Round 3 Blindfold Fills backup
Prompt: Dean/Cas, smoking kink
Castiel picks up smoking. Dean used to smoke. Sex and chain-smoking ensue. Lots of details regarding long fingers and smoke clouds and the smell and the taste of tobacco in someone else's mouth. Bonus points for whiskey drinking in bed, too.
FILLED: Taken - Dean/Cas, smoking kink
Dean remembered John ordering him to quit, remembered being seventeen years old and an idiot, caught outside the school gates with the single-serving friends he'd enjoy until they moved again. He'd sworn never to smoke again.
He hadn't counted on Castiel picking up the habit. In Castiel's case, it was because he didn't need to worry about his lungs. In Dean's case, it was that he didn't care.
But he'd sworn off, so he held back, distracted by the curls of white-grey on the faint breeze, by the surrealism of an angel smoking a cigarette. Castiel hadn't been offered a cigarette, had simply picked up the habit because he wished to; the same way he chose to drink, chose to eat when it was Sam's turn to order in, and hell yes Dean was offended that Castiel wouldn't eat Dean's choice of take-out.
Castiel had been smoking for a month before Dean's attention started to drift past the cigarette itself and to Castiel's holding of it. There was nothing self-conscious in the act, no desire to stem social anxiety; Castiel simply held it between fingers Dean was starting to recognise as slim and long, and by the time Dean noticed his attention was being drawn towards Castiel's lips, it was too late to pull away from the thought.
When Dean fucked Castiel for the first time it had almost been more about tonguing the taste of tobacco from Castiel's mouth than it had been about getting off, and he'd given up afterwards, taken the post-coital cigarette from between Castiel's lips and breathing it in.
He'd missed smoking. He'd really missed smoking, and Castiel was as keen to draw the smoke from between Dean's lips as he was from the cigarette, the angel blessed with the ability to literally quit whenever he wished, choosing not to only because he was a stubborn, awkward bastard at the best of times.
Castiel had brought cigarettes to bed, and it was Dean who brought whiskey. Cheap whiskey the first time, whiskey he could afford to lick off Castiel's nipples and cock and ass, the expensive stuff saved for drinking rather than playing. Castiel could choose how he cleaned himself, kept bacteria from causing his sweat or breath to go foul, and Dean wondered how the universe ever allowed something as bizarre as his angel to exist. Castiel smelled of whiskey and cigarettes and clean sweat and come when left to his own devices, only cleaned Dean's scent from him when they had to go out in public.
Dean did whatever he could to ensure they didn't need to, had no desire to go out into a world he'd lost almost everything to save. Castiel chain smoked because he could afford to, could keep a cigarette from burning unless his lips were on it, hold it in statis and have it last as long as he wished, and Dean chain fucked him in return for pulls on the cigarette and the taste of smoke on Castiel's tongue. Castiel had no preferences and no hates, would top or bottom, would ride or be ridden, let Dean have him on his back or his front or his side, legs over shoulders or around the waist or straddling thighs.
Dean only had one rule, and Castiel held to it, kissed Dean with something sweeter than anything they normally shared when Dean had him make a promise.
Nothing stronger than tobacco. He loved this Castiel. And he wouldn't have him become anything else.
Prompt: Dean/Cas, hand gagging, risk of discovery
Dean and Castiel can't wait any longer. They're in Bobby's living room. Bobby's asleep next door, Sam's asleep upstairs. Dean has to gag Cas with his hand so Cas doesn't wake them up.
FILLED: Last Minute - Dean/Cas, hand gagging, risk of discovery [1/2]
The end is extremely fucking nigh, and Dean's actually considering repenting.
He's under Castiel on the couch while the angel kisses him, Bobby fast asleep in the room next door, exhausted from jogging around the yard just because he can, and Sam's upstairs, taking advantage of a bed that hasn't been paid for.
Lucifer's about to strike the last blow of the Apocalypse for better or worse, and Dean's the closest he's been to happy since he came back from Hell. Sam trusts him. Sam actually trusts him, and Crowley, that fey British freak of a demon, has pulled through for them.
And Castiel is apparently over beating the crap out of him - either that, or at least he's considering setting up a safe word before doing it again. He certainly isn't shy about kissing.
Dean's surprised Castiel hasn't actually brought up the whole "this could be our last month/week/night on Earth" thing; maybe he figures he doesn't need to, as it's a given for all of them.
He's kissed Castiel before but there's something about the particular combination of safety and warmth and need without desperation that finally changes this kiss for something else; he's hard, not painfully so but enough that it's distracting, and enough that Castiel notices.
Castiel had been relatively soft up to this point, but Castiel apparently really appreciates the thought of Dean getting hard for him because he stirs in response, and Dean feels all of fourteen years old again, making out with whichever girl in school liked her boyfriends dangerous. Castiel basically is like a fourteen year old because he's not gone this before with anyone, doesn't quite know how to control himself. He's not so innocent or naive as to ask what's happening to his body, but there's a lot of difference between watching and experiencing - hell, Dean knows that from porn alone. Tit wanks look good but they're not all that thrilling in practise, and he's flat out confused by the number of girls who've paid excessive attention to his nipples.
Castiel bucks up into Dean's touch and moans louder than he should, enough Dean has to move one hand from the small of Castiel's back - and he's annoyed he has to do that, because it's warm and comfortable there - and press it over Castiel's mouth.
Castiel mumbles "What?" against Dean's hand, and Dean gestures with his head to the room where Bobby's sleeping. The walls are thick enough they'd probably block out noise from waking Sam, but with Bobby on the same floor, in the room next to theirs, he's not willing to take the risk.
"Shh," Dean says. "They don't need to hear us."
Castiel frowns for a moment before moaning again at Dean palming him lightly. Dean's taking a risk with this, but he's pretty certain if Castiel can clean blood from his clothing with a thought, he can do the same for anything else, and he doesn't push Castiel's clothes completely out of the way when he opens them up enough to slip his hand inside Castiel's briefs.
He's in the right to keep Castiel's mouth covered - Castiel started loud and from the sound of things has every intention of getting louder. Castiel's breath is hot and wet against his hand, and for all that Dean started this for practical reasons, it's really hot to have Castiel effectively gagged.
Dean's always known he's a bit kinky, in all fairness.
Castiel's precome starts slicking Dean's hand and Dean knows he's not far off coming in his own pants at the angel's body-wracking groans, almost tempted just to let Castiel go for it even if it'd likely end in Bobby making him pay for a new sofa. Dean's pretty sure it'd be worth it, but when he pulls his hand away again for a moment it's just to replace it with his lips, a quick, "You ready?", and when Castiel says "Yes," he puts his hand back in place and switches from general stroking to gripping Castiel tighter and jerking hard, letting his fingers tease Castiel's balls whenever he's close to the base, and Dean actually has to adjust his hand when Castiel comes because he screams out wide enough his grip slips for a minute.
Even if he hadn't caught the scream on time it would have been worth it; Castiel's orgasm's the hottest thing Dean's ever fucking seen, even though he's only seeing part of it at this angle - it's completely and utterly unselfconscious and surprised, and if Castiel's thigh had been pressed up against his crotch, Dean knows just the slightest rub would have had had him gone at the sight, utterly and completely gone.
He's kind of glad it takes him a few moments after because it means watching Castiel gather his breath and think about what just happened, watch his angel slipping into post-coital bliss, and he wishes his afterglow felt half as good as Castiel's looks.
"Wow," Castiel says, and Dean laughs before covering his own mouth. "What?"
Dean takes a few seconds to calm down and kisses Castiel again, still not tired of the fact he gets to do this with Castiel, gets to taste his lips. "Nothing," Dean says. "Absolutely nothing."
It's true. Nothing is all he can think of right now.
And it's absolutely wonderful.
Prompt: Dean/Castiel, breathplay
I'll take anything, but I would love to see Dean jerking off and Castiel helping out with a hand against Dean's throat.
FILLED: Simple Needs: Dean/Castiel, breathplay
Castiel had been watching humans for a long, long time now, and in those years, he'd learned one universal truth.
For all that humans feared death, they were addicted to it.
He had never experienced arousal in this form, doubted he could - the flesh was borrowed, even if the emotions were not. That he loved Dean was undoubtable, but he felt no need to act on that love.
He was willing to act for it, though, and when Dean expressed increasing frustration with the long days and nights on the road, the fact he hadn't slept with a woman in weeks and the pornographic magazines weren't doing anything for him anymore, Castiel asked what Dean wanted.
