Heat
Title: Heat
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,110
Spoilers: Vague late S6
Warnings: Sex pollen, fuck-or-die, first time
Disclaimer Supernatural belongs to Kripke, CW, et al. I own nothing.
Author’s Notes: Written for deancaskink for the prompt A spell is cast on Dean wherein he goes into heat. He's feverish, manic, and can’t stop thinking about how nice it would be to submit to his angel. Bottom!dean first time.
Summary: Dean has a curse on him that can only be satisfied by one thing, which absolutely terrifies him.
It started with a bad hunt. All the crappy things in Dean’s life always started with a bad hunt. Werecat, this time. Not a werewolf, a werecat, mutilating cattle all over town along with a few big-time hunters (the regular kind, with rifles, not the Winchester kind) that went to take down the “cougar” that was wrecking their friends’ herds.
And it turned out that it was just two horny werecats having some kind of freaky mating ritual. The hunters had just gotten in the way. And Sam and Dean weren’t even able to gank the critters, and it wasn’t through lack of trying. Cats were said to have nine lives, and werecats must have had a lot more than that. In the end, they’d resorted to just driving the damn things deep into the woods.
But not before the female had scratched Dean, looked at his blood on her claws, and cursed him.
“You’ll know what it feels like. Why we had to be together,” she’d hissed.
Dean had cracked off a witty one-liner and put the whole thing out of his mind.
Until about a month later.
“Sam, is it hot in here?” Dean demanded, stomping from the bathroom to the AC unit, sure that Sam had turned it off. He’d been sweating in bed last night, and not even a cold shower had really cooled him down. He stared at the dial on the AC; it was on full-blast.
“Uh, no, Dean. I’m freezing my ass off. I tried to turn it down last night and you nearly bit my head off,” Sam said testily, shoving his clothes in his duffle. He left before Dean could do more than growl at him. Going back to the shower, Dean turned the cold water back on again and tried to get his temperature down. And to get his dick to agree that morning wood was overrated when they had to get an early start.
---
Dean put his head in his hands as he sipped sullenly at his beer. Sam had benched him for this job. Fucking benched him! Because Dean couldn’t keep his eyes off the lady coroner they were interviewing. So, she had a nice rack! What was wrong with looking?!
“Leering, Dean. You were leering. Just, go meet me at the bar, ok?” Sam had said.
Dean took another drink and scanned the bar again, looking for anyone else that was looking for some action tonight. Hell, Sam was probably right. Dean hadn’t been with anyone since Lisa, and his hormones were making him pay the price. His right hand just wasn’t cutting it. Actually, his right hand wasn’t doing it for him at all. He’d been going around at half-mast for three days, too damn hot to think of anything that didn’t involve his junk, and if he didn’t get off soon, he was going to messily go nuts.
He eyed the ladies in the room, trying not to stare too long at any one person, because he didn’t need a bar fight on top of anything else. Despite feeling horny enough to fuck a tree, he wasn’t just looking for the nearest convenient piece of ass. He needed something more… exotic. Someone who was a little more hardcore. Maybe someone who’d do all the work for a change. (Someone who’d take care of him, a tiny part of him whispered, and Dean tried to ignore that thought ruthlessly.)
He remembered this girl he’d met in Memphis a few years back, Dominica. And damn, had she ever lived up to her name. Part-time dominatrix, she’d broadened his horizons in a few unique ways. He’d just saved her from being vampire chow, and she’d been grateful, really grateful. And Dean had trusted her enough to try a few things that weren’t in his usual playbook. She’d tied him down, and he’d struggled playfully against the bonds while she’d teased him mercilessly. Usually he liked being able to move, having been held captive a few times too many, but he’d trusted her, and it had been kinda good.
She’d shown him a few other things too, things he hadn’t bragged to Sam about. She’d turned him over, gotten his permission, and touched his ass. Not just a spank or three or a squeeze, no, she’d actually touched his hole. She’d licked him right there, and Dean had swore into the mattress with every curse he knew or could invent. But he didn’t ask her to stop. Fuck, she’d kept doing that, licking him right open, and then she’d slid a finger inside him. Right up inside him, and holy hell, it had not been bad. His dick had been really happy with the proceedings, and more so when she’d pressed on a spot inside him that might as well have been the up button to the Escalator to Heaven.
He’d begged, Dean remembered. He’d begged her to let him come, because that was part of the game and no other reason, thank you very much, and Dominica had said yes, and holy fuck he came so hard he actually blacked out for a second.
Dean gripped his beer bottle tightly when he realized the little trip down memory lane had brought him to full mast in the middle of the crowded bar. Shit, he needed to come so fucking bad. He watched the crowd more openly, trying to decide if the redhead looked more randy, or maybe the blonde. He shifted in his seat and found his gaze slipping inexplicably to one of the guys at the bar, fit but not over-built, with short dark hair and blue eyes. He looked strong enough to hold Dean down and give him what he really wanted, what he craved…
Dean slugged back another drink of beer when he realized what he’d been thinking. Shit, shit, shit. He wiped his brow from the feverish heat that never seemed to go away and shifted his hips, his dick still hard and wanting relief. But Dean knew if he went into the bathroom to rub one out, nothing would happen. He’d just end up sweatier and hotter and aching so badly he wanted to scream, but he wouldn’t come. He needed someone else’s hand on his cock, someone else holding him down.
