgive you." Dean makes a small choking sound and Castiel braces himself for the intrusion to come, but instead is confused when he feels Dean's weight leave the broken bed. He rolls over onto his back, cringing as his already tender ass rubs against the dirty comforter. "Dean?" he asks hesitantly, his eyes widening when Dean pulls a knife out of one of his discarded boots. Dean flips the knife open, stares at it almost lovingly before looking up to meet Castiel's wide-eyed stare.
"You'll heal," Dean says, like that makes what he's suggesting okay. There is very little Castiel doesn't heal from. "You'll be okay. I'm... not okay, Cas." And because Dean needs this from him, Castiel will allow it to happen.
The knife is cold when it touches Castiel's skin, an impossibility given the heat radiating off the two bodies in the already humid room, and yet he shivers as Dean rubs the cold metal blade along his legs, across his thighs. The first cut Dean makes is small and barely any blood comes to the surface, just a small nick on the inside of his thigh. Dean rubs the knife over Castiel's cock, circles his balls, Cas does his best not to jerk, not to move at all, wary of the blade and what Dean intends to do with it, unable to control the memory of what Dean had been like when he'd found him in hell, hand around a blade near a man's private parts then as well. Dean digs the knife into Castiel's hipbone and he flinches. "I know what you're thinking," Dean says. Castiel has no doubt this is because Dean is also thinking back to those moments in hell.
"This is what you need," Castiel says and sits up, scoots himself closer to Dean. Dean draws patterns on Castiel's skin with the knife, leaves a trail of blood in his wake. Cas doesn't flinch, if anything pressing closer to the knife, allowing Dean to do more damage if he pleases. Dean rubs the knife across Castiel's throat, caresses his cheek, presses a long deep cut along the bone there. Castiel can feel the blood run down his face as Dean says, "Hands and knees." Castiel obeys.
The knife runs its course down Castiel's back and he shiver, then flinches when he feels the blade poking around his anus, shifts away from the touch. "I'm not going to," Dean says. "I want to, but I won't." Castiel doesn't tell him that it's okay.
Dean shifts his weight on the bed, sits the knife down beside Castiel, the blade clearly visible and mocking him as Dean's hands grip his hips and line him up. Castiel braces himself as Dean enters him again, tries to relax, remembering that it will hurt less if he does. Dean thrusts in hard and pulls out equally as firm, then repeats again, and again. Castiel feels Dean's balls bounce against him on the third thrust, waits for Dean to pull out again. Instead Dean shifts like he had earlier, hits that perfect spot inside Castiel, and he moans.
"Good," Dean says, and chooses a pace to continue with. He hits Castiel's prostate every third or fourth thrust, and soon the stretch and pain is replaced by a slow burn and a feeling of pleasure.
Castiel gets lost in the moment, groans out, "Dean, Dean," again and again, rocks back against the man even as his thighs protest and the sweat running into his cuts makes them burn. Dean grabs at his hips, at his chest, at his hair, pulling him closer. Dean pulls him up and back into his lap and Castiel's thighs burn, legs not meant to bend this way, but Dean sinks even further inside of him and the pain is lost, overtaken by the sensation of this man he'd do anything for. Dean's thrusts are shallow now, weighed down by Castiel on top of him, so Cas does his part, bouncing up and down on Dean's cock as best he can. Dean moans appreciatively, grips Castiel's shoulder tight and controls the pace. He reaches around with his other hand, wraps it around Castiel's dick, and Castiel bucks up so hard Dean's own dick spills out of him.
He hears Dean's startled grunt, waits for him to pause and reenter, not bracing this time but hoping for the intrusion, but instead Dean continues to strip Castiel's cock with a sweaty hand, seemingly content to let his dick rub up in between Castiel's cheeks, paint his hole with pre-come. Castiel gasps up into Dean's strokes, the way Dean twists and squeezes in all the right places like he knows every inch of Castiel's body like it were his own. The thought that Dean knows him better than he knows himself is terrifying and exhilarating and before long Castiel feels his orgasm building, the warm spread of it welcome from head to toe. Dean bites at his neck when he comes, bruising him and probably breaking the skin as the warm liquid seeps down Dean's hand, down between Castiel's thighs and tickles at his hole.