Dean brushed him off, but Castiel stayed with him, waited for the pressure building beneath Dean's skin to demand release, and when Dean admitted what he wanted, Castiel nodded to some, shook his head at others, judged none of the requests. He knew the price Dean had paid for his new life, and that some stains were carried back from death and from Hell was unsurprising.
Dean lay back against the bed, stroking himself under Castiel's gaze, never quite getting fully hard. Castiel was gentle with his touch, had no desire to ruin the body he'd worked so hard to rebuild, but he knew its limitations; knew how deep he could press before a bruise turned into something more damaging.
Castiel stroked his fingers across Dean's throat lightly, almost tickling, watched Dean go stiff at the touch in more ways than one. It wasn't a mere experiment, then; Dean genuinely desired this.
Castiel propped himself up on one arm, angled himself so he could use the position to apply pressure with his other hand, tightening around Dean's neck, feeling the softness of skin give way to the firmer tendons beneath, the rapid, nervous attempts to swallow.
Dean trusted him enough to let him do this, if not enough to let Castiel bind his hands; at some point they might progress to doing both at the same time, Castiel taking over in pumping Dean's erection for him, but for now Dean needed to test his limits, find where they lay.
Castiel tightened further, watching Dean's skin flush, his chest beginning to heave in nervous attempts to find more oxygen, the white marks where he applied the pressure to Dean's throat.
Dean mouthed something, but had no air to speak it. Castiel knew the movements of his lips spelled out obscenities.
Dean arched up and Castiel pulled his hand away in an instant, watched Dean gasp for air as he came, the gasps interrupted by piercingly loud whines of pleasure, incoherent communication.
Dean collapsed back against the bed, stomach and chest marked with his own fluids, and Castiel traced his fingers through the liquid before bringing them to Dean's lips.
Dean thanked him.
Castiel reminded Dean there was no need for thanks.
Prompt: Dean/Cas - weapon play, object insertion
Those big, shiny angel swords are probably multi-purpose, don't you think?
FILLED: Weapon of Choice - Dean/Cas - weapon play, object insertion [1/3]
Teaching Castiel to fight dirty was as much of a lesson to Dean as it was to the angel. Castiel needed instructions to be as direct as possible, learned fast but struggled with vague descriptions; learned fastest of all when Dean physically manoeuvered him into the needed positions. Castiel's natural movements were graceful and controlled, and teaching him when to lash out, how to fight in close quarters when his enemy had already moved into his personal space, it was a challenge but one Dean was more than ready to take on.
Dean stuck with punches and kicks at first, unarmed as most demons would be, before bringing furniture into the fight. Castiel had been made for a time where the weapons used were actual weapons - not chairs and lamps and bricks and anything that could be thrown or smashed against his skin. Castiel didn't bleed easily, and that made lessons both easy to teach - Dean didn't exactly have to worry about killing Castiel, even about breaking bones - and harder, because driving home that any distraction was enough to give another angel time to stab Castiel with something that would count was harder without scratches or bruises to point to. At least the angel's clothes didn't heal in an instant, gave him markers to use.
When Castiel offered Dean one of the blades he'd taken from his fallen brethren, it was an offer of trust Dean didn't entirely know how to take. Castiel circled him, the garage floor slippery in places with motor oil, perfect for showing how important keeping your balance and knowing your surroundings could be. Dean already had bruised and scratched up knees from slipping, and Castiel's pants were damp in patches with oil where he'd fallen.
The showing of trust wasn't enough to put Dean off the lesson entirely though, and though it was hard to break through Castiel's defences, he could still break through; Dean couldn't help but feel angry, furious even, at how his angel endangered himself, opted to teach him the one way he could. The risk of breaking Castiel's skin with the blade was something Dean wasn't willing to take, but slicing at Castiel's shirt and coat, leaving marks there, he was more than happy to use as guidance.
Castiel shed the trenchcoat once it was shredded beyond use for the moment, and Dean had to sigh with relief that there was one point he'd driven home - no point holding onto something once it was more of a nuisance than a benefit. He seemed to fight better without the damned thing on anyway, unrestricted in his upper arm movements, and fighting him was a bastard. Good. The harder it was to get a shot in, the harder it would be for the bad guys to get to him, and Dean knew soon he'd have to bring Sam in to their training. Demons didn't exactly line up neatly to be dispatched, and Dean doubted angels fought any differently; the more Castiel could take on, the better.
Dean searched for an opening for the best part of fifteen minutes, ducking and blocking Castiel's attacks and taking the occasional barely withheld punch to the chest or stomach when it came, thankful beyond the telling of it that even if Castiel could knock a human's head clean off their shoulders he opted not to for Dean's sake.
Dean was pretty pissed off when Castiel seemed to take the struggle to find an opening for granted and gave him a clear shot at his back; Dean pressed the blade up against the back of Castiel's neck and watched him freeze. "Don't ever take a break in a fight," Dean growled, "Not unless I tell you to. Hell, not even if I tell you to."
Castiel nodded and Dean looked at where he had the blade, licked his lips. His and Castiel's relationship had always been a little strange, strained at all the edges where he remembered Castiel wasn't quite human, but buoyed by the way Castiel knew him better than almost anyone. He dragged the blade down, gentle, careful not to scratch deep, hooked the blade under the collar at the back of Castiel's shirt and started pulling down. Whatever angelic blades were made of, it wasn't anything on Earth - the rounded looking edges sliced through Castiel's shirt and jacket like butter, defying all science and reason.
Okay, maybe not all science, but Dean wasn't exactly going to lend the blade out for study.
"Dean?" Castiel said, shivering when Dean nudged the edges of the shirt and jacket out of the way.
"I'm thinking," Dean replied, before resting the blade against Castiel's belt. Changing their relationship from what it had been to something more physical had been surprisingly easy when it happened, Castiel's constant invasion of his personal space making finding an opportunity to surprise him easy, and Castiel had been far from reluctant to respond to Dean's kiss, or Dean's hand under his shirt, or Dean's hand down his pants.
He tucks the blade into his own belt, wraps his arms around Castiel's waist.
"I have a very bad idea," Dean says, nipping Castiel's ear between his teeth and shifting one of his hands to cup Castiel lightly. "And I don't know if you're going to like it."
Castiel's eyes closed, his breathing unsteady, already growing hard under Dean's touch. "What are you thinking?" Castiel asked, and Dean squeezed him, licked Castiel's neck as he gasped.
"I'm thinking that sword of yours has a handle," Dean said, "And I'm thinking you'd make a fucking hot scabbard."
Castiel's erection was fully hard to touch now, Dean unzipping Castiel's pants so he could get his hands on the bare flesh, hot and already leaking. He almost missed Castiel's answer. Almost.
Dean let go reluctantly and walked over to his rucksack, opened the side zipper and pulled out the lube before taking the blade and handling what ought to be the sharp side carefully, outright confused when it didn't even scratch. Coating it thickly in lube was easy enough, a quick up and down masturbatory movement, but he was more interested in his angel; pushed Castiel up against the wall of the garage so he'd have something to lean against, before sliding his lubed fingers up into Castiel, crooking them slightly; even if Castiel hadn't been particularly vocal about Dean getting the angle right, he would have known from everything else in the angel's body language that he'd succeeded.
Dean withdrew his fingers, knew he wouldn't be able to get the angle quite as perfect with the blade's handle, but he was willing to try. Castiel breathed out harsh and fast when Dean pushed it in, easing its way as carefully as he could, until he had the hilt pressed firm up against Castiel's entrance, his fingers hooked just over the edge because he wasn't taking the risk of slicing them open on the blade.
"Dean," Castiel gasped, his body rejecting the handle easily when Dean tried to slide it out, the slide back in all the more fun for the struggle. "Yes,"
Dean had to unzip his jeans with his free hand then, his cock pressed so hard up against the seam it had started to hurt, but he resisted touching it for now, determined to finish this first, wrapped it around Castiel's erection instead to keep it occupied.
Maybe it had been a risk to try this out but Castiel seemed to enjoy it, moved back against the handle, fucking himself on it and okay, Dean had never seen what Castiel looked like from this angle, opened up on something pretty damn close to a cock, but he was starting to see the appeal of voyeurism.
The intention had been to fuck Castiel to orgasm on the handle but Dean wasn't that patient, pulling the blade out and tossing it to the floor before taking its place, barely pushing his jeans down enough for it.
The handle had left Castiel a little cold inside to start off with and the sensation was both a little alien and ridiculously good, the feeling of Castiel tight around him and squeezing and warming up at the friction and warmth of his cock, and it wasn't that much of a surprise that he barely lasted, coming hard, feeling the heat of his come warming Castiel up further, and the angel's throat caught on a wet, choked cry.