Only because that was hot, Dean quickly amended in his mind. Bondage was hot; porn wouldn’t sell nearly so much of it if it wasn’t hot. Dean could picture it now, him on all fours, hands tied to the headboard so he couldn’t move. Someone else behind him (someone strong, his libido insisted), would knew exactly what he wanted.
To… fuck them? Dean asked his libido hopefully.
Oh no, you don’t get tied down to do the fucking, he realized. There was a sick clench to his stomach as he took the rest of his beer in a single smooth swallow, and let his fevered fantasies full reign: So someone else could fuck him.
Yes! His cock throbbed in triumph as he let himself realize the only thing that was going to satisfy his fevered craving.
Dean shuddered, feeling a tingle run down his spine. Stretched out over the headboard, helpless, the other man behind him, opening him up… (Dean was breathing harder now and clenched his buttocks together to try to get rid of that aching empty feeling, that need to be filled up.) The trust when he let him in, let him mark his claim, feeling suddenly so complete, part of a whole, his mate-.
“Whoa!” Dean said aloud, startling a passerby. He smiled vacantly and the guy wandered off, shooting Dean weird glances as he realized his revelation. The werecat. The scratches. She’d sent him into heat, looking for a fucking mate!
The bar was getting intolerably hot, and Dean was afraid to take off his jacket, because his t-shirt was way too short to hide his crotch, and Dean’s dick was in massive overload. Christ, what was he going to do? Anti-lust magic wasn’t exactly a specialty of his or Sam’s, and Dean wasn’t sure he could talk to Bobby sensibly in this state.
Maybe Castiel-. Castiel! Dean almost laughed in relief. Angels had to have anti-lust magic, or at least be able to break this kind of sex-curse. Castiel hadn’t even known what to do with his dick when presented with a whore, so he had to know what to do to keep libidos in check!
Castiel would- (take care of him, he raised Dean from Perdition, said they had a profound bond, was so much stronger than Dean, would know exactly what to do, had been eyefucking Dean from the get-go, was so fucking beautiful).
“Oh, God,” Dean groaned softly, and banged his head on the table. Castiel was his mate. Fuck. Now that he’d crossed Dean’s mind, he couldn’t get him out again. His voice, his eyes, the erection he’d sported that night Dean had caught him watching porn, his ability to read thoughts, to know when Dean needed him, that he’d come when Dean would call… Dean gasped as his temperature spiked, and knew he was flushing red. His cock surged and throbbed painfully, and he’d never felt more empty and aching in his life.
If Dean didn’t get Cas to fuck him tonight, Dean was going to have check himself into the loony bin.
---
The short walk to the nearest motel had been agony, and the smirk from the clerk as he rented the room threatened every ounce of Dean’s control. He’d all but thrown money at the little twerp and had sprinted to the room, locking it behind him.
“Castiel?” Dean called out immediately. He tossed his coat on the table and the little bag of necessities he’d gotten from the Impala on the nightstand. “Cas, please, I need you.”
Nothing.
“Cas, I need you so fucking bad, you have no idea,” Dean pleaded, pride deflated to beg for any kind of relief. If Castiel didn’t answer… He had to. God, he had to.
“You need me?”
Dean whirled around to see Castiel standing behind him, and stopped himself from tackling him with all his strength.
“You don’t need my help. You need me, specifically, for myself,” Castiel said carefully, eyeing Dean up and down.
“Cas…” Dean breathed. He’d wanted to be casual. He’d wanted to be cool, to discuss things, explain what the hell was going on and ask for a favor. Just a little sexual favor between friends, no strings attached. But that wasn’t going to be possible. “I need you. I-.” Dean drug his shirt over his head, the scratches from the werecat standing out over his heart.
Castiel stepped closer and put his hand over the marks. Dean felt a keening noise coming from his throat and tried to stop it, but Castiel didn’t even seem to notice the struggle.
“These are werecat scratches. It put a curse on you,” Castiel pronounced. “You’ve gone into sexual heat.”
“I know,” Dean said in a strangled whisper, leaning forward to press into Castiel’s touch.
“It is a temporary condition. I apologize, but my war efforts have left me depleted as of late. To break a curse of this power, one set with your own blood, would take more out of me than I can afford.”
Dean wasn’t sure if he could tell Castiel how much of a flying fuck he didn’t give about the celestial civil war right now.
“I just need-.”
“To engage in intercourse,” Castiel interrupted. He furrowed his brow in sudden thought. “Dean, if you already knew this, why did you ask me to come? I am aware you are considered attractive by many women, and a willing bed partner would be the most effective way to discharge the curse at this time.”
“Cas, it’s not that. Fuck, if all I needed was a willing lady I would’ve done that days ago.”
“There is another aspect to this curse?”
“The werecat, it…” Dean took a deep breath and forced out what he hadn’t wanted to say in a million years but knew if he didn’t he was going to fucking lose his mind, “cursed me to want to have sex with my mate.”
