Now You're Mine
Title: Now You’re Mine
Author: earth_heart
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Warnings: AU, creepy!Castiel, dark!Castiel, innocent!Dean, underage sex (Dean is 16)
Spoilers: None~
Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. It belongs to Kripke and the CW/WB. I make no profit from this.
AN: For highermagic
Summary: “It was always yours.”
------
Castiel finds the street rat huddled in on himself, shivering in the darkness of the rainy night. The boy hasn’t even bothered trying to find shelter. Rather, he’s just crouched in the murky water of the filthy gutters, his skinny arms wrapped around his chest and his knees submerged in the filth and grime of the city. There’s no way the Shadowman can pass by such a wanting, wavering soul, so he crouches down and tilts the boy’s head up with two gloved fingers.
“Having some trouble there, lad?” He has a smile that traps people immediately, and this weak, starving child is no different. Wide green eyes stare up at him like he knows the answers to life-and Castiel doesn’t want to brag, but that’s kind of what he does. “You look like you can use a warm place to bed down for the night. Maybe a nice meal. Such a pretty face like yours; you shouldn’t be out here all alone.”
That’s it, and the boy is his. He stands, fingers still tucked under that dirty chin, and the boy rises with him, swaying towards Castiel like the Shadowman’s aura is pulling him in. And it is, really, reaching out with dark, greedy tendrils and seizing upon the boy’s innocence and purity. Castiel wants to muddy that brightness up; drag the boy down into the muck and the mud with him and make him just as dark and as twisted as Castiel is. He has a flash of something, a picture of the boy standing over the corpse of a woman, blood on his face and a knife in his hands, and it practically makes him purr.
“You got a name, darlin’?” he drawls, bringing the boy close to him and leaning down so he can breathe the words hotly over the flushed swell of his lips. A pink tongue flicks out to wet them and he wants nothing more than to kiss it, to ravish and ravage the boy, but he knows that will take time. All good things come to those who wait, and Castiel is an infinitely patient man. The boy will writhe for him soon-they all do in the end, it’s just a matter of time.
“Dean,” the boy breathes, the barest whisper on the wind. He’s so young, so innocent, so ready and trusting to the first one who shows him kindness. It’s hard, so hard, not to just take advantage of that now, but he must be patient. Dean is a special boy, a perfect opportunity, and Castiel cannot be too greedy. There will be plenty of time for that later. For now, there is work to be done.
“Nice to meet you, Dean. You can call me Cas. You hungry, baby?” Dean nods, so shy and unassuming, and Castiel has to suppress his moan. God, it’s so easy it’s almost illegal. The Shadowman smiles again, tempting the boy, and begins to back up. Dean follows like a puppy at its master’s heels, straining to keep the contact between them. There’s no one out this late at night, just them and the patter of the rain falling. Castiel isn’t even wet, but Dean is, and the boy presses into his welcoming warmth and wraps his malnourished arms around the man’s waist, like he’s trying to crawl inside of Castiel. He presses a hand against the boy’s back, gathering him close, and leads him through the darkness of the night; back to his home through the tunnels of shadows and the whisper of malevolent air.
“Sit yourself down. Let me find you something dry to wear. Can’t have you catchin’ cold, wearing those wet rags.” Castiel sits Dean down on the couch and feathers his fingers across the boy’s cheeks. He has freckles. Castiel loves freckles. Freckles are the very nature of innocence, and paired with those eyes, it’s almost too much to ask for. Castiel wants to take him apart, and own him, but he has bigger plans than that.
Finding an old long-sleeved shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms, Castiel takes them into the bathroom and then calls Dean to him silently, a feeling of need-a compulsion to return to the Shadowman’s side. Dean bursts into the bathroom barely seconds later, wide-eyed and panicked. He scrambles into Castiel’s welcoming arms and clings to him, burrowing as close as he can while Castiel’s nimble fingers unbutton his jeans and peel off his soaked shirt.