They hadn't come together before and Dean was shattered by the experience, glad for Castiel propping himself up against the wall because the angel's strength was about the only thing keeping them upright when Dean collapsed against his back.
"Dean," Castiel said after a moment, when breathing actually felt possible again.
"Mm?" Breathing was doable, talking, not so much.
"If you have a bad idea again, let me know."
Dean grinned. He was more than up for that task.
Prompt: Dean/Cas - weapon play, object insertion
Those big, shiny angel swords are probably multi-purpose, don't you think?
FILLED: Reasons for Possession - Dean/Cas - weapon play, object insertion, bottom!Dean
Dean probably should have figured out his angel was a kinky bastard early on. It wasn't as if they'd been fucking for months before Castiel started biting him or holding him up against the wall, and Castiel outright growled when Dean held onto the tie and pulled while riding, playing with the angel's air supply.
He'd just thought of it as rough sex, thought of kink as something that happened a lifetime ago, when he was young enough to be talked into wearing panties or being spanked sore. He knew it was good rough sex, but never entirely made the connection.
It wasn't hard to put two and two together when Castiel came to him after fighting off another angel who'd found their whereabouts by accident, not needing to wipe off the blood; Castiel might not have had much heavenly mojo left, but his self-healing and self-cleaning abilities were still pretty impressive. Castiel was seething, blamed Dean for their discovery, likely because Sam had argued for going to the motel further out of town, backed up by Castiel and if they'd been there they wouldn't have been caught.
Dean wasn't going to admit it out loud, but pissed off Castiel was really fucking hot, even if his angered speech wasn't so much a combination of swearing and screaming as it was general accusations of "reckless endangerment" and "insouciant carelessness".
Still; hot, and Castiel seemed to sense his reaction to it, seemed even more pissed off at first, but something in his expression changed and Dean found himself slammed up against the wall, Sam excusing himself from the room with breakneck speed even before Castiel attacked Dean's mouth. Good to know his brother had his back.
"I'm glad you're alive and all, Cas, but -"
Castiel unbuckled Dean's jeans and shoved a hand into his boxers. "Dean," Castiel said, his gaze sharp and focused where Dean's was very quickly starting to slip, "Shut up."
Dean grinned and leaned back against the wall, let Castiel drag his jeans down to his knees and groaned with completely unselfconscious pleasure as Castiel pushed three slick fingers up inside him. He'd learned not to ask where Castiel found lube, figured he'd prefer to think angels were able to conjure up KY miracles than about what else Castiel might be using, but where he'd been expecting Castiel's cock to replace his fingers he found something - else.
Something harder, and something Castiel had very pointedly angled himself to avoid.
"Dude," Dean gasped, "Is that your fucking sword?" Castiel said nothing at first, breathing hard against Dean's shoulder, his erection pressed up against Dean's thigh through the cloth of his pants, and Dean wondered if Castiel was having doubts. "I mean, it's weird, but -"
Castiel's breathing changed into a moan as he pulled the sword partially out, Dean unable to resist a grunt at how fucking dirty it felt to have himself impaled on the hilt of a sword, the grunt becoming a groan when the sword pushed back in, and okay, there was no way Castiel's reactions weren't just those of a guy rubbing off on someone's leg.
The sword didn't feel any different from - well, anything hard with no give, not that Dean had ever been curious enough to use the hilt of a knife or sword before. But Castiel was never without it, fiercely protective of it, and he'd never seen anyone other than an angel handling an angel's blade before.
Dean rocked back against the hilt, slow, knowing it was a hell of a lot easier to bruise something not meant to bruise when it wasn't just Castiel's cock inside him, and Castiel's reaction seemed to prove his theory.
"Oh my God," Dean said, grinning for a moment before being interrupted by his own orgasm drawing close enough it almost hurt, "Oh my God, that's why you never let it go,"
Castiel mewled before biting down on Dean's neck and that was it; didn't matter he'd only been able to rub himself off against Castiel's shirt, he was coming hard enough he had to throw his head back, even if the wall behind him nearly gave him concussion as thanks. His angel was a fucking pervert and it was awesome.
Apparently, given the ear-bursting yell Castiel let out as he came, Dean wasn't the only one who agreed on 'awesome'.
Dean slumped down the wall to sit on the floor afterwards, once the deliciously offensive object preventing any sitting had been removed, pointed up at Castiel accusingly. "You," Dean said, "Have been holding out on me."
Castiel didn't slump, walked over to the bed and sat down, the damp stains on his crotch fading away even as Dean looked. "I'm thousands of years old, Dean. I don't have a choice."
Dean grinned before closing his eyes as he gathered his breath. Thousands of years of voyeurism. That had to come in handy. "I think you'd best get to sharing."
He opened one eye, peeked at Castiel and laughed at the flushed expression on his face.
Good to know he hadn't lost his touch. If Castiel was going to be a pervert, Dean was determined to show the angel that he was a match for him.
Prompt: weak!Cas/forced orgasm/fingering/noncon
When Castiel has to take the bus in TMTM, it's a particularly crowded ride that day. Weakened Cas can't fend off the hands that start to feel him up. Forced orgasm/s. Fingering. Non-con. No fucking though!
FILLED: Hey Pretty
He didn't realize what was going on at first. He'd been on the bus too late to get a seat, found himself in the standing crowd to the side and the bus driver had been ignorant of the cramped space, allowed more passengers on than should have been allowed. Straying hands was only to be expected, and no one on the bus would need to steal his ticket, the only thing of value he had on him.
He didn't realize what was going on until the hand that had brushed against his back decided to stay there, a warm weight that send a shock through his system that wasn't entirely unpleasant. He ignored it, figured the touch meant nothing, until the hand lowered and he turned to confront whoever had been touching him.
Turning would have been less unsettling if he hadn't found another hand at his hip, again gripping him from behind, the man in front of him bearing a carefully blank expression that Castiel knew better than to trust. "Stop this," Castiel growled, jolting when the hand at his hip was followed by a hand at his neck, cold metal pressing against him despite all this heat. He could fight, but it would mean having to leave the bus. Worse, he had taken so long to heal back at the hospital, he did not know what effect this might have.
He shuddered, the man in front of him smiling once, briefly, before sliding his hands down between them, unbuttoning Castiel's pants and unzipping them slowly - quietly - pulling Castiel's hands away when he went to protect himself and passing them to the men either side of him.
Three of them, then, or four - Castiel didn't dare imagine how they had organised this, or why, felt a warm hand slide into his pants, palming him, and there was another shudder of revulsion at the realisation his body was responding to this as if it enjoyed it, hardening, scarce helped when the hand at his hip slide behind his trenchcoat and beneath his shirt, brushing against the skin of his back before sliding lower.
He had always thought his vessel tall but the man in front of him was huge, almost Sam's size, and he knew his panicked breathing was muffled against the man's chest as the man behind him pressed two fingers into him, dry and tight and yet not painful, just bizarrely uncomfortable.
"Come on, pretty," whispered the man behind him, sliding his fingers out and back in before twisting, and Castiel closed his eyes, panted helplessly against the feel of pressure where his body craved it most, the man in front stroking and squeezing his erection through his briefs before finally taking pity and pulling them down. For all that it exposed him more, he was hopelessly relieved. "Give us a show."
Castiel didn't hold back him orgasm, knew this humiliation would only last the longer if he did, let his body jerk between the fingers inside him and the ones on his cock, leaned against the man in front of him heavily as others delved into his coat pocket, pulling out his ticket.
The man in front of him took it, looked Castiel in the eyes, grinned. "You've got a while to go yet," he said, stroking Castiel's cheek with come-slicked fingers. "Lets see what else you can do."
The man behind him took his trenchcoat away and Castiel prayed that wherever these men were headed, their final destination would be somewhere far worse than a bus stop could take them.
Prompt: Sam/Dean, necrophilia
After Dean's killed by the hellhounds, Sam just can't say goodbye and bury him. He lays Dean out in the backseat and drives away, climbing in with him at night to 'keep him company'. Bonus points if he wraps Dean's arms round himself before rigor mortis sets in so when rigor does develop, it's like Dean's holding him.
Being already slightly less than sane, when he wakes up with an erection, using one of the hellhound rips in Dean's stomach for 'relief' doesn't seem so abnormal, not even a few days later, when Dean's body is becoming less-than-fresh meat.
Oh and if the lovely anon could somehow work in reference to Dean's pretty green eyes clouding over, I'd be the happiest pervert on the planet!