"Ohh," he gasps in surprise, as Dean slides back into him with almost no resistance at all. His body is warm and relaxed, pliable after his orgasm, and Dean bends him back down onto the bed, holds him up on his hands and knees. It doesn't take Dean long, and Castiel pushes back into him as best he can, riding out the shockwaves as Dean hits all the right places, moves in all the right ways. He'll be sore for a least a few hours, until he chooses to heal himself, but it will be worth it for the sounds Dean makes as he comes, the pained groan that happens as he jerks Castiel against him one last time and the pleasured moan that follows as he collapses down on top of Castiel, pushing them both flat to the bad. His weight is heavy but Castiel can support it for as long as Dean needs.
"Sam's gonna say yes, Cas," Dean says into his ear. "One day soon, he'll say it, and then your whole world will go to shit." It's only then that Castiel realizes why this Dean has been so unfamiliar to him.
pairing: 2014!Dean/2009!Castiel
rating: NC-17
warnings: knifeplay, bloodplay, rough sex
summary: Castiel doesn't like to hurt but he will do whatever he can so that Dean Winchester hurts less.
notes: ~2300 words. Written for blindfold_spn from the prompt: “Because it would be kind of sad and fucked up if that Dean was the one who rid Cas of his virginity. A million bonus points for shotgunning and/or knife/gunplay.” Originally posted here.
Castiel keeps a tally in his head of all the people who have died for the Winchesters. It goes 'One more dead. One more down, one more gone, one more human lost.' It's like a mantra in his head, an obsession that won't stop. Castiel counts everybody that dies, keeps a running tally in his head, knows that one day, that one more gone will probably be him.
"Everyone dies, Cas." Dean says from across the room, like he's the one with the magic powers. His appearance startles Castiel, as last Cas had heard he and Sam were in search of a case, some random side trip to distract them from the apocalypse at hand. "Everyone dies. Even me. Especially me, actually. But even you will die now. It's not the end of the world. Oh, wait." Dean chuckles bitterly at his poor excuse for a joke, tosses the bottle of beer into the trash (he always has alcohol in his hands anymore, Castiel notices), where it lands with a resounding clunk.
The bed groans as Dean flops down on it, beaten frame and mattress that smells like smoke, like death, and there's three or four springs that poke up in awkward places. Castiel has spent two nights watching Dean toss and turn in this room, in this decrepit old house, and he thinks he may hate the fact that they chose to squat here more than either Winchester themselves, how its burnt walls and once majestic banisters creep into their souls and beat them down with the reminder that nothing lasts. Castiel knows Dean doesn't do much sleeping when everything smells of death and he can't do anything to stop it. "Everyone dies," he echoes, settling onto the bed next to Dean. Dean turns and looks at him, almost looks through him, like he's been looking at everyone lately, and it unsettles Castiel, annoys him almost. He knows what Dean's thinking about, who Dean's thinking about, and he really wishes he could help Dean let it go, at least enough to take all the anger and pain and lay it to rest, anything to make Dean smile again. "Dean," Castiel says, and Dean focuses at him, stares at him and waits for him to say more. "Dean," Castiel says again, softer.
Dean kisses Castiel a lot when he's drunk, hard and rough and almost as though he wishes Castiel were someone else. He always tastes of beer and stale tobacco, of pain and death, and he always runs off moments later, refusing to speak to Castiel for days afterward. Castiel expects this encounter to be no different, but as it turns out, he expects wrong. "I want to fuck you," Dean whispers against his mouth when he pulls back, licking at the corner where he's drawn blood.
Cas' mouth is suddenly dry and his heart beats a little faster. "Okay," he croaks out, and Dean pulls him down the bed, climbs on top of him. Cas watches as Dean jerks off his boots, peels off his pants. It's hot in the tiny room, suffocating almost, and Cas can feel the sweat run down his sides onto the bed, can see the line it runs down between Dean's thighs once he takes his boxers off and stands pantsless in front of him. He doesn't bother with his shirt and Castiel knows instinctively that Dean doesn't want to bare all to him, doesn't want Castiel to see all the scars he's picked up since Castiel pulled him up from hell, how his body is almost just as marred than it was when he went there. Sometimes Castiel thinks Dean wishes Cas had never come in the first place.