“That’s my boy. C’mon, Dean, into the tub. Gotta warm you up, darlin’, so you don’t get sick.” Dean goes willingly, eagerly, but he grips Castiel’s wrist with one dirty hand, his fingers pressing down, and he won’t let him go. The need and dependence is almost too much. Dean’s so addictive, so perfect, just begging to be corrupted. Castiel wants to start now, but it’s going to take time. All things take time. For now, what he can do is get Dean clean and warm, nudging with a bit of influence to make sure he really doesn’t get sick.
As the dirt washes away, pale and unblemished flesh is revealed; tinted pink because of the heat of the water. Dean needs food; that much is obvious. Other than that he’s just what Castiel wants. He’s innocent, and trusting, and the beauty of him will tempt any demon to his soul. It’s not Castiel’s fault when his hands start to wander, even though he knows full well that it is. Dean doesn’t reject him, though. In fact, the boy tilts up eagerly into the touches, starved for any kind of affection. When Castiel cups his erection the boy makes a sound like a dying animal, dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks. Castiel, kneeling beside the tub, kisses Dean’s hair and starts to stroke him.
“Wanna stay with me, baby?” he whispers into the damp strands, and he smiles in victory when Dean nods. “Gonna give you a good life, Dean. Gonna give you anything you want. You can have all the riches in the world.” He traces a pattern across Dean’s chest with his free hand, writing runes and symbols through the water droplets. Dean is hot and hard in his other palm, twitching and pulsing out little streams of pre-cum. He’s probably never been touched before, virgin and perfect, and Castiel just knows that he’s going to corrupt this boy to the darkness.
“Would you sell your soul for me, baby, if it got you whatever you wanted?” Dean is nodding frantically, panting out hitching little whines; his hips bucking and the water churning because he’s trying to follow the way Castiel’s hands are touching him, pleasuring him, sealing the bargain on his soul as the darkness creeps over the house-demons panting and salivating at the chance to own such a creature. When the boy comes with a wanton cry, the very foundation shakes; lights flickering, walls rattling, and Castiel’s eyes flash black for a second, the symbol under his palm glowing, before it fades away and he smiles. Dean’s soul is his until the demons come to claim it.
“Cas,” Dean whispers, rising to his feet and wiping away the blood on his face. In the shadows of the half-lit room he looks wild, possessed, but Castiel knows better and he smiles. He opens his arms to the boy and Dean rushes to him, his knife clattering to the floor. The Shadowman wraps his arms around his charge and kisses Dean’s temple lovingly, looking past him to the twisted body of the woman laying in the middle of his basement floor. Dean had done a fantastic job, had followed his orders so well, and he tilts the boy’s face up to kiss him.
It’s starting to not be enough anymore. Dean has been his for six months already, in mind at least, but his body and soul are for the demons who have claimed him. The most Castiel can do is kiss him, touch him, but he cannot fuck him. He cannot taint that purity no matter how much he wants to, and oh, does he want to. Dean wants it too, and he sees that. The boy does everything Castiel asks, every order and task he is given, and at night he crawls into bed with the man and presses against him with eager kisses and whimpering pleas. Dean is already corrupt, soiled in the ways he should be by Castiel’s hand and his darkness, but there is still purity to him. There is still something there to keep the demons wanting.
Castiel kisses the praises into his mouth, pleased beyond words and showing it to Dean by the way he fists the teenager’s hair and maps his hot, wet little mouth with his tongue. Dean’s noises are muffled; mewls and gasps and whimpers, and each one travels through the man and right down into his groin, making his desire flare like the shadows of an enormous beast intent on its prey. He covers Dean’s smaller body with his own, presses him against the wall and lifts him up to slide a thigh between the boy’s. Dean squirms against him, rocking into the contact, and Castiel dips his head to bite at his throat so he can hear the sounds that Dean makes.
“Well, you’ve certainly been doing your job well.”