FILLED: "Dead men don't cheat" - Sam/Dean, necrophilia
Sam spends more money on air freshener than he does on food these days.
He thinks he'll bury Dean eventually. He just needs time. He hasn't answered his phone in days, and he's too good at hiding for Bobby to have found him.
Dean's skin is starting to change, no longer the warm tan it was when alive or the pale it had gone when he first died. His mouth is starting to taste bitter, and Sam has competition now for the wounds in Dean's chest and stomach, competition mosquito nets do little to fix. Death's a universal constant for everyone. Except him.
He keeps waiting for the trickster to jump out and yell "Surprise", for the trickster to take responsibility for this.
The trickster hasn't shown his face yet and Sam resents him for it.
He'd only meant to wait for a moment but Bobby had let him be after walking in on Sam wrapped in Dean's arms, after Sam refused to be dragged away from Dean's body. Rigor mortis ought to feel like being held if he'd done this right, and it would be his last chance to hold Dean. There was nothing wrong about it, not when Dean was all he'd had left and Dean was now gone.
Maybe it had been strange when he carried Dean around with him in the back of the Impala, jacket slung over Dean's chest so it'd look as if he'd fallen asleep.
Maybe it had been strange when he'd lain Dean out on the motel bed next to him - he'd ordered a king, knowing Dean wasn't exactly going to bitch anymore.
It hadn't occurred to him there was anything wrong; he couldn't think past Dean, couldn't think of the outside world, of experiencing it beyond going for food and drink as and when he needed it.
He'd kissed Dean's cheek goodnight and kissed it good morning when he'd woken up, petted Dean's face, kept waiting for it to brighten or respond. When it didn't, he'd crawled over Dean, rubbed against him with his morning erection, still waiting for Dean to wake.
Dean hadn't, and Sam had rubbed his erection across Dean's belly, his own stomach clenching when he felt his cock catch on the wounds.
He repeated the action, slowly rubbing himself against the tears in Dean's stomach, felt the flesh give underneath him, slick and wet and cold, and he'd wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders, pulled Dean up against him and sobbed as he fucked him, sobbed that it was okay, he was here, he wouldn't let Dean go.
He lost track of the time in the shower he took after that, climbed back onto the bed afterwards, and pushed himself into Dean's ass, fucked him harder than when he'd fucked his stomach, resenting Dean for leaving him.
He doesn't fuck Dean anymore, knows Dean's too fragile for that, but there are still splatters on Dean's stomach he hasn't cleaned off yet. He daren't carry Dean into the shower, half afraid he'll wash away in the water. He'd rather kiss lips that insist on falling slack now, rather kiss Dean's thighs and arms, anywhere still intact enough to kiss without getting blood in his mouth.
He'll bury Dean sometime.
He tells himself that.
Prompt: Dean/Castiel
Jimmy did gay porn back when he was in college and Dean finds one of his movies, where Jimmy is being fucked by a group of guys. Of course, now he can't stop imagining what's under that trenchcoat Castiel is wearing...
FILLED: Part of the Process - Dean/Castiel, gay porn star Jimmy
Dean watches a lot of porn. A lot. It's just a thing; there isn't much to do off the road except watch shitty TV or jerk off, and Dean would rather watch a few minutes of porn, head to bed, and wake up on time for breakfast and his true love, the Impala.
He'd never quite shaken the feeling there was something familiar about Castiel's face, something that almost rang bells whenever Castiel turned up to see them injured and panting, but he'd never put two and two together.
It took four months of knowing the angel and four months of boredom when off road to come across - almost literally - the reason he'd recognised Castiel from the start.
Dean's seen some blasphemous shit in his life - nun porn is pretty hot, so sue him - but watching an angel get gang banged?
Admittedly, it would have been Jimmy but - Dean knows that face as Castiel's. That face showing ecstasy at being fucked and rimmed and fucked again, that face soaked in the come of three different guys one after the other.
Dean barely has to touch himself to come after that.
The problem is, his reaction after that is almost Pavlovian. When Castiel licks his lips or shuts his eyes to sigh or bends over, little Dean stirs excitedly and Dean has to very, very quickly think about something that doesn't turn him on - which is hard, well, difficult to say the least - before stirring turns into standing to attention.
Castiel notices that Dean's behaviour isn't exactly normal after a little while, has to ask what's wrong, has to invade Dean's personal space while doing it of course. Dean shrugs it off. Castiel isn't convinced.
He almost asks Sam for advice, it's that bad.
Castiel catches him in the end, walks in when Dean's about to reach the grand finale, and although every porno dictates that when the person you want in your pants walks in on you jerking off it's a good thing, in practise Dean drags his boxers on quick enough to chafe and Castiel just stands there looking almost mortified.
"I. Uh. Didn't. Fuck. Sorry?" Dean offers.
"You weren't supposed to see that," Castiel replies. "Jimmy would have been... embarrassed."
Dean can kind of understand that. He's pretty much dying of embarrassment himself right now. "He's - you're - I - thought about it being you," Dean stammered.
Castiel turned pink, and not with anger.
"I'm sorry, it's just, you're hot, and I was bored, and there's porn with - basically you, but not you in it, and I'm sorry -"
"You wanted to see me penetrated by several men in succession?" Castiel asks.
And fuck, even put like that, it's still turning Dean on like crazy. Little Dean is not making a good case for him right now. "Uh huh. I mean. No. Yes. I wanted to fuck you like they did. Fuck. Okay, I said it, I mean it, you chose a hot vessel and you're not as annoying as your brothers and -"
Castiel grabs Dean's crotch.
Dean isn't expecting that. Neither is little Dean, which jumps with excitement to the point of leaking pre-come over his boxers and he's almost certain Castiel can feel that through the material. "Can we please not talk about my brothers during this?" Castiel asks.
Dean nods.
He finds out after that he's very, very good at being obedient.
He finds out later that so is Castiel.
Prompt: Dean/Cas- exhibitionism
Dean really gets off on it when people walk in on him and Cas fucking. The more horrified the person is, the harder he gets off.
FILLED: Take a Bow - Dean/Cas- exhibitionism
Over the course of several weeks, Dean learned several things about fucking a once-virginal angel.
One. Some virgins are incredibly horny.
Two. Thousands of thousands of thousand of years-old virgins are somewhere far, far beyond incredibly horny into the realm of being ineffably horny.
Three. Being a virgin does not mean being unfamiliar with kink.
This being the case, Dean was thoroughly enjoying monogamy with his incredibly kinky, incredibly insatiable angelic boyfriend. He'd learned things about sex that the Babylonians had forgotten to write down for future posterity, and even if Castiel had watched rather than practised certain moves before, he was a very fast learner.
It wasn't all that surprising given their usual luck that Dean wound up introducing Sam to the idea of his and Castiel's relationship while he had Castiel hog-tied and gagged, and he was pretty certain if he hadn't been really damn fast with removing the gag he would have ended up with a stomach full of demon-killing blade or a face full of rock salt.
Castiel had explained, and Dean had come the hardest he'd ever come in his life at the thought of their having been caught.
Dean knew in all fairness how fucked up that was. People were supposed to get off on the thrill of the possibility of being caught, not the act.
Thankfully, his deliciously kinky angel also happened to be completely immune to the concept of human dos and don'ts. Castiel didn't particularly get off on the idea of being caught, but he didn't object to it either.
Dean knew, because he'd asked - Castiel tended not to speak up with objections until too late otherwise, so Dean had learned to set up safe words to be used before, during, and after sex. Especially before. Castiel had no interest in sounding. He had a lot of interest in breathplay, likely because he didn't technically need it.
Dean had started taking Castiel to clubs so he could fuck him in the toilets; sometimes the noise was enough, other times he'd leave the cubicle doors open, or even prop Castiel up against the wall between the urinals so it wasn't a question of if someone would see, it was a question of when.
They'd progressed to fucking in the corners of bars, Castiel's trenchcoat barely covering them, had been thrown out more than once in the process.
There was a point when Dean knew, technically, he should have said stop. He should have said enough, there were places for this, and there were places you shouldn't.
Castiel getting up from his seat at the restaurant Dean had picked out for celebrating his birthday, climbing into Dean's lap, unzipping Dean's pants and jerking him off right then and there in public should have been the time to say it.
Instead, Dean had said yes.
Dean had said please.
Dean had said forever.
Castiel kissed him after that until he'd almost run out of breath, and Dean would have asked why if Castiel hadn't replied with "I would love to."
There were probably more traditional ways to propose to an angel.