Dean is rough and unforgiving with Castiel's clothes, ripping at his coat, his shirt, his tie, and jerking down his pants, giving Cas no time to rethink his choice, no time for Cas to remove his own clothing. Dean chuckles when he pulls off Castiel's briefs and his dick bumps up against his stomach, leaves a wet streak in the hair curling low on his abdomen. "Wet for me already, huh." Castiel will be anything if only to hear Dean chuckle again.
Dean swipes at the wetness then wraps his hand around Castiel and jerks a few times in rapid succession. Castiel gasps Dean's name and Dean stills his hand, runs it up Castiel's chest and cups his face. It's a gentle move, so unlike the Dean Castiel is used to. Their eyes meet and Castiel can see Dean waiting for his permission, even as he knows this will be the last quiet moment he gets, the last gentle act of a damaged man. He nods his head once and Dean flips him over in an instant. One of the broken springs pokes up into his chest unforgivingly, rubbing against his solar plexus like it's asking him 'what are you doing, what are you doing' and hurting him until he answers it. He ignores it as best he can.
Castiel is no stranger to the idea of sex, has spent enough time around Dean to understand the concept, to grasp the concept of want and need. He knows of Dean's wants and needs and he doesn't expect much but he's surprised at how little prep Dean gives him before pushing the head of his cock into Castiel's ass with only spit and the smallest amount of Castiel's pre-come as lube. It's cruel and harsh and not for the first time it makes Castiel wonder what put Dean in the mood he is tonight.
The stretch of Dean's dick hurts and Castiel struggles against him, tries to wiggle out from underneath him to let him know, but Dean shoves his head against the dirty mattress, captures Cas' hands into one of his larger ones, holds Castiel down as he stretches his asshole open and settles balls deep against him. Castiel stops struggling and squeezes his eyes shut, tries to relax against the pain. Dean sighs when he's fully inside and lets go of Castiel's arms and head.
Dean waits a moment before moving, actually giving Castiel a chance to adjust to the intrusion. Castiel is grateful, but when Dean starts to move again, Cas can't help the painful grunt that escapes him. "I'm hurting you," Dean says. It's not a question.
"Yes."
"This your first time taking it up the ass?"
"This is my first time engaging in any sexual act other than the times when you drunkenly kiss me."
Dean makes a small noise, says something Castiel can't quite hear, his head still pressed into the dirty bed and his blood pumping loudly in his ears. Dean moves his hips slightly and Castiel gasps, the movement causing pleasure. Dean moves again at the same angle and Castiel feels his toes curl in response. "I'm not stopping," Dean says.
"I don't want you to."
Dean tugs at Castiel's waist, moves him up onto his hands and knees and pulls his cock out. Castiel feels empty. "I still don't like hurting you," Dean mumbles. Castiel starts to respond, though he's not sure quite what to say, when Dean continues, "but I want it. You're the only person... I need to hurt you." Dean's voice is wrecked, and the look Castiel sees in his eyes when he cranes his head over his shoulder is one he hopes to never see again. Castiel doesn't like to hurt but he will do whatever he can so that Dean Winchester hurts less.
"Do what you must," Castiel says gently, "I will forgive you." Dean makes a small choking sound and Castiel braces himself for the intrusion to come, but instead is confused when he feels Dean's weight leave the broken bed. He rolls over onto his back, cringing as his already tender ass rubs against the dirty comforter. "Dean?" he asks hesitantly, his eyes widening when Dean pulls a knife out of one of his discarded boots. Dean flips the knife open, stares at it almost lovingly before looking up to meet Castiel's wide-eyed stare.
"You'll heal," Dean says, like that makes what he's suggesting okay. There is very little Castiel doesn't heal from. "You'll be okay. I'm... not okay, Cas." And because Dean needs this from him, Castiel will allow it to happen.