“Your mate? That is not Lisa?” Castiel asked.
“Shit, if she would even let me in the house, you think she’s going to let me get within twenty yards of a bed with her?”
“There is that-.”
“Cas, I want you,” Dean blurted out, blushing even harder than he had before. “I need you.”
“You were cursed by a female werecat,” Castiel said with sudden understanding.
Dean swallowed and rubbed himself up against Castiel’s hand, feeling some of the burning ebb with the angel’s touch. If there was ever a sign that Dean had read this fucked-up situation right…
Castiel tilted his head and stared at Dean for a long moment.
“You have never performed this act before?” he asked.
Dean shook his head and gasped as Castiel moved closer, a rush of wind and the rustling of feathers in his ears. Their clothes were gone and Dean actually cried out in relief when he felt his heated erection pressed against Castiel’s stomach.
“Then I will be gentle,” Castiel all but growled in his ear.
Dean had to let Cas hold him up when they kissed, because what-the-fuck Castiel kissed like a fucking porn star, dipping his tongue into Dean’s mouth and using his lips to do things not even Dominica could do, and Dean’s knees were no longer interested in holding up upright during all of that. But Castiel took his weight effortlessly, and that sent Dean whimpering slightly, thrusting his hips against Cas’ skin, wanting more than he could even say.
With a single light shove, Castiel sent Dean flying back onto the bed, and if this was Cas’ version of “gentle,” then all Dean could think was, “Thank you sir may I have another.” The frantic fever hadn’t exactly cooled, but it had stepped off a bit, just enough so Dean could ask for more. And he needed it, desperately.
Dean flipped himself on his back to watch Castiel, and felt his jaw dropping when he got a good look at a full frontal Cas.
“Jesus, Cas, you’re hung like a horse!” Something in Dean sat up and begged when he realized that was going to be inside him soon, but the rest of him just whimpered in fear.
Castiel looked down at himself and shrugged. “It is adequate.” He stepped closer, and Dean felt himself being drawn to his knees by the intensity of Cas’ eyes. He might prefer women, but Dean had experimented with dudes a couple times. Lonely times, when Sam had been at Stanford, one-night stands with other hunters. A couple hand jobs, a blow-job or two, just enough to get the general idea of the mechanics. He hadn’t wanted a repeat of those times until right this second.
“More than that, Cas,” Dean said, and reached out for him, touching him. He circled his girth, and stroked him, feeling a rising pit of excitement in his stomach. This was what he wanted, to be with him, his mate, touching him, knowing he was pleasing him, wanting to submit to him-. Dean caught his thoughts as the scratches on his chest throbbed. Fuck it. He was past the point of no return now.
“It pleases you?” Castiel asked, smiling down at Dean.
“Yeah, Cas. I wanna…” Dean swallowed hard. Looking up at Castiel from this angle was doing funny things to his insides. He more than wanted to kneel, he wanted to crawl, he wanted to abase himself on his belly and hold himself open so Castiel could take him again, and again, and again. “My mouth, I want you in my mouth,” Dean got out with a gasp.
Castiel hardened under Dean’s grasp, curving up towards his belly, and Dean found himself diving for the tip as if he were starved for it. Fuck, the taste of it, the musk of Castiel filling his nose, the pressure stretching Dean’s jaw… he thought he couldn’t get any hornier. God, was he ever wrong. He’d never taken anything this big before, but Castiel didn’t seem to mind that he was years out of practice. He let Dean bend to take him in as far as he could, hands stroking frantically, needing to feel Castiel letting go (Rewarding him for being good, an attentive mate, holy crap where did that come from?).
“Dean.” His name was the only warning Dean got before Castiel came, overflowing Dean’s mouth and sliding down his throat in a saline-tasting deluge. Dean pulled back to gasp for air, and was obscurely disappointed when the frantic heat still enveloped his body. No, he wasn’t going to get out of this easily.
(Just give in, feel him inside you, overwhelming you, yes please, need you Cas, want you so fucking bad how much time did we waste just talking and jerking around not in the fun way don’t stop fucking touching me I need it Cas, I need you…)
“More, Cas,” Dean said, his voice high and choked.
Castiel put his hand on Dean’s shoulder (over the brand, oh fuck, oh holy hell, I’ve been claimed all this time it feels so fucking right when he does that) and flipped him over effortlessly, making Dean’s cock practically perk up and do a dance. Dean grabbed the headboard and shoved his ass back, pride completely gone for the possibility of Castiel inside him.
Cas had found the bag Dean had brought in, and there were a few agonizing moments of nothing happening before Dean felt a single slick touch against his ass.
Every nerve broke out in chorus, pleasure and pain and pressure and no-way-is-this-getting-in-here and oh-yes-we’ll-take-that-and-some-more-too as Castiel worked his finger in. Dean knew he was thrashing, making noises in his throat that were probably something obscene he’d picked up in Hell, but didn’t let go of the headboard, no sir. He was on the edge, and it wasn’t far enough. Only Castiel could take him there.