At least they'd managed a restaurant.
Castiel picks up smoking. Dean used to smoke. Sex and chain-smoking ensue. Lots of details regarding long fingers and smoke clouds and the smell and the taste of tobacco in someone else's mouth. Bonus points for whiskey drinking in bed, too.
FILLED: Taken - Dean/Cas, smoking kink
Dean remembered John ordering him to quit, remembered being seventeen years old and an idiot, caught outside the school gates with the single-serving friends he'd enjoy until they moved again. He'd sworn never to smoke again.
He hadn't counted on Castiel picking up the habit. In Castiel's case, it was because he didn't need to worry about his lungs. In Dean's case, it was that he didn't care.
But he'd sworn off, so he held back, distracted by the curls of white-grey on the faint breeze, by the surrealism of an angel smoking a cigarette. Castiel hadn't been offered a cigarette, had simply picked up the habit because he wished to; the same way he chose to drink, chose to eat when it was Sam's turn to order in, and hell yes Dean was offended that Castiel wouldn't eat Dean's choice of take-out.
Castiel had been smoking for a month before Dean's attention started to drift past the cigarette itself and to Castiel's holding of it. There was nothing self-conscious in the act, no desire to stem social anxiety; Castiel simply held it between fingers Dean was starting to recognise as slim and long, and by the time Dean noticed his attention was being drawn towards Castiel's lips, it was too late to pull away from the thought.
When Dean fucked Castiel for the first time it had almost been more about tonguing the taste of tobacco from Castiel's mouth than it had been about getting off, and he'd given up afterwards, taken the post-coital cigarette from between Castiel's lips and breathing it in.
He'd missed smoking. He'd really missed smoking, and Castiel was as keen to draw the smoke from between Dean's lips as he was from the cigarette, the angel blessed with the ability to literally quit whenever he wished, choosing not to only because he was a stubborn, awkward bastard at the best of times.
Castiel had brought cigarettes to bed, and it was Dean who brought whiskey. Cheap whiskey the first time, whiskey he could afford to lick off Castiel's nipples and cock and ass, the expensive stuff saved for drinking rather than playing. Castiel could choose how he cleaned himself, kept bacteria from causing his sweat or breath to go foul, and Dean wondered how the universe ever allowed something as bizarre as his angel to exist. Castiel smelled of whiskey and cigarettes and clean sweat and come when left to his own devices, only cleaned Dean's scent from him when they had to go out in public.
Dean did whatever he could to ensure they didn't need to, had no desire to go out into a world he'd lost almost everything to save. Castiel chain smoked because he could afford to, could keep a cigarette from burning unless his lips were on it, hold it in statis and have it last as long as he wished, and Dean chain fucked him in return for pulls on the cigarette and the taste of smoke on Castiel's tongue. Castiel had no preferences and no hates, would top or bottom, would ride or be ridden, let Dean have him on his back or his front or his side, legs over shoulders or around the waist or straddling thighs.
Dean only had one rule, and Castiel held to it, kissed Dean with something sweeter than anything they normally shared when Dean had him make a promise.
Nothing stronger than tobacco. He loved this Castiel. And he wouldn't have him become anything else.
Prompt: Dean/Cas, hand gagging, risk of discovery
Dean and Castiel can't wait any longer. They're in Bobby's living room. Bobby's asleep next door, Sam's asleep upstairs. Dean has to gag Cas with his hand so Cas doesn't wake them up.
FILLED: Last Minute - Dean/Cas, hand gagging, risk of discovery [1/2]
The end is extremely fucking nigh, and Dean's actually considering repenting.
He's under Castiel on the couch while the angel kisses him, Bobby fast asleep in the room next door, exhausted from jogging around the yard just because he can, and Sam's upstairs, taking advantage of a bed that hasn't been paid for.
Lucifer's about to strike the last blow of the Apocalypse for better or worse, and Dean's the closest he's been to happy since he came back from Hell. Sam trusts him. Sam actually trusts him, and Crowley, that fey British freak of a demon, has pulled through for them.
And Castiel is apparently over beating the crap out of him - either that, or at least he's considering setting up a safe word before doing it again. He certainly isn't shy about kissing.
Dean's surprised Castiel hasn't actually brought up the whole "this could be our last month/week/night on Earth" thing; maybe he figures he doesn't need to, as it's a given for all of them.
He's kissed Castiel before but there's something about the particular combination of safety and warmth and need without desperation that finally changes this kiss for something else; he's hard, not painfully so but enough that it's distracting, and enough that Castiel notices.
Castiel had been relatively soft up to this point, but Castiel apparently really appreciates the thought of Dean getting hard for him because he stirs in response, and Dean feels all of fourteen years old again, making out with whichever girl in school liked her boyfriends dangerous. Castiel basically is like a fourteen year old because he's not gone this before with anyone, doesn't quite know how to control himself. He's not so innocent or naive as to ask what's happening to his body, but there's a lot of difference between watching and experiencing - hell, Dean knows that from porn alone. Tit wanks look good but they're not all that thrilling in practise, and he's flat out confused by the number of girls who've paid excessive attention to his nipples.
Castiel bucks up into Dean's touch and moans louder than he should, enough Dean has to move one hand from the small of Castiel's back - and he's annoyed he has to do that, because it's warm and comfortable there - and press it over Castiel's mouth.
Castiel mumbles "What?" against Dean's hand, and Dean gestures with his head to the room where Bobby's sleeping. The walls are thick enough they'd probably block out noise from waking Sam, but with Bobby on the same floor, in the room next to theirs, he's not willing to take the risk.
"Shh," Dean says. "They don't need to hear us."
Castiel frowns for a moment before moaning again at Dean palming him lightly. Dean's taking a risk with this, but he's pretty certain if Castiel can clean blood from his clothing with a thought, he can do the same for anything else, and he doesn't push Castiel's clothes completely out of the way when he opens them up enough to slip his hand inside Castiel's briefs.
He's in the right to keep Castiel's mouth covered - Castiel started loud and from the sound of things has every intention of getting louder. Castiel's breath is hot and wet against his hand, and for all that Dean started this for practical reasons, it's really hot to have Castiel effectively gagged.
Dean's always known he's a bit kinky, in all fairness.
Castiel's precome starts slicking Dean's hand and Dean knows he's not far off coming in his own pants at the angel's body-wracking groans, almost tempted just to let Castiel go for it even if it'd likely end in Bobby making him pay for a new sofa. Dean's pretty sure it'd be worth it, but when he pulls his hand away again for a moment it's just to replace it with his lips, a quick, "You ready?", and when Castiel says "Yes," he puts his hand back in place and switches from general stroking to gripping Castiel tighter and jerking hard, letting his fingers tease Castiel's balls whenever he's close to the base, and Dean actually has to adjust his hand when Castiel comes because he screams out wide enough his grip slips for a minute.
Even if he hadn't caught the scream on time it would have been worth it; Castiel's orgasm's the hottest thing Dean's ever fucking seen, even though he's only seeing part of it at this angle - it's completely and utterly unselfconscious and surprised, and if Castiel's thigh had been pressed up against his crotch, Dean knows just the slightest rub would have had had him gone at the sight, utterly and completely gone.
He's kind of glad it takes him a few moments after because it means watching Castiel gather his breath and think about what just happened, watch his angel slipping into post-coital bliss, and he wishes his afterglow felt half as good as Castiel's looks.
"Wow," Castiel says, and Dean laughs before covering his own mouth. "What?"
Dean takes a few seconds to calm down and kisses Castiel again, still not tired of the fact he gets to do this with Castiel, gets to taste his lips. "Nothing," Dean says. "Absolutely nothing."
It's true. Nothing is all he can think of right now.
And it's absolutely wonderful.
Prompt: Dean/Castiel, breathplay
I'll take anything, but I would love to see Dean jerking off and Castiel helping out with a hand against Dean's throat.
FILLED: Simple Needs: Dean/Castiel, breathplay
Castiel had been watching humans for a long, long time now, and in those years, he'd learned one universal truth.
For all that humans feared death, they were addicted to it.
He had never experienced arousal in this form, doubted he could - the flesh was borrowed, even if the emotions were not. That he loved Dean was undoubtable, but he felt no need to act on that love.
He was willing to act for it, though, and when Dean expressed increasing frustration with the long days and nights on the road, the fact he hadn't slept with a woman in weeks and the pornographic magazines weren't doing anything for him anymore, Castiel asked what Dean wanted.