The voice is female, amused, and Castiel pulls away from Dean to turn around. He puts himself between the boy and the demon, for that is what she is-the black eyes tell him that very clearly. She’s average-looking at best, dark brown hair that falls in curves and a form that some would find attractive. Castiel finds her repulsive to look at, but that doesn’t matter.
“Hey,” he says cheerfully, shrugging, “I take pride in my work.” He watches the demon inspect the corpse before she crouches down and sniffs it. “He made that just for you.” Dean peers out from behind him and nods, eyeing the creature with dislike and fear before his large green eyes turn up towards Castiel’s face.
“Do I have to go with her now?” he asks. His hands are fisted tightly in the back of Castiel’s shirt. It’s clear he doesn’t want to let go of the Shadowman, but then, Dean really never likes to be too far from him. Castiel trained him that way, morphed and created that codependence lovingly by using what Dean already had in him. The boy was born with a need to please others ingrained into his very genetic makeup. All Castiel had to do was tweak it to his liking and Dean was his. Only now he has to hand Dean over, and he finds that he almost doesn’t want to.
“You do, Dean. That was what you signed up for, remember? You sold your soul for the life you have, darlin’, and now collection’s come a-calling.” He runs a hand through the boy’s dirty-blond hair and then pushes him towards the demon. She’s eyeing Dean like he’s a piece of meat, and she licks her lips in a very obvious way when Dean stops in front of her and she touches his face.
Shadows fill the room, creeping across the floor and wiggling their way into the open abdominal cavity of the woman Dean had lured into Castiel’s home. Dean starts to glow, the brightest point amidst the darkness besides Castiel’s own pale grey light. Compared to him, the boy is as bright as the sun, his soul barely tainted at all except for a dark spot here and there. The demon opens her mouth and inhales, like she’s going to suck Dean’s soul down that way, but it barely moves at all. Castiel has sacrificed many souls to demons before, and he knows how it usually works, but this time it seems like something is wrong.
“What are you doing?” the demon demands, going to grip Dean by his shoulders. She can’t touch him, though; jerks back with a hiss of pain when she tries. “You sold your soul to me, you little bitch. Why can’t I take it?”
“’Cause I didn’t sell it to you,” Dean says happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet as though he’s participating in something normal, an every-day occurrence, rather than holding back his soul from a demon. “I fibbed. It was never yours!”
“What?!” Snarling in fury, the demon whirls around to look down at the runes painted across the ground behind her. Her black eyes jump from word to word, searching, and when she reaches the part where Castiel knows the symbol for demonic is supposed to be, he watches the darkness warp around her as she screams in fury. He can’t see the rune himself, it’s hidden by the body, but he looks at Dean with a frown. What has the boy done?
“You aren’t welcome here!” Dean shouts gleefully. “You can’t have it!” He waves at her, his green eyes overtaken by the pure glow of his soul, and Castiel watches in surprise as the demon howls again in rage and vanishes in a cloud of sulfur and smoke. Dean is still glowing, though, so the ritual is still somehow in effect.
“Dean, what have you done?”
The boy kicks the body out of the way and points down at the floor. Castiel looks, and sees his own name painted crudely instead of what’s supposed to be there. His eyes snap back to Dean, shocked and furious, and he strides over to the boy; lifts him up and slams him back against the wall.
“What have you done?!”
“What we both wanted.” Dean doesn’t fight back, relaxes beneath Castiel’s fury and looks up at him with those damning, innocent eyes. His full lips part and he licks them, watching how Castiel follows the movement. “From the very beginning, you had my soul. It was always yours. Now it’s yours to take. Do it, make me yours.”
“Crafty, darlin’. Really crafty. You’ve pissed off some beasts now though, baby. Hope you think it’s worth it.” Before Dean can respond, Castiel kisses him and sucks down the boy’s soul. It hits his system like a bolt of light and devotion-pure, unchecked trust and need that simmers through his veins and makes him moan into Dean’s eager mouth. The boy is writhing against him, squirming and begging with words and his body. Now, Castiel can give him what they want. Now that he owns Dean’s soul, he can do whatever he wants.