So Dean clung on for dear life as Castiel wiggled one finger in deep, and then a second without so much as a by-your-leave. A third followed as Dean had to turn and bite his own arm to keep from screaming as a knuckle brushed his prostate. He was full of Castiel, his cock happier than it had been since his first woody at age twelve, but it still wasn’t enough to satisfy the fever in his blood and the throbbing scratches on his chest.
(Submit, fucking do it, you know what the cat-lady meant to happen and have you ever felt better than you do right now and if this feels good holy shit imagine what’s going to happen when Cas gets every inch of that monster inside you and splits you in two you know you’re going to fly.)
“More, Cas, please!”
The fingers went away, and Dean actually sobbed like a little girl because he was suddenly freezing and open and empty and then Castiel was back, his hands on Dean’s hips.
“Dean.” Just that, just his name, and Castiel kissed him in the middle of his back, almost like an apology. Then he pushed in.
He’s. Fucking. Huge.
Dean had his forehead pressed into the headboard so hard he was getting a headache, anything to distract him from enormous feeling of Castiel trying to get inside him. It hurt like nothing he’d ever felt before and God help him he didn’t want to stop. He gasped for air, and Castiel stopped for a moment, the click of the lube cap and slick trickle by his stretched asshole meaning Cas was trying to ease the way.
“Dean, you must relax. Push against me.” Castiel’s voice was soothing, and he stroked his hand down Dean’s flank, petting him.
“Where the fuck did you learn this, Cas?” Dean demanded, fighting his body for control, just for a moment, just to give it want it wanted without killing him.
“You have taught me to ask questions. So I did, and learned a great many things.”
Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly as Castiel pushed in another inch, no longer hurting quite so badly.
“Why… this?” Dean asked, the heat in his blood now seeming to work with him, loosening him up, letting him push back against Castiel’s invasion with greater ease.
“Because…” Castiel hesitated, and suddenly reached around to Dean’s sadly-neglected cock. He stroked firmly, the feel of his hand agonizing blissful relief after days of Dean’s attempts at his own release, and pleasure cascaded through Dean’s body in waves. Like magic, Dean felt himself relax and Castiel suddenly thrust in, burying himself to the hilt.
It was like being hit with lightning and not minding at all. Dean didn’t ever want to do anything but this, to have Castiel buried inside him forever, claiming him from the inside out.
“Cas!” Dean’s shout was triumphant, and Castiel wrung it out of him again and again as he thrust and stroked Dean in concert, his strength effortlessly holding him up. Dean didn’t even try to push back, just let Castiel claim him over and over, his cock deep inside him, one hand on Dean’s member, the other over the brand that bound them together.
His, his, his… The thought was throbbing in time to Dean’s pulse, and he couldn’t disagree with it in the least. He wanted this, wanted Castiel touching him all over, inside him, making him his, marking him, claiming him. When he felt Castiel stiffen and swell inside him, Dean held his breath.
“I release you.”
The words triggered him as hard as Castiel coming inside him, burning hot and so damn good Dean thought he was going to go blind. Castiel’s hand on his cock was covered in spunk from what had to be the longest fucking orgasm of Dean’s life, endless pulses from almost a week’s worth of frustrated arousal. It was definitely the best. Unquestionably the best sex Dean had ever had.
Dean could feel his heart slowing down, the fever breaking, and the scratches on his chest fading into nothing. He was still sore, and Castiel was still buried inside him, and Dean could feel the blush of profound embarrassment replacing the fever flush in his face.
“Dean, I learned how to do this because I hoped one day you might wish to fully reciprocated the bond we share,” Castiel said, his voice rumbling right in Dean’s ear.
A strange little tingle went through Dean at that, a faint rush of pleasure that had nothing to do with the mating rut he’d just experienced.
“You… wanted this?” Dean asked slowly.
“Certainly I never anticipated the curse,” Castiel said. “I was quite aware of your preferences otherwise. I knew it may have never come to pass.”
Castiel put a hand on Dean’s back as he pulled out slowly. A sensation like a feather trailed down Dean’s spine, and the stinging pain vanished.
Dean pried his fingers off the headboard and turned around to look Cas in the eyes. He looked inexplicably sad and resigned.
“Cas, um…” Dean wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t remember the last person that had pined for him like this, that would have been willing to save him from what would have been almost certain death by giving up a pretty freaking big piece of integrity. Especially an angel. “Thanks.”
“You are welcome.” Castiel paused significantly. “Anytime.”
Dean swallowed and ran a hand through his hair, a small part of him wanting normalcy with all his heart. If he asked, Cas would take this secret to his grave (or Heaven, Dean supposed) and he’d never say a word about it again. Or he could expand his horizons, take a fucking chance, and have someone to come home to that wasn’t a one-night stand from some cheap bar in a crappy little one horse town. Someone who’d fought alongside him, who knew what he needed, and who would never give him crap about trying something new, and who would never, ever stop loving him. Castiel had literally seen him at his worse, as Alistair’s disciple, and if he could love Dean even then, then Dean would be the king of fools to pass that up.
Hell, Dean might just find that werecat lady and drop her a thank you note.
“Maybe now,” Dean said, reaching over to kiss Castiel, and was rewarded a hundred times over by the light in his mate’s eyes.