Dean brushed him off, but Castiel stayed with him, waited for the pressure building beneath Dean's skin to demand release, and when Dean admitted what he wanted, Castiel nodded to some, shook his head at others, judged none of the requests. He knew the price Dean had paid for his new life, and that some stains were carried back from death and from Hell was unsurprising.
Dean lay back against the bed, stroking himself under Castiel's gaze, never quite getting fully hard. Castiel was gentle with his touch, had no desire to ruin the body he'd worked so hard to rebuild, but he knew its limitations; knew how deep he could press before a bruise turned into something more damaging.
Castiel stroked his fingers across Dean's throat lightly, almost tickling, watched Dean go stiff at the touch in more ways than one. It wasn't a mere experiment, then; Dean genuinely desired this.
Castiel propped himself up on one arm, angled himself so he could use the position to apply pressure with his other hand, tightening around Dean's neck, feeling the softness of skin give way to the firmer tendons beneath, the rapid, nervous attempts to swallow.
Dean trusted him enough to let him do this, if not enough to let Castiel bind his hands; at some point they might progress to doing both at the same time, Castiel taking over in pumping Dean's erection for him, but for now Dean needed to test his limits, find where they lay.
Castiel tightened further, watching Dean's skin flush, his chest beginning to heave in nervous attempts to find more oxygen, the white marks where he applied the pressure to Dean's throat.
Dean mouthed something, but had no air to speak it. Castiel knew the movements of his lips spelled out obscenities.
Dean arched up and Castiel pulled his hand away in an instant, watched Dean gasp for air as he came, the gasps interrupted by piercingly loud whines of pleasure, incoherent communication.
Dean collapsed back against the bed, stomach and chest marked with his own fluids, and Castiel traced his fingers through the liquid before bringing them to Dean's lips.
Dean thanked him.
Castiel reminded Dean there was no need for thanks.
Prompt: Dean/Cas - weapon play, object insertion
Those big, shiny angel swords are probably multi-purpose, don't you think?
FILLED: Weapon of Choice - Dean/Cas - weapon play, object insertion [1/3]
Teaching Castiel to fight dirty was as much of a lesson to Dean as it was to the angel. Castiel needed instructions to be as direct as possible, learned fast but struggled with vague descriptions; learned fastest of all when Dean physically manoeuvered him into the needed positions. Castiel's natural movements were graceful and controlled, and teaching him when to lash out, how to fight in close quarters when his enemy had already moved into his personal space, it was a challenge but one Dean was more than ready to take on.
Dean stuck with punches and kicks at first, unarmed as most demons would be, before bringing furniture into the fight. Castiel had been made for a time where the weapons used were actual weapons - not chairs and lamps and bricks and anything that could be thrown or smashed against his skin. Castiel didn't bleed easily, and that made lessons both easy to teach - Dean didn't exactly have to worry about killing Castiel, even about breaking bones - and harder, because driving home that any distraction was enough to give another angel time to stab Castiel with something that would count was harder without scratches or bruises to point to. At least the angel's clothes didn't heal in an instant, gave him markers to use.
When Castiel offered Dean one of the blades he'd taken from his fallen brethren, it was an offer of trust Dean didn't entirely know how to take. Castiel circled him, the garage floor slippery in places with motor oil, perfect for showing how important keeping your balance and knowing your surroundings could be. Dean already had bruised and scratched up knees from slipping, and Castiel's pants were damp in patches with oil where he'd fallen.
The showing of trust wasn't enough to put Dean off the lesson entirely though, and though it was hard to break through Castiel's defences, he could still break through; Dean couldn't help but feel angry, furious even, at how his angel endangered himself, opted to teach him the one way he could. The risk of breaking Castiel's skin with the blade was something Dean wasn't willing to take, but slicing at Castiel's shirt and coat, leaving marks there, he was more than happy to use as guidance.
Castiel shed the trenchcoat once it was shredded beyond use for the moment, and Dean had to sigh with relief that there was one point he'd driven home - no point holding onto something once it was more of a nuisance than a benefit. He seemed to fight better without the damned thing on anyway, unrestricted in his upper arm movements, and fighting him was a bastard. Good. The harder it was to get a shot in, the harder it would be for the bad guys to get to him, and Dean knew soon he'd have to bring Sam in to their training. Demons didn't exactly line up neatly to be dispatched, and Dean doubted angels fought any differently; the more Castiel could take on, the better.
Dean searched for an opening for the best part of fifteen minutes, ducking and blocking Castiel's attacks and taking the occasional barely withheld punch to the chest or stomach when it came, thankful beyond the telling of it that even if Castiel could knock a human's head clean off their shoulders he opted not to for Dean's sake.
Dean was pretty pissed off when Castiel seemed to take the struggle to find an opening for granted and gave him a clear shot at his back; Dean pressed the blade up against the back of Castiel's neck and watched him freeze. "Don't ever take a break in a fight," Dean growled, "Not unless I tell you to. Hell, not even if I tell you to."
Castiel nodded and Dean looked at where he had the blade, licked his lips. His and Castiel's relationship had always been a little strange, strained at all the edges where he remembered Castiel wasn't quite human, but buoyed by the way Castiel knew him better than almost anyone. He dragged the blade down, gentle, careful not to scratch deep, hooked the blade under the collar at the back of Castiel's shirt and started pulling down. Whatever angelic blades were made of, it wasn't anything on Earth - the rounded looking edges sliced through Castiel's shirt and jacket like butter, defying all science and reason.
Okay, maybe not all science, but Dean wasn't exactly going to lend the blade out for study.
"Dean?" Castiel said, shivering when Dean nudged the edges of the shirt and jacket out of the way.
"I'm thinking," Dean replied, before resting the blade against Castiel's belt. Changing their relationship from what it had been to something more physical had been surprisingly easy when it happened, Castiel's constant invasion of his personal space making finding an opportunity to surprise him easy, and Castiel had been far from reluctant to respond to Dean's kiss, or Dean's hand under his shirt, or Dean's hand down his pants.
He tucks the blade into his own belt, wraps his arms around Castiel's waist.
"I have a very bad idea," Dean says, nipping Castiel's ear between his teeth and shifting one of his hands to cup Castiel lightly. "And I don't know if you're going to like it."
Castiel's eyes closed, his breathing unsteady, already growing hard under Dean's touch. "What are you thinking?" Castiel asked, and Dean squeezed him, licked Castiel's neck as he gasped.
"I'm thinking that sword of yours has a handle," Dean said, "And I'm thinking you'd make a fucking hot scabbard."
Castiel's erection was fully hard to touch now, Dean unzipping Castiel's pants so he could get his hands on the bare flesh, hot and already leaking. He almost missed Castiel's answer. Almost.
Dean let go reluctantly and walked over to his rucksack, opened the side zipper and pulled out the lube before taking the blade and handling what ought to be the sharp side carefully, outright confused when it didn't even scratch. Coating it thickly in lube was easy enough, a quick up and down masturbatory movement, but he was more interested in his angel; pushed Castiel up against the wall of the garage so he'd have something to lean against, before sliding his lubed fingers up into Castiel, crooking them slightly; even if Castiel hadn't been particularly vocal about Dean getting the angle right, he would have known from everything else in the angel's body language that he'd succeeded.
Dean withdrew his fingers, knew he wouldn't be able to get the angle quite as perfect with the blade's handle, but he was willing to try. Castiel breathed out harsh and fast when Dean pushed it in, easing its way as carefully as he could, until he had the hilt pressed firm up against Castiel's entrance, his fingers hooked just over the edge because he wasn't taking the risk of slicing them open on the blade.
"Dean," Castiel gasped, his body rejecting the handle easily when Dean tried to slide it out, the slide back in all the more fun for the struggle. "Yes,"
Dean had to unzip his jeans with his free hand then, his cock pressed so hard up against the seam it had started to hurt, but he resisted touching it for now, determined to finish this first, wrapped it around Castiel's erection instead to keep it occupied.
Maybe it had been a risk to try this out but Castiel seemed to enjoy it, moved back against the handle, fucking himself on it and okay, Dean had never seen what Castiel looked like from this angle, opened up on something pretty damn close to a cock, but he was starting to see the appeal of voyeurism.
The intention had been to fuck Castiel to orgasm on the handle but Dean wasn't that patient, pulling the blade out and tossing it to the floor before taking its place, barely pushing his jeans down enough for it.
The handle had left Castiel a little cold inside to start off with and the sensation was both a little alien and ridiculously good, the feeling of Castiel tight around him and squeezing and warming up at the friction and warmth of his cock, and it wasn't that much of a surprise that he barely lasted, coming hard, feeling the heat of his come warming Castiel up further, and the angel's throat caught on a wet, choked cry.