“Down on the floor, baby. Get out of those clothes and let me see you,” he growls huskily, stepping back and watching as Dean scrambles to obey before the order can even fully compel him to do it. Castiel pulls off his shirt and flicks open the button of his pants, shoving them down and stepping out of them before he kneels before Dean. The boy is trembling, moaning, shivers making his skin twitch and his muscles flutter as the compulsion to be close to Castiel, close to his owner, makes him crawl across the floor and up onto the Shadowman’s lap. Castiel pulls their bodies together and kisses Dean again, palming his boy possessively like he’s wanted to for months now.
Castiel reaches down to press against Dean’s entrance, feeling the way the hole clenches and trembles eagerly against his fingertips. He presses the tip of one in, dry, and feels how eagerly Dean’s body relaxes when he compels it to. It’s a power rush for sure, owning and controlling someone like this, and as tempting as it is, he refuses to take Dean without something to ease the way. It’s an abuse of his powers, but he summons up lubrication to coat his fingers and immediately presses two of them into Dean. The boy arches back with a desperate cry, fucking himself on Castiel’s fingers and forcing them deeper. Dean is tight, and hot. Castiel bites at his throat and then licks his way back up to the boy’s wet, open mouth to overwhelm and overpower him. He controls Dean’s body, his reactions, and he reaches out to stroke a tendril of dark energy against the boy’s soul to watch how his nerves react.
“Please, Cas,” his boy begs him, rocking down against his fingers again and again until Castiel crooks them and finds Dean’s prostate. He watches how the teenager reacts, his eyes turning almost black and his body clenching around the Shadowman’s fingers to try and keep him there. “Please, please, fuck me.”
He can’t say no to that. After six months of petting, and touches, and kisses, always wanting more, Castiel cannot say no to that. He barely spares the time to spread some lube over his cock before he’s fucking up into Dean’s tight, eager body and moaning against the boy’s shoulder as he sinks into the welcoming heat. Dean can’t even make a sound; his mouth open wide and his Adam’s apple bobbing as he screams silently into the cold air of the basement. His eyes are wide, glazed over, like he’s not even with Castiel anymore. The Shadowman just smirks and bucks his hips, pushing in a little deeper before he pulls back out again and holds Dean up, just the head of his cock inside the boy. It’s worth it to see the way his boy squirms, begging with his eyes, until Castiel slams back up inside of him. Then, Dean really does scream.
The boy’s soul is still pumping through Castiel’s body, responding to its master’s pleasure as well as its own, and with one well-timed thrust, Castiel finds Dean’s prostate and the boy howls like an animal as he comes all over both of them. He clenches down, so tight Castiel almost can’t move, but he manages to keep thrusting and rocking his hips all the way through the aftershocks until he stills and comes inside of Dean. The boy’s soul flares brightly one last time, and then Castiel feels as well as sees the way his darkness creeps across the bright glow, tainting it and turning it from something innocent and pure into something dark and corrupt.
Dean pants and whimpers against his shoulder while Castiel strokes a hand through his hair. He kisses the boy’s temple, then his mouth, and picks Dean up and carries him out of the basement. The Shadowman takes his pet to the bathroom and sets him in the tub, filling it with hot water and beginning to bathe Dean.
“Did I do good, Master?” Dean whispers tiredly, nuzzling against Castiel’s arm and reaching out to grip his wrist with one strong, sure hand. “Did I?”
“You did very well, Dean.” Castiel smoothes his free hand through Dean’s hair to wet it down and make it darker. “You did very, very well baby. I’m so proud of you. Now you’re mine forever.”
Dean smiles and leans against the side of the tub, drawn to Castiel by his love for the Shadowman and the compulsion in him now to be close to the one who controls his soul.