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,110
Spoilers: Vague late S6
Warnings: Sex pollen, fuck-or-die, first time
Disclaimer Supernatural belongs to Kripke, CW, et al. I own nothing.
Author’s Notes: Written for deancaskink for the prompt A spell is cast on Dean wherein he goes into heat. He's feverish, manic, and can’t stop thinking about how nice it would be to submit to his angel. Bottom!dean first time.
Summary: Dean has a curse on him that can only be satisfied by one thing, which absolutely terrifies him.
It started with a bad hunt. All the crappy things in Dean’s life always started with a bad hunt. Werecat, this time. Not a werewolf, a werecat, mutilating cattle all over town along with a few big-time hunters (the regular kind, with rifles, not the Winchester kind) that went to take down the “cougar” that was wrecking their friends’ herds.
And it turned out that it was just two horny werecats having some kind of freaky mating ritual. The hunters had just gotten in the way. And Sam and Dean weren’t even able to gank the critters, and it wasn’t through lack of trying. Cats were said to have nine lives, and werecats must have had a lot more than that. In the end, they’d resorted to just driving the damn things deep into the woods.
But not before the female had scratched Dean, looked at his blood on her claws, and cursed him.
“You’ll know what it feels like. Why we had to be together,” she’d hissed.
Dean had cracked off a witty one-liner and put the whole thing out of his mind.
Until about a month later.
“Sam, is it hot in here?” Dean demanded, stomping from the bathroom to the AC unit, sure that Sam had turned it off. He’d been sweating in bed last night, and not even a cold shower had really cooled him down. He stared at the dial on the AC; it was on full-blast.
“Uh, no, Dean. I’m freezing my ass off. I tried to turn it down last night and you nearly bit my head off,” Sam said testily, shoving his clothes in his duffle. He left before Dean could do more than growl at him. Going back to the shower, Dean turned the cold water back on again and tried to get his temperature down. And to get his dick to agree that morning wood was overrated when they had to get an early start.
---
Dean put his head in his hands as he sipped sullenly at his beer. Sam had benched him for this job. Fucking benched him! Because Dean couldn’t keep his eyes off the lady coroner they were interviewing. So, she had a nice rack! What was wrong with looking?!
“Leering, Dean. You were leering. Just, go meet me at the bar, ok?” Sam had said.
Dean took another drink and scanned the bar again, looking for anyone else that was looking for some action tonight. Hell, Sam was probably right. Dean hadn’t been with anyone since Lisa, and his hormones were making him pay the price. His right hand just wasn’t cutting it. Actually, his right hand wasn’t doing it for him at all. He’d been going around at half-mast for three days, too damn hot to think of anything that didn’t involve his junk, and if he didn’t get off soon, he was going to messily go nuts.
He eyed the ladies in the room, trying not to stare too long at any one person, because he didn’t need a bar fight on top of anything else. Despite feeling horny enough to fuck a tree, he wasn’t just looking for the nearest convenient piece of ass. He needed something more… exotic. Someone who was a little more hardcore. Maybe someone who’d do all the work for a change. (Someone who’d take care of him, a tiny part of him whispered, and Dean tried to ignore that thought ruthlessly.)
He remembered this girl he’d met in Memphis a few years back, Dominica. And damn, had she ever lived up to her name. Part-time dominatrix, she’d broadened his horizons in a few unique ways. He’d just saved her from being vampire chow, and she’d been grateful, really grateful. And Dean had trusted her enough to try a few things that weren’t in his usual playbook. She’d tied him down, and he’d struggled playfully against the bonds while she’d teased him mercilessly. Usually he liked being able to move, having been held captive a few times too many, but he’d trusted her, and it had been kinda good.
She’d shown him a few other things too, things he hadn’t bragged to Sam about. She’d turned him over, gotten his permission, and touched his ass. Not just a spank or three or a squeeze, no, she’d actually touched his hole. She’d licked him right there, and Dean had swore into the mattress with every curse he knew or could invent. But he didn’t ask her to stop. Fuck, she’d kept doing that, licking him right open, and then she’d slid a finger inside him. Right up inside him, and holy hell, it had not been bad. His dick had been really happy with the proceedings, and more so when she’d pressed on a spot inside him that might as well have been the up button to the Escalator to Heaven.
He’d begged, Dean remembered. He’d begged her to let him come, because that was part of the game and no other reason, thank you very much, and Dominica had said yes, and holy fuck he came so hard he actually blacked out for a second.
Dean gripped his beer bottle tightly when he realized the little trip down memory lane had brought him to full mast in the middle of the crowded bar. Shit, he needed to come so fucking bad. He watched the crowd more openly, trying to decide if the redhead looked more randy, or maybe the blonde. He shifted in his seat and found his gaze slipping inexplicably to one of the guys at the bar, fit but not over-built, with short dark hair and blue eyes. He looked strong enough to hold Dean down and give him what he really wanted, what he craved…
Dean slugged back another drink of beer when he realized what he’d been thinking. Shit, shit, shit. He wiped his brow from the feverish heat that never seemed to go away and shifted his hips, his dick still hard and wanting relief. But Dean knew if he went into the bathroom to rub one out, nothing would happen. He’d just end up sweatier and hotter and aching so badly he wanted to scream, but he wouldn’t come. He needed someone else’s hand on his cock, someone else holding him down.