They hadn't come together before and Dean was shattered by the experience, glad for Castiel propping himself up against the wall because the angel's strength was about the only thing keeping them upright when Dean collapsed against his back.
"Dean," Castiel said after a moment, when breathing actually felt possible again.
"Mm?" Breathing was doable, talking, not so much.
"If you have a bad idea again, let me know."
Dean grinned. He was more than up for that task.
Prompt: Dean/Cas - weapon play, object insertion
Those big, shiny angel swords are probably multi-purpose, don't you think?
FILLED: Reasons for Possession - Dean/Cas - weapon play, object insertion, bottom!Dean
Dean probably should have figured out his angel was a kinky bastard early on. It wasn't as if they'd been fucking for months before Castiel started biting him or holding him up against the wall, and Castiel outright growled when Dean held onto the tie and pulled while riding, playing with the angel's air supply.
He'd just thought of it as rough sex, thought of kink as something that happened a lifetime ago, when he was young enough to be talked into wearing panties or being spanked sore. He knew it was good rough sex, but never entirely made the connection.
It wasn't hard to put two and two together when Castiel came to him after fighting off another angel who'd found their whereabouts by accident, not needing to wipe off the blood; Castiel might not have had much heavenly mojo left, but his self-healing and self-cleaning abilities were still pretty impressive. Castiel was seething, blamed Dean for their discovery, likely because Sam had argued for going to the motel further out of town, backed up by Castiel and if they'd been there they wouldn't have been caught.
Dean wasn't going to admit it out loud, but pissed off Castiel was really fucking hot, even if his angered speech wasn't so much a combination of swearing and screaming as it was general accusations of "reckless endangerment" and "insouciant carelessness".
Still; hot, and Castiel seemed to sense his reaction to it, seemed even more pissed off at first, but something in his expression changed and Dean found himself slammed up against the wall, Sam excusing himself from the room with breakneck speed even before Castiel attacked Dean's mouth. Good to know his brother had his back.
"I'm glad you're alive and all, Cas, but -"
Castiel unbuckled Dean's jeans and shoved a hand into his boxers. "Dean," Castiel said, his gaze sharp and focused where Dean's was very quickly starting to slip, "Shut up."
Dean grinned and leaned back against the wall, let Castiel drag his jeans down to his knees and groaned with completely unselfconscious pleasure as Castiel pushed three slick fingers up inside him. He'd learned not to ask where Castiel found lube, figured he'd prefer to think angels were able to conjure up KY miracles than about what else Castiel might be using, but where he'd been expecting Castiel's cock to replace his fingers he found something - else.
Something harder, and something Castiel had very pointedly angled himself to avoid.
"Dude," Dean gasped, "Is that your fucking sword?" Castiel said nothing at first, breathing hard against Dean's shoulder, his erection pressed up against Dean's thigh through the cloth of his pants, and Dean wondered if Castiel was having doubts. "I mean, it's weird, but -"
Castiel's breathing changed into a moan as he pulled the sword partially out, Dean unable to resist a grunt at how fucking dirty it felt to have himself impaled on the hilt of a sword, the grunt becoming a groan when the sword pushed back in, and okay, there was no way Castiel's reactions weren't just those of a guy rubbing off on someone's leg.
The sword didn't feel any different from - well, anything hard with no give, not that Dean had ever been curious enough to use the hilt of a knife or sword before. But Castiel was never without it, fiercely protective of it, and he'd never seen anyone other than an angel handling an angel's blade before.
Dean rocked back against the hilt, slow, knowing it was a hell of a lot easier to bruise something not meant to bruise when it wasn't just Castiel's cock inside him, and Castiel's reaction seemed to prove his theory.
"Oh my God," Dean said, grinning for a moment before being interrupted by his own orgasm drawing close enough it almost hurt, "Oh my God, that's why you never let it go,"
Castiel mewled before biting down on Dean's neck and that was it; didn't matter he'd only been able to rub himself off against Castiel's shirt, he was coming hard enough he had to throw his head back, even if the wall behind him nearly gave him concussion as thanks. His angel was a fucking pervert and it was awesome.
Apparently, given the ear-bursting yell Castiel let out as he came, Dean wasn't the only one who agreed on 'awesome'.
Dean slumped down the wall to sit on the floor afterwards, once the deliciously offensive object preventing any sitting had been removed, pointed up at Castiel accusingly. "You," Dean said, "Have been holding out on me."
Castiel didn't slump, walked over to the bed and sat down, the damp stains on his crotch fading away even as Dean looked. "I'm thousands of years old, Dean. I don't have a choice."
Dean grinned before closing his eyes as he gathered his breath. Thousands of years of voyeurism. That had to come in handy. "I think you'd best get to sharing."
He opened one eye, peeked at Castiel and laughed at the flushed expression on his face.
Good to know he hadn't lost his touch. If Castiel was going to be a pervert, Dean was determined to show the angel that he was a match for him.
Prompt: weak!Cas/forced orgasm/fingering/noncon
When Castiel has to take the bus in TMTM, it's a particularly crowded ride that day. Weakened Cas can't fend off the hands that start to feel him up. Forced orgasm/s. Fingering. Non-con. No fucking though!
FILLED: Hey Pretty
He didn't realize what was going on at first. He'd been on the bus too late to get a seat, found himself in the standing crowd to the side and the bus driver had been ignorant of the cramped space, allowed more passengers on than should have been allowed. Straying hands was only to be expected, and no one on the bus would need to steal his ticket, the only thing of value he had on him.
He didn't realize what was going on until the hand that had brushed against his back decided to stay there, a warm weight that send a shock through his system that wasn't entirely unpleasant. He ignored it, figured the touch meant nothing, until the hand lowered and he turned to confront whoever had been touching him.
Turning would have been less unsettling if he hadn't found another hand at his hip, again gripping him from behind, the man in front of him bearing a carefully blank expression that Castiel knew better than to trust. "Stop this," Castiel growled, jolting when the hand at his hip was followed by a hand at his neck, cold metal pressing against him despite all this heat. He could fight, but it would mean having to leave the bus. Worse, he had taken so long to heal back at the hospital, he did not know what effect this might have.
He shuddered, the man in front of him smiling once, briefly, before sliding his hands down between them, unbuttoning Castiel's pants and unzipping them slowly - quietly - pulling Castiel's hands away when he went to protect himself and passing them to the men either side of him.
Three of them, then, or four - Castiel didn't dare imagine how they had organised this, or why, felt a warm hand slide into his pants, palming him, and there was another shudder of revulsion at the realisation his body was responding to this as if it enjoyed it, hardening, scarce helped when the hand at his hip slide behind his trenchcoat and beneath his shirt, brushing against the skin of his back before sliding lower.
He had always thought his vessel tall but the man in front of him was huge, almost Sam's size, and he knew his panicked breathing was muffled against the man's chest as the man behind him pressed two fingers into him, dry and tight and yet not painful, just bizarrely uncomfortable.
"Come on, pretty," whispered the man behind him, sliding his fingers out and back in before twisting, and Castiel closed his eyes, panted helplessly against the feel of pressure where his body craved it most, the man in front stroking and squeezing his erection through his briefs before finally taking pity and pulling them down. For all that it exposed him more, he was hopelessly relieved. "Give us a show."
Castiel didn't hold back him orgasm, knew this humiliation would only last the longer if he did, let his body jerk between the fingers inside him and the ones on his cock, leaned against the man in front of him heavily as others delved into his coat pocket, pulling out his ticket.
The man in front of him took it, looked Castiel in the eyes, grinned. "You've got a while to go yet," he said, stroking Castiel's cheek with come-slicked fingers. "Lets see what else you can do."
The man behind him took his trenchcoat away and Castiel prayed that wherever these men were headed, their final destination would be somewhere far worse than a bus stop could take them.
Prompt: Sam/Dean, necrophilia
After Dean's killed by the hellhounds, Sam just can't say goodbye and bury him. He lays Dean out in the backseat and drives away, climbing in with him at night to 'keep him company'. Bonus points if he wraps Dean's arms round himself before rigor mortis sets in so when rigor does develop, it's like Dean's holding him.
Being already slightly less than sane, when he wakes up with an erection, using one of the hellhound rips in Dean's stomach for 'relief' doesn't seem so abnormal, not even a few days later, when Dean's body is becoming less-than-fresh meat.
Oh and if the lovely anon could somehow work in reference to Dean's pretty green eyes clouding over, I'd be the happiest pervert on the planet!