“I’m glad.”
Author: earth_heart
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Warnings: AU, creepy!Castiel, dark!Castiel, innocent!Dean, underage sex (Dean is 16)
Spoilers: None~
Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. It belongs to Kripke and the CW/WB. I make no profit from this.
AN: For highermagic
Summary: “It was always yours.”
------
Castiel finds the street rat huddled in on himself, shivering in the darkness of the rainy night. The boy hasn’t even bothered trying to find shelter. Rather, he’s just crouched in the murky water of the filthy gutters, his skinny arms wrapped around his chest and his knees submerged in the filth and grime of the city. There’s no way the Shadowman can pass by such a wanting, wavering soul, so he crouches down and tilts the boy’s head up with two gloved fingers.
“Having some trouble there, lad?” He has a smile that traps people immediately, and this weak, starving child is no different. Wide green eyes stare up at him like he knows the answers to life-and Castiel doesn’t want to brag, but that’s kind of what he does. “You look like you can use a warm place to bed down for the night. Maybe a nice meal. Such a pretty face like yours; you shouldn’t be out here all alone.”
That’s it, and the boy is his. He stands, fingers still tucked under that dirty chin, and the boy rises with him, swaying towards Castiel like the Shadowman’s aura is pulling him in. And it is, really, reaching out with dark, greedy tendrils and seizing upon the boy’s innocence and purity. Castiel wants to muddy that brightness up; drag the boy down into the muck and the mud with him and make him just as dark and as twisted as Castiel is. He has a flash of something, a picture of the boy standing over the corpse of a woman, blood on his face and a knife in his hands, and it practically makes him purr.
“You got a name, darlin’?” he drawls, bringing the boy close to him and leaning down so he can breathe the words hotly over the flushed swell of his lips. A pink tongue flicks out to wet them and he wants nothing more than to kiss it, to ravish and ravage the boy, but he knows that will take time. All good things come to those who wait, and Castiel is an infinitely patient man. The boy will writhe for him soon-they all do in the end, it’s just a matter of time.
“Dean,” the boy breathes, the barest whisper on the wind. He’s so young, so innocent, so ready and trusting to the first one who shows him kindness. It’s hard, so hard, not to just take advantage of that now, but he must be patient. Dean is a special boy, a perfect opportunity, and Castiel cannot be too greedy. There will be plenty of time for that later. For now, there is work to be done.
“Nice to meet you, Dean. You can call me Cas. You hungry, baby?” Dean nods, so shy and unassuming, and Castiel has to suppress his moan. God, it’s so easy it’s almost illegal. The Shadowman smiles again, tempting the boy, and begins to back up. Dean follows like a puppy at its master’s heels, straining to keep the contact between them. There’s no one out this late at night, just them and the patter of the rain falling. Castiel isn’t even wet, but Dean is, and the boy presses into his welcoming warmth and wraps his malnourished arms around the man’s waist, like he’s trying to crawl inside of Castiel. He presses a hand against the boy’s back, gathering him close, and leads him through the darkness of the night; back to his home through the tunnels of shadows and the whisper of malevolent air.
“Sit yourself down. Let me find you something dry to wear. Can’t have you catchin’ cold, wearing those wet rags.” Castiel sits Dean down on the couch and feathers his fingers across the boy’s cheeks. He has freckles. Castiel loves freckles. Freckles are the very nature of innocence, and paired with those eyes, it’s almost too much to ask for. Castiel wants to take him apart, and own him, but he has bigger plans than that.
Finding an old long-sleeved shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms, Castiel takes them into the bathroom and then calls Dean to him silently, a feeling of need-a compulsion to return to the Shadowman’s side. Dean bursts into the bathroom barely seconds later, wide-eyed and panicked. He scrambles into Castiel’s welcoming arms and clings to him, burrowing as close as he can while Castiel’s nimble fingers unbutton his jeans and peel off his soaked shirt.