The knife is cold when it touches Castiel's skin, an impossibility given the heat radiating off the two bodies in the already humid room, and yet he shivers as Dean rubs the cold metal blade along his legs, across his thighs. The first cut Dean makes is small and barely any blood comes to the surface, just a small nick on the inside of his thigh. Dean rubs the knife over Castiel's cock, circles his balls, Cas does his best not to jerk, not to move at all, wary of the blade and what Dean intends to do with it, unable to control the memory of what Dean had been like when he'd found him in hell, hand around a blade near a man's private parts then as well. Dean digs the knife into Castiel's hipbone and he flinches. "I know what you're thinking," Dean says. Castiel has no doubt this is because Dean is also thinking back to those moments in hell.
"This is what you need," Castiel says and sits up, scoots himself closer to Dean. Dean draws patterns on Castiel's skin with the knife, leaves a trail of blood in his wake. Cas doesn't flinch, if anything pressing closer to the knife, allowing Dean to do more damage if he pleases. Dean rubs the knife across Castiel's throat, caresses his cheek, presses a long deep cut along the bone there. Castiel can feel the blood run down his face as Dean says, "Hands and knees." Castiel obeys.
The knife runs its course down Castiel's back and he shiver, then flinches when he feels the blade poking around his anus, shifts away from the touch. "I'm not going to," Dean says. "I want to, but I won't." Castiel doesn't tell him that it's okay.
Dean shifts his weight on the bed, sits the knife down beside Castiel, the blade clearly visible and mocking him as Dean's hands grip his hips and line him up. Castiel braces himself as Dean enters him again, tries to relax, remembering that it will hurt less if he does. Dean thrusts in hard and pulls out equally as firm, then repeats again, and again. Castiel feels Dean's balls bounce against him on the third thrust, waits for Dean to pull out again. Instead Dean shifts like he had earlier, hits that perfect spot inside Castiel, and he moans.
"Good," Dean says, and chooses a pace to continue with. He hits Castiel's prostate every third or fourth thrust, and soon the stretch and pain is replaced by a slow burn and a feeling of pleasure.
Castiel gets lost in the moment, groans out, "Dean, Dean," again and again, rocks back against the man even as his thighs protest and the sweat running into his cuts makes them burn. Dean grabs at his hips, at his chest, at his hair, pulling him closer. Dean pulls him up and back into his lap and Castiel's thighs burn, legs not meant to bend this way, but Dean sinks even further inside of him and the pain is lost, overtaken by the sensation of this man he'd do anything for. Dean's thrusts are shallow now, weighed down by Castiel on top of him, so Cas does his part, bouncing up and down on Dean's cock as best he can. Dean moans appreciatively, grips Castiel's shoulder tight and controls the pace. He reaches around with his other hand, wraps it around Castiel's dick, and Castiel bucks up so hard Dean's own dick spills out of him.
He hears Dean's startled grunt, waits for him to pause and reenter, not bracing this time but hoping for the intrusion, but instead Dean continues to strip Castiel's cock with a sweaty hand, seemingly content to let his dick rub up in between Castiel's cheeks, paint his hole with pre-come. Castiel gasps up into Dean's strokes, the way Dean twists and squeezes in all the right places like he knows every inch of Castiel's body like it were his own. The thought that Dean knows him better than he knows himself is terrifying and exhilarating and before long Castiel feels his orgasm building, the warm spread of it welcome from head to toe. Dean bites at his neck when he comes, bruising him and probably breaking the skin as the warm liquid seeps down Dean's hand, down between Castiel's thighs and tickles at his hole.
"Ohh," he gasps in surprise, as Dean slides back into him with almost no resistance at all. His body is warm and relaxed, pliable after his orgasm, and Dean bends him back down onto the bed, holds him up on his hands and knees. It doesn't take Dean long, and Castiel pushes back into him as best he can, riding out the shockwaves as Dean hits all the right places, moves in all the right ways. He'll be sore for a least a few hours, until he chooses to heal himself, but it will be worth it for the sounds Dean makes as he comes, the pained groan that happens as he jerks Castiel against him one last time and the pleasured moan that follows as he collapses down on top of Castiel, pushing them both flat to the bad. His weight is heavy but Castiel can support it for as long as Dean needs.
"Sam's gonna say yes, Cas," Dean says into his ear. "One day soon, he'll say it, and then your whole world will go to shit." It's only then that Castiel realizes why this Dean has been so unfamiliar to him.