FILLED: "Dead men don't cheat" - Sam/Dean, necrophilia
Sam spends more money on air freshener than he does on food these days.
He thinks he'll bury Dean eventually. He just needs time. He hasn't answered his phone in days, and he's too good at hiding for Bobby to have found him.
Dean's skin is starting to change, no longer the warm tan it was when alive or the pale it had gone when he first died. His mouth is starting to taste bitter, and Sam has competition now for the wounds in Dean's chest and stomach, competition mosquito nets do little to fix. Death's a universal constant for everyone. Except him.
He keeps waiting for the trickster to jump out and yell "Surprise", for the trickster to take responsibility for this.
The trickster hasn't shown his face yet and Sam resents him for it.
He'd only meant to wait for a moment but Bobby had let him be after walking in on Sam wrapped in Dean's arms, after Sam refused to be dragged away from Dean's body. Rigor mortis ought to feel like being held if he'd done this right, and it would be his last chance to hold Dean. There was nothing wrong about it, not when Dean was all he'd had left and Dean was now gone.
Maybe it had been strange when he carried Dean around with him in the back of the Impala, jacket slung over Dean's chest so it'd look as if he'd fallen asleep.
Maybe it had been strange when he'd lain Dean out on the motel bed next to him - he'd ordered a king, knowing Dean wasn't exactly going to bitch anymore.
It hadn't occurred to him there was anything wrong; he couldn't think past Dean, couldn't think of the outside world, of experiencing it beyond going for food and drink as and when he needed it.
He'd kissed Dean's cheek goodnight and kissed it good morning when he'd woken up, petted Dean's face, kept waiting for it to brighten or respond. When it didn't, he'd crawled over Dean, rubbed against him with his morning erection, still waiting for Dean to wake.
Dean hadn't, and Sam had rubbed his erection across Dean's belly, his own stomach clenching when he felt his cock catch on the wounds.
He repeated the action, slowly rubbing himself against the tears in Dean's stomach, felt the flesh give underneath him, slick and wet and cold, and he'd wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders, pulled Dean up against him and sobbed as he fucked him, sobbed that it was okay, he was here, he wouldn't let Dean go.
He lost track of the time in the shower he took after that, climbed back onto the bed afterwards, and pushed himself into Dean's ass, fucked him harder than when he'd fucked his stomach, resenting Dean for leaving him.
He doesn't fuck Dean anymore, knows Dean's too fragile for that, but there are still splatters on Dean's stomach he hasn't cleaned off yet. He daren't carry Dean into the shower, half afraid he'll wash away in the water. He'd rather kiss lips that insist on falling slack now, rather kiss Dean's thighs and arms, anywhere still intact enough to kiss without getting blood in his mouth.
He'll bury Dean sometime.
He tells himself that.
Prompt: Dean/Castiel
Jimmy did gay porn back when he was in college and Dean finds one of his movies, where Jimmy is being fucked by a group of guys. Of course, now he can't stop imagining what's under that trenchcoat Castiel is wearing...
FILLED: Part of the Process - Dean/Castiel, gay porn star Jimmy
Dean watches a lot of porn. A lot. It's just a thing; there isn't much to do off the road except watch shitty TV or jerk off, and Dean would rather watch a few minutes of porn, head to bed, and wake up on time for breakfast and his true love, the Impala.
He'd never quite shaken the feeling there was something familiar about Castiel's face, something that almost rang bells whenever Castiel turned up to see them injured and panting, but he'd never put two and two together.
It took four months of knowing the angel and four months of boredom when off road to come across - almost literally - the reason he'd recognised Castiel from the start.
Dean's seen some blasphemous shit in his life - nun porn is pretty hot, so sue him - but watching an angel get gang banged?
Admittedly, it would have been Jimmy but - Dean knows that face as Castiel's. That face showing ecstasy at being fucked and rimmed and fucked again, that face soaked in the come of three different guys one after the other.
Dean barely has to touch himself to come after that.
The problem is, his reaction after that is almost Pavlovian. When Castiel licks his lips or shuts his eyes to sigh or bends over, little Dean stirs excitedly and Dean has to very, very quickly think about something that doesn't turn him on - which is hard, well, difficult to say the least - before stirring turns into standing to attention.
Castiel notices that Dean's behaviour isn't exactly normal after a little while, has to ask what's wrong, has to invade Dean's personal space while doing it of course. Dean shrugs it off. Castiel isn't convinced.
He almost asks Sam for advice, it's that bad.
Castiel catches him in the end, walks in when Dean's about to reach the grand finale, and although every porno dictates that when the person you want in your pants walks in on you jerking off it's a good thing, in practise Dean drags his boxers on quick enough to chafe and Castiel just stands there looking almost mortified.
"I. Uh. Didn't. Fuck. Sorry?" Dean offers.
"You weren't supposed to see that," Castiel replies. "Jimmy would have been... embarrassed."
Dean can kind of understand that. He's pretty much dying of embarrassment himself right now. "He's - you're - I - thought about it being you," Dean stammered.
Castiel turned pink, and not with anger.
"I'm sorry, it's just, you're hot, and I was bored, and there's porn with - basically you, but not you in it, and I'm sorry -"
"You wanted to see me penetrated by several men in succession?" Castiel asks.
And fuck, even put like that, it's still turning Dean on like crazy. Little Dean is not making a good case for him right now. "Uh huh. I mean. No. Yes. I wanted to fuck you like they did. Fuck. Okay, I said it, I mean it, you chose a hot vessel and you're not as annoying as your brothers and -"
Castiel grabs Dean's crotch.
Dean isn't expecting that. Neither is little Dean, which jumps with excitement to the point of leaking pre-come over his boxers and he's almost certain Castiel can feel that through the material. "Can we please not talk about my brothers during this?" Castiel asks.
Dean nods.
He finds out after that he's very, very good at being obedient.
He finds out later that so is Castiel.
Prompt: Dean/Cas- exhibitionism
Dean really gets off on it when people walk in on him and Cas fucking. The more horrified the person is, the harder he gets off.
FILLED: Take a Bow - Dean/Cas- exhibitionism
Over the course of several weeks, Dean learned several things about fucking a once-virginal angel.
One. Some virgins are incredibly horny.
Two. Thousands of thousands of thousand of years-old virgins are somewhere far, far beyond incredibly horny into the realm of being ineffably horny.
Three. Being a virgin does not mean being unfamiliar with kink.
This being the case, Dean was thoroughly enjoying monogamy with his incredibly kinky, incredibly insatiable angelic boyfriend. He'd learned things about sex that the Babylonians had forgotten to write down for future posterity, and even if Castiel had watched rather than practised certain moves before, he was a very fast learner.
It wasn't all that surprising given their usual luck that Dean wound up introducing Sam to the idea of his and Castiel's relationship while he had Castiel hog-tied and gagged, and he was pretty certain if he hadn't been really damn fast with removing the gag he would have ended up with a stomach full of demon-killing blade or a face full of rock salt.
Castiel had explained, and Dean had come the hardest he'd ever come in his life at the thought of their having been caught.
Dean knew in all fairness how fucked up that was. People were supposed to get off on the thrill of the possibility of being caught, not the act.
Thankfully, his deliciously kinky angel also happened to be completely immune to the concept of human dos and don'ts. Castiel didn't particularly get off on the idea of being caught, but he didn't object to it either.
Dean knew, because he'd asked - Castiel tended not to speak up with objections until too late otherwise, so Dean had learned to set up safe words to be used before, during, and after sex. Especially before. Castiel had no interest in sounding. He had a lot of interest in breathplay, likely because he didn't technically need it.
Dean had started taking Castiel to clubs so he could fuck him in the toilets; sometimes the noise was enough, other times he'd leave the cubicle doors open, or even prop Castiel up against the wall between the urinals so it wasn't a question of if someone would see, it was a question of when.
They'd progressed to fucking in the corners of bars, Castiel's trenchcoat barely covering them, had been thrown out more than once in the process.
There was a point when Dean knew, technically, he should have said stop. He should have said enough, there were places for this, and there were places you shouldn't.
Castiel getting up from his seat at the restaurant Dean had picked out for celebrating his birthday, climbing into Dean's lap, unzipping Dean's pants and jerking him off right then and there in public should have been the time to say it.
Instead, Dean had said yes.
Dean had said please.
Dean had said forever.
Castiel kissed him after that until he'd almost run out of breath, and Dean would have asked why if Castiel hadn't replied with "I would love to."
There were probably more traditional ways to propose to an angel.
At least they'd managed a restaurant.