“That’s my boy. C’mon, Dean, into the tub. Gotta warm you up, darlin’, so you don’t get sick.” Dean goes willingly, eagerly, but he grips Castiel’s wrist with one dirty hand, his fingers pressing down, and he won’t let him go. The need and dependence is almost too much. Dean’s so addictive, so perfect, just begging to be corrupted. Castiel wants to start now, but it’s going to take time. All things take time. For now, what he can do is get Dean clean and warm, nudging with a bit of influence to make sure he really doesn’t get sick.
As the dirt washes away, pale and unblemished flesh is revealed; tinted pink because of the heat of the water. Dean needs food; that much is obvious. Other than that he’s just what Castiel wants. He’s innocent, and trusting, and the beauty of him will tempt any demon to his soul. It’s not Castiel’s fault when his hands start to wander, even though he knows full well that it is. Dean doesn’t reject him, though. In fact, the boy tilts up eagerly into the touches, starved for any kind of affection. When Castiel cups his erection the boy makes a sound like a dying animal, dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks. Castiel, kneeling beside the tub, kisses Dean’s hair and starts to stroke him.
“Wanna stay with me, baby?” he whispers into the damp strands, and he smiles in victory when Dean nods. “Gonna give you a good life, Dean. Gonna give you anything you want. You can have all the riches in the world.” He traces a pattern across Dean’s chest with his free hand, writing runes and symbols through the water droplets. Dean is hot and hard in his other palm, twitching and pulsing out little streams of pre-cum. He’s probably never been touched before, virgin and perfect, and Castiel just knows that he’s going to corrupt this boy to the darkness.
“Would you sell your soul for me, baby, if it got you whatever you wanted?” Dean is nodding frantically, panting out hitching little whines; his hips bucking and the water churning because he’s trying to follow the way Castiel’s hands are touching him, pleasuring him, sealing the bargain on his soul as the darkness creeps over the house-demons panting and salivating at the chance to own such a creature. When the boy comes with a wanton cry, the very foundation shakes; lights flickering, walls rattling, and Castiel’s eyes flash black for a second, the symbol under his palm glowing, before it fades away and he smiles. Dean’s soul is his until the demons come to claim it.
“Cas,” Dean whispers, rising to his feet and wiping away the blood on his face. In the shadows of the half-lit room he looks wild, possessed, but Castiel knows better and he smiles. He opens his arms to the boy and Dean rushes to him, his knife clattering to the floor. The Shadowman wraps his arms around his charge and kisses Dean’s temple lovingly, looking past him to the twisted body of the woman laying in the middle of his basement floor. Dean had done a fantastic job, had followed his orders so well, and he tilts the boy’s face up to kiss him.
It’s starting to not be enough anymore. Dean has been his for six months already, in mind at least, but his body and soul are for the demons who have claimed him. The most Castiel can do is kiss him, touch him, but he cannot fuck him. He cannot taint that purity no matter how much he wants to, and oh, does he want to. Dean wants it too, and he sees that. The boy does everything Castiel asks, every order and task he is given, and at night he crawls into bed with the man and presses against him with eager kisses and whimpering pleas. Dean is already corrupt, soiled in the ways he should be by Castiel’s hand and his darkness, but there is still purity to him. There is still something there to keep the demons wanting.
Castiel kisses the praises into his mouth, pleased beyond words and showing it to Dean by the way he fists the teenager’s hair and maps his hot, wet little mouth with his tongue. Dean’s noises are muffled; mewls and gasps and whimpers, and each one travels through the man and right down into his groin, making his desire flare like the shadows of an enormous beast intent on its prey. He covers Dean’s smaller body with his own, presses him against the wall and lifts him up to slide a thigh between the boy’s. Dean squirms against him, rocking into the contact, and Castiel dips his head to bite at his throat so he can hear the sounds that Dean makes.
“Well, you’ve certainly been doing your job well.”