Only because that was hot, Dean quickly amended in his mind. Bondage was hot; porn wouldn’t sell nearly so much of it if it wasn’t hot. Dean could picture it now, him on all fours, hands tied to the headboard so he couldn’t move. Someone else behind him (someone strong, his libido insisted), would knew exactly what he wanted.
To… fuck them? Dean asked his libido hopefully.
Oh no, you don’t get tied down to do the fucking, he realized. There was a sick clench to his stomach as he took the rest of his beer in a single smooth swallow, and let his fevered fantasies full reign: So someone else could fuck him.
Yes! His cock throbbed in triumph as he let himself realize the only thing that was going to satisfy his fevered craving.
Dean shuddered, feeling a tingle run down his spine. Stretched out over the headboard, helpless, the other man behind him, opening him up… (Dean was breathing harder now and clenched his buttocks together to try to get rid of that aching empty feeling, that need to be filled up.) The trust when he let him in, let him mark his claim, feeling suddenly so complete, part of a whole, his mate-.
“Whoa!” Dean said aloud, startling a passerby. He smiled vacantly and the guy wandered off, shooting Dean weird glances as he realized his revelation. The werecat. The scratches. She’d sent him into heat, looking for a fucking mate!
The bar was getting intolerably hot, and Dean was afraid to take off his jacket, because his t-shirt was way too short to hide his crotch, and Dean’s dick was in massive overload. Christ, what was he going to do? Anti-lust magic wasn’t exactly a specialty of his or Sam’s, and Dean wasn’t sure he could talk to Bobby sensibly in this state.
Maybe Castiel-. Castiel! Dean almost laughed in relief. Angels had to have anti-lust magic, or at least be able to break this kind of sex-curse. Castiel hadn’t even known what to do with his dick when presented with a whore, so he had to know what to do to keep libidos in check!
Castiel would- (take care of him, he raised Dean from Perdition, said they had a profound bond, was so much stronger than Dean, would know exactly what to do, had been eyefucking Dean from the get-go, was so fucking beautiful).
“Oh, God,” Dean groaned softly, and banged his head on the table. Castiel was his mate. Fuck. Now that he’d crossed Dean’s mind, he couldn’t get him out again. His voice, his eyes, the erection he’d sported that night Dean had caught him watching porn, his ability to read thoughts, to know when Dean needed him, that he’d come when Dean would call… Dean gasped as his temperature spiked, and knew he was flushing red. His cock surged and throbbed painfully, and he’d never felt more empty and aching in his life.
If Dean didn’t get Cas to fuck him tonight, Dean was going to have check himself into the loony bin.
---
The short walk to the nearest motel had been agony, and the smirk from the clerk as he rented the room threatened every ounce of Dean’s control. He’d all but thrown money at the little twerp and had sprinted to the room, locking it behind him.
“Castiel?” Dean called out immediately. He tossed his coat on the table and the little bag of necessities he’d gotten from the Impala on the nightstand. “Cas, please, I need you.”
Nothing.
“Cas, I need you so fucking bad, you have no idea,” Dean pleaded, pride deflated to beg for any kind of relief. If Castiel didn’t answer… He had to. God, he had to.
“You need me?”
Dean whirled around to see Castiel standing behind him, and stopped himself from tackling him with all his strength.
“You don’t need my help. You need me, specifically, for myself,” Castiel said carefully, eyeing Dean up and down.
“Cas…” Dean breathed. He’d wanted to be casual. He’d wanted to be cool, to discuss things, explain what the hell was going on and ask for a favor. Just a little sexual favor between friends, no strings attached. But that wasn’t going to be possible. “I need you. I-.” Dean drug his shirt over his head, the scratches from the werecat standing out over his heart.
Castiel stepped closer and put his hand over the marks. Dean felt a keening noise coming from his throat and tried to stop it, but Castiel didn’t even seem to notice the struggle.
“These are werecat scratches. It put a curse on you,” Castiel pronounced. “You’ve gone into sexual heat.”
“I know,” Dean said in a strangled whisper, leaning forward to press into Castiel’s touch.
“It is a temporary condition. I apologize, but my war efforts have left me depleted as of late. To break a curse of this power, one set with your own blood, would take more out of me than I can afford.”
Dean wasn’t sure if he could tell Castiel how much of a flying fuck he didn’t give about the celestial civil war right now.
“I just need-.”
“To engage in intercourse,” Castiel interrupted. He furrowed his brow in sudden thought. “Dean, if you already knew this, why did you ask me to come? I am aware you are considered attractive by many women, and a willing bed partner would be the most effective way to discharge the curse at this time.”
“Cas, it’s not that. Fuck, if all I needed was a willing lady I would’ve done that days ago.”
“There is another aspect to this curse?”
“The werecat, it…” Dean took a deep breath and forced out what he hadn’t wanted to say in a million years but knew if he didn’t he was going to fucking lose his mind, “cursed me to want to have sex with my mate.”
