SPN: Triggered
Fandom: Supernatural
Main characters: Dean, Castiel
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Contains: Gunplay, sex
Rating: NC17
Summary: Castiel doesn't need the gun, but it still means something.
It's stupid. Castiel doesn't need the gun. Dean's not sure he's ever even seen him handling a gun before now. He doesn't need it, only the blazing power of his faith, only the inhuman strength of his hands. He doesn't need more than that to protect himself, doesn't need more than that to take Dean apart, inside and out. But the gun still means something. The gun is right there, and Dean just cannot take his eyes from it. He swallows hard, and has to close his eyes when Castiel moves it, rests the tip of the gun against his temple.
"You trust me," he says, his voice deep and rough, a solid warm burn. Dean shivers. Castiel touches his face lightly with his free hand. "Open your eyes, Dean."
Dean does as he's told. He's not normally a fan of authority and being told what to do, but this is different. Castiel brushes the pad of his thumb over Dean's lips, and Dean kisses it, darts out his tongue to taste. He's ridiculously strung out, shaking all the time now, stripped so completely bare, his cock a constant ache. Castiel's barely been touching him, but each touch sears, each touch has been carefully targeted, each touch makes Dean moan for more, makes him need more. He's sweating, and the tip of the gun slips just a little against his slick skin.
Castiel smiles at him, and that sears too, tears things open deep inside. His smile's so honest, so real, and Dean knows it's all for him, only for him. He wants to close his eyes, he wants to watch Castiel, he wants, he wants --
"It might still be loaded," Castiel says, quietly, another flash of heat, and Dean groans and he knows his cock jerked, that there's a fresh spill of pre-come, that he's shaking harder than ever. "What if I pulled the trigger, Dean?"
No answer. Dean wants to say do it, wants to show that trust, show Cas that he knows he'll take care of him, that he'd never --
The words won't come, everything's locked up and seized tight, and if he forces the words past then tears will come too. He's helpless to fight that, helpless to pull away and get some kind of control again, helpless to do anything but look up at Castiel and plead for it silently. Cas looks right into him and everything he entails, unflinching, with a look of tenderness in his eyes that Dean almost can't take. Slowly, he trails the gun down the side of Dean's face, slowly pushes it into Dean's mouth, without looking away at all.
He sees the moment of decision, catches it in the flicker of Castiel's eyes and the way he moves, and he's ready for it when he sees and hears and feels and tastes Castiel pulling that trigger. He's not prepared for the way his body jolts, for the way it feels, the way it punches through him. He's not prepared for the way he comes, helpless, sobbing, untouched, reaching for Castiel, curling his fingers in the fabric of his pants in a futile attempt to hold on, to hold fast in front of this, this irresistable rush of release that's about way more than a fucking orgasm.
Castiel's on his knees in front of him, and that's so wrong, so stupid, but Castiel won't listen to that, won't go. He gathers Dean up in his arms, holds him, cradles him, letting Dean sob into his shoulder, letting him shake it out until he stops. "You trust me," Castiel whispers, in his ear, and the idiot actually sounds surprised.
Main characters: Dean, Castiel
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Contains: Gunplay, sex
Rating: NC17
Summary: Castiel doesn't need the gun, but it still means something.
It's stupid. Castiel doesn't need the gun. Dean's not sure he's ever even seen him handling a gun before now. He doesn't need it, only the blazing power of his faith, only the inhuman strength of his hands. He doesn't need more than that to protect himself, doesn't need more than that to take Dean apart, inside and out. But the gun still means something. The gun is right there, and Dean just cannot take his eyes from it. He swallows hard, and has to close his eyes when Castiel moves it, rests the tip of the gun against his temple.
"You trust me," he says, his voice deep and rough, a solid warm burn. Dean shivers. Castiel touches his face lightly with his free hand. "Open your eyes, Dean."
Dean does as he's told. He's not normally a fan of authority and being told what to do, but this is different. Castiel brushes the pad of his thumb over Dean's lips, and Dean kisses it, darts out his tongue to taste. He's ridiculously strung out, shaking all the time now, stripped so completely bare, his cock a constant ache. Castiel's barely been touching him, but each touch sears, each touch has been carefully targeted, each touch makes Dean moan for more, makes him need more. He's sweating, and the tip of the gun slips just a little against his slick skin.
Castiel smiles at him, and that sears too, tears things open deep inside. His smile's so honest, so real, and Dean knows it's all for him, only for him. He wants to close his eyes, he wants to watch Castiel, he wants, he wants --
"It might still be loaded," Castiel says, quietly, another flash of heat, and Dean groans and he knows his cock jerked, that there's a fresh spill of pre-come, that he's shaking harder than ever. "What if I pulled the trigger, Dean?"
No answer. Dean wants to say do it, wants to show that trust, show Cas that he knows he'll take care of him, that he'd never --
The words won't come, everything's locked up and seized tight, and if he forces the words past then tears will come too. He's helpless to fight that, helpless to pull away and get some kind of control again, helpless to do anything but look up at Castiel and plead for it silently. Cas looks right into him and everything he entails, unflinching, with a look of tenderness in his eyes that Dean almost can't take. Slowly, he trails the gun down the side of Dean's face, slowly pushes it into Dean's mouth, without looking away at all.
He sees the moment of decision, catches it in the flicker of Castiel's eyes and the way he moves, and he's ready for it when he sees and hears and feels and tastes Castiel pulling that trigger. He's not prepared for the way his body jolts, for the way it feels, the way it punches through him. He's not prepared for the way he comes, helpless, sobbing, untouched, reaching for Castiel, curling his fingers in the fabric of his pants in a futile attempt to hold on, to hold fast in front of this, this irresistable rush of release that's about way more than a fucking orgasm.
Castiel's on his knees in front of him, and that's so wrong, so stupid, but Castiel won't listen to that, won't go. He gathers Dean up in his arms, holds him, cradles him, letting Dean sob into his shoulder, letting him shake it out until he stops. "You trust me," Castiel whispers, in his ear, and the idiot actually sounds surprised.