The voice is female, amused, and Castiel pulls away from Dean to turn around. He puts himself between the boy and the demon, for that is what she is-the black eyes tell him that very clearly. She’s average-looking at best, dark brown hair that falls in curves and a form that some would find attractive. Castiel finds her repulsive to look at, but that doesn’t matter.
“Hey,” he says cheerfully, shrugging, “I take pride in my work.” He watches the demon inspect the corpse before she crouches down and sniffs it. “He made that just for you.” Dean peers out from behind him and nods, eyeing the creature with dislike and fear before his large green eyes turn up towards Castiel’s face.
“Do I have to go with her now?” he asks. His hands are fisted tightly in the back of Castiel’s shirt. It’s clear he doesn’t want to let go of the Shadowman, but then, Dean really never likes to be too far from him. Castiel trained him that way, morphed and created that codependence lovingly by using what Dean already had in him. The boy was born with a need to please others ingrained into his very genetic makeup. All Castiel had to do was tweak it to his liking and Dean was his. Only now he has to hand Dean over, and he finds that he almost doesn’t want to.
“You do, Dean. That was what you signed up for, remember? You sold your soul for the life you have, darlin’, and now collection’s come a-calling.” He runs a hand through the boy’s dirty-blond hair and then pushes him towards the demon. She’s eyeing Dean like he’s a piece of meat, and she licks her lips in a very obvious way when Dean stops in front of her and she touches his face.
Shadows fill the room, creeping across the floor and wiggling their way into the open abdominal cavity of the woman Dean had lured into Castiel’s home. Dean starts to glow, the brightest point amidst the darkness besides Castiel’s own pale grey light. Compared to him, the boy is as bright as the sun, his soul barely tainted at all except for a dark spot here and there. The demon opens her mouth and inhales, like she’s going to suck Dean’s soul down that way, but it barely moves at all. Castiel has sacrificed many souls to demons before, and he knows how it usually works, but this time it seems like something is wrong.
“What are you doing?” the demon demands, going to grip Dean by his shoulders. She can’t touch him, though; jerks back with a hiss of pain when she tries. “You sold your soul to me, you little bitch. Why can’t I take it?”
“’Cause I didn’t sell it to you,” Dean says happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet as though he’s participating in something normal, an every-day occurrence, rather than holding back his soul from a demon. “I fibbed. It was never yours!”
“What?!” Snarling in fury, the demon whirls around to look down at the runes painted across the ground behind her. Her black eyes jump from word to word, searching, and when she reaches the part where Castiel knows the symbol for demonic is supposed to be, he watches the darkness warp around her as she screams in fury. He can’t see the rune himself, it’s hidden by the body, but he looks at Dean with a frown. What has the boy done?
“You aren’t welcome here!” Dean shouts gleefully. “You can’t have it!” He waves at her, his green eyes overtaken by the pure glow of his soul, and Castiel watches in surprise as the demon howls again in rage and vanishes in a cloud of sulfur and smoke. Dean is still glowing, though, so the ritual is still somehow in effect.
“Dean, what have you done?”
The boy kicks the body out of the way and points down at the floor. Castiel looks, and sees his own name painted crudely instead of what’s supposed to be there. His eyes snap back to Dean, shocked and furious, and he strides over to the boy; lifts him up and slams him back against the wall.
“What have you done?!”
“What we both wanted.” Dean doesn’t fight back, relaxes beneath Castiel’s fury and looks up at him with those damning, innocent eyes. His full lips part and he licks them, watching how Castiel follows the movement. “From the very beginning, you had my soul. It was always yours. Now it’s yours to take. Do it, make me yours.”
“Crafty, darlin’. Really crafty. You’ve pissed off some beasts now though, baby. Hope you think it’s worth it.” Before Dean can respond, Castiel kisses him and sucks down the boy’s soul. It hits his system like a bolt of light and devotion-pure, unchecked trust and need that simmers through his veins and makes him moan into Dean’s eager mouth. The boy is writhing against him, squirming and begging with words and his body. Now, Castiel can give him what they want. Now that he owns Dean’s soul, he can do whatever he wants.