“Your mate? That is not Lisa?” Castiel asked.
“Shit, if she would even let me in the house, you think she’s going to let me get within twenty yards of a bed with her?”
“There is that-.”
“Cas, I want you,” Dean blurted out, blushing even harder than he had before. “I need you.”
“You were cursed by a female werecat,” Castiel said with sudden understanding.
Dean swallowed and rubbed himself up against Castiel’s hand, feeling some of the burning ebb with the angel’s touch. If there was ever a sign that Dean had read this fucked-up situation right…
Castiel tilted his head and stared at Dean for a long moment.
“You have never performed this act before?” he asked.
Dean shook his head and gasped as Castiel moved closer, a rush of wind and the rustling of feathers in his ears. Their clothes were gone and Dean actually cried out in relief when he felt his heated erection pressed against Castiel’s stomach.
“Then I will be gentle,” Castiel all but growled in his ear.
Dean had to let Cas hold him up when they kissed, because what-the-fuck Castiel kissed like a fucking porn star, dipping his tongue into Dean’s mouth and using his lips to do things not even Dominica could do, and Dean’s knees were no longer interested in holding up upright during all of that. But Castiel took his weight effortlessly, and that sent Dean whimpering slightly, thrusting his hips against Cas’ skin, wanting more than he could even say.
With a single light shove, Castiel sent Dean flying back onto the bed, and if this was Cas’ version of “gentle,” then all Dean could think was, “Thank you sir may I have another.” The frantic fever hadn’t exactly cooled, but it had stepped off a bit, just enough so Dean could ask for more. And he needed it, desperately.
Dean flipped himself on his back to watch Castiel, and felt his jaw dropping when he got a good look at a full frontal Cas.
“Jesus, Cas, you’re hung like a horse!” Something in Dean sat up and begged when he realized that was going to be inside him soon, but the rest of him just whimpered in fear.
Castiel looked down at himself and shrugged. “It is adequate.” He stepped closer, and Dean felt himself being drawn to his knees by the intensity of Cas’ eyes. He might prefer women, but Dean had experimented with dudes a couple times. Lonely times, when Sam had been at Stanford, one-night stands with other hunters. A couple hand jobs, a blow-job or two, just enough to get the general idea of the mechanics. He hadn’t wanted a repeat of those times until right this second.
“More than that, Cas,” Dean said, and reached out for him, touching him. He circled his girth, and stroked him, feeling a rising pit of excitement in his stomach. This was what he wanted, to be with him, his mate, touching him, knowing he was pleasing him, wanting to submit to him-. Dean caught his thoughts as the scratches on his chest throbbed. Fuck it. He was past the point of no return now.
“It pleases you?” Castiel asked, smiling down at Dean.
“Yeah, Cas. I wanna…” Dean swallowed hard. Looking up at Castiel from this angle was doing funny things to his insides. He more than wanted to kneel, he wanted to crawl, he wanted to abase himself on his belly and hold himself open so Castiel could take him again, and again, and again. “My mouth, I want you in my mouth,” Dean got out with a gasp.
Castiel hardened under Dean’s grasp, curving up towards his belly, and Dean found himself diving for the tip as if he were starved for it. Fuck, the taste of it, the musk of Castiel filling his nose, the pressure stretching Dean’s jaw… he thought he couldn’t get any hornier. God, was he ever wrong. He’d never taken anything this big before, but Castiel didn’t seem to mind that he was years out of practice. He let Dean bend to take him in as far as he could, hands stroking frantically, needing to feel Castiel letting go (Rewarding him for being good, an attentive mate, holy crap where did that come from?).
“Dean.” His name was the only warning Dean got before Castiel came, overflowing Dean’s mouth and sliding down his throat in a saline-tasting deluge. Dean pulled back to gasp for air, and was obscurely disappointed when the frantic heat still enveloped his body. No, he wasn’t going to get out of this easily.
(Just give in, feel him inside you, overwhelming you, yes please, need you Cas, want you so fucking bad how much time did we waste just talking and jerking around not in the fun way don’t stop fucking touching me I need it Cas, I need you…)
“More, Cas,” Dean said, his voice high and choked.
Castiel put his hand on Dean’s shoulder (over the brand, oh fuck, oh holy hell, I’ve been claimed all this time it feels so fucking right when he does that) and flipped him over effortlessly, making Dean’s cock practically perk up and do a dance. Dean grabbed the headboard and shoved his ass back, pride completely gone for the possibility of Castiel inside him.
Cas had found the bag Dean had brought in, and there were a few agonizing moments of nothing happening before Dean felt a single slick touch against his ass.
Every nerve broke out in chorus, pleasure and pain and pressure and no-way-is-this-getting-in-here and oh-yes-we’ll-take-that-and-some-more-too as Castiel worked his finger in. Dean knew he was thrashing, making noises in his throat that were probably something obscene he’d picked up in Hell, but didn’t let go of the headboard, no sir. He was on the edge, and it wasn’t far enough. Only Castiel could take him there.