“Down on the floor, baby. Get out of those clothes and let me see you,” he growls huskily, stepping back and watching as Dean scrambles to obey before the order can even fully compel him to do it. Castiel pulls off his shirt and flicks open the button of his pants, shoving them down and stepping out of them before he kneels before Dean. The boy is trembling, moaning, shivers making his skin twitch and his muscles flutter as the compulsion to be close to Castiel, close to his owner, makes him crawl across the floor and up onto the Shadowman’s lap. Castiel pulls their bodies together and kisses Dean again, palming his boy possessively like he’s wanted to for months now.
Castiel reaches down to press against Dean’s entrance, feeling the way the hole clenches and trembles eagerly against his fingertips. He presses the tip of one in, dry, and feels how eagerly Dean’s body relaxes when he compels it to. It’s a power rush for sure, owning and controlling someone like this, and as tempting as it is, he refuses to take Dean without something to ease the way. It’s an abuse of his powers, but he summons up lubrication to coat his fingers and immediately presses two of them into Dean. The boy arches back with a desperate cry, fucking himself on Castiel’s fingers and forcing them deeper. Dean is tight, and hot. Castiel bites at his throat and then licks his way back up to the boy’s wet, open mouth to overwhelm and overpower him. He controls Dean’s body, his reactions, and he reaches out to stroke a tendril of dark energy against the boy’s soul to watch how his nerves react.
“Please, Cas,” his boy begs him, rocking down against his fingers again and again until Castiel crooks them and finds Dean’s prostate. He watches how the teenager reacts, his eyes turning almost black and his body clenching around the Shadowman’s fingers to try and keep him there. “Please, please, fuck me.”
He can’t say no to that. After six months of petting, and touches, and kisses, always wanting more, Castiel cannot say no to that. He barely spares the time to spread some lube over his cock before he’s fucking up into Dean’s tight, eager body and moaning against the boy’s shoulder as he sinks into the welcoming heat. Dean can’t even make a sound; his mouth open wide and his Adam’s apple bobbing as he screams silently into the cold air of the basement. His eyes are wide, glazed over, like he’s not even with Castiel anymore. The Shadowman just smirks and bucks his hips, pushing in a little deeper before he pulls back out again and holds Dean up, just the head of his cock inside the boy. It’s worth it to see the way his boy squirms, begging with his eyes, until Castiel slams back up inside of him. Then, Dean really does scream.
The boy’s soul is still pumping through Castiel’s body, responding to its master’s pleasure as well as its own, and with one well-timed thrust, Castiel finds Dean’s prostate and the boy howls like an animal as he comes all over both of them. He clenches down, so tight Castiel almost can’t move, but he manages to keep thrusting and rocking his hips all the way through the aftershocks until he stills and comes inside of Dean. The boy’s soul flares brightly one last time, and then Castiel feels as well as sees the way his darkness creeps across the bright glow, tainting it and turning it from something innocent and pure into something dark and corrupt.
Dean pants and whimpers against his shoulder while Castiel strokes a hand through his hair. He kisses the boy’s temple, then his mouth, and picks Dean up and carries him out of the basement. The Shadowman takes his pet to the bathroom and sets him in the tub, filling it with hot water and beginning to bathe Dean.
“Did I do good, Master?” Dean whispers tiredly, nuzzling against Castiel’s arm and reaching out to grip his wrist with one strong, sure hand. “Did I?”
“You did very well, Dean.” Castiel smoothes his free hand through Dean’s hair to wet it down and make it darker. “You did very, very well baby. I’m so proud of you. Now you’re mine forever.”
Dean smiles and leans against the side of the tub, drawn to Castiel by his love for the Shadowman and the compulsion in him now to be close to the one who controls his soul.
“I’m glad.”