So Dean clung on for dear life as Castiel wiggled one finger in deep, and then a second without so much as a by-your-leave. A third followed as Dean had to turn and bite his own arm to keep from screaming as a knuckle brushed his prostate. He was full of Castiel, his cock happier than it had been since his first woody at age twelve, but it still wasn’t enough to satisfy the fever in his blood and the throbbing scratches on his chest.
(Submit, fucking do it, you know what the cat-lady meant to happen and have you ever felt better than you do right now and if this feels good holy shit imagine what’s going to happen when Cas gets every inch of that monster inside you and splits you in two you know you’re going to fly.)
“More, Cas, please!”
The fingers went away, and Dean actually sobbed like a little girl because he was suddenly freezing and open and empty and then Castiel was back, his hands on Dean’s hips.
“Dean.” Just that, just his name, and Castiel kissed him in the middle of his back, almost like an apology. Then he pushed in.
He’s. Fucking. Huge.
Dean had his forehead pressed into the headboard so hard he was getting a headache, anything to distract him from enormous feeling of Castiel trying to get inside him. It hurt like nothing he’d ever felt before and God help him he didn’t want to stop. He gasped for air, and Castiel stopped for a moment, the click of the lube cap and slick trickle by his stretched asshole meaning Cas was trying to ease the way.
“Dean, you must relax. Push against me.” Castiel’s voice was soothing, and he stroked his hand down Dean’s flank, petting him.
“Where the fuck did you learn this, Cas?” Dean demanded, fighting his body for control, just for a moment, just to give it want it wanted without killing him.
“You have taught me to ask questions. So I did, and learned a great many things.”
Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly as Castiel pushed in another inch, no longer hurting quite so badly.
“Why… this?” Dean asked, the heat in his blood now seeming to work with him, loosening him up, letting him push back against Castiel’s invasion with greater ease.
“Because…” Castiel hesitated, and suddenly reached around to Dean’s sadly-neglected cock. He stroked firmly, the feel of his hand agonizing blissful relief after days of Dean’s attempts at his own release, and pleasure cascaded through Dean’s body in waves. Like magic, Dean felt himself relax and Castiel suddenly thrust in, burying himself to the hilt.
It was like being hit with lightning and not minding at all. Dean didn’t ever want to do anything but this, to have Castiel buried inside him forever, claiming him from the inside out.
“Cas!” Dean’s shout was triumphant, and Castiel wrung it out of him again and again as he thrust and stroked Dean in concert, his strength effortlessly holding him up. Dean didn’t even try to push back, just let Castiel claim him over and over, his cock deep inside him, one hand on Dean’s member, the other over the brand that bound them together.
His, his, his… The thought was throbbing in time to Dean’s pulse, and he couldn’t disagree with it in the least. He wanted this, wanted Castiel touching him all over, inside him, making him his, marking him, claiming him. When he felt Castiel stiffen and swell inside him, Dean held his breath.
“I release you.”
The words triggered him as hard as Castiel coming inside him, burning hot and so damn good Dean thought he was going to go blind. Castiel’s hand on his cock was covered in spunk from what had to be the longest fucking orgasm of Dean’s life, endless pulses from almost a week’s worth of frustrated arousal. It was definitely the best. Unquestionably the best sex Dean had ever had.
Dean could feel his heart slowing down, the fever breaking, and the scratches on his chest fading into nothing. He was still sore, and Castiel was still buried inside him, and Dean could feel the blush of profound embarrassment replacing the fever flush in his face.
“Dean, I learned how to do this because I hoped one day you might wish to fully reciprocated the bond we share,” Castiel said, his voice rumbling right in Dean’s ear.
A strange little tingle went through Dean at that, a faint rush of pleasure that had nothing to do with the mating rut he’d just experienced.
“You… wanted this?” Dean asked slowly.
“Certainly I never anticipated the curse,” Castiel said. “I was quite aware of your preferences otherwise. I knew it may have never come to pass.”
Castiel put a hand on Dean’s back as he pulled out slowly. A sensation like a feather trailed down Dean’s spine, and the stinging pain vanished.
Dean pried his fingers off the headboard and turned around to look Cas in the eyes. He looked inexplicably sad and resigned.
“Cas, um…” Dean wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t remember the last person that had pined for him like this, that would have been willing to save him from what would have been almost certain death by giving up a pretty freaking big piece of integrity. Especially an angel. “Thanks.”
“You are welcome.” Castiel paused significantly. “Anytime.”
Dean swallowed and ran a hand through his hair, a small part of him wanting normalcy with all his heart. If he asked, Cas would take this secret to his grave (or Heaven, Dean supposed) and he’d never say a word about it again. Or he could expand his horizons, take a fucking chance, and have someone to come home to that wasn’t a one-night stand from some cheap bar in a crappy little one horse town. Someone who’d fought alongside him, who knew what he needed, and who would never give him crap about trying something new, and who would never, ever stop loving him. Castiel had literally seen him at his worse, as Alistair’s disciple, and if he could love Dean even then, then Dean would be the king of fools to pass that up.
Hell, Dean might just find that werecat lady and drop her a thank you note.
“Maybe now,” Dean said, reaching over to kiss Castiel, and was rewarded a hundred times over by the light in his mate’s eyes.