SPN Fic: Prince Castiel and the Quest for 100 Orgasms.
Title: Prince Castiel and the Quest for 100 Orgasms
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R HAHAHA NO ACTUAL PORN. WHAT.
Warnings: This entire thing could be considered dubcon. It is also not serious, at all. Also, prisons, harems, and a murder.
Word Count: ~5000
Notes: This was written for deancastiel's Everlasting Birthday Challenge.
Summary: Castiel knows about how gladiators can win their freedom by winning 100 fights, so Castiel has decided to operate under the assumption that if Dean has 100 orgasms, he might let Castiel go.
When Castiel learns he'll be sent into King Dean's harem, he decides to make it his sworn duty to fuck the man's brains out.
Of course, he determines this after the shock from his older brother Raphael's betrayal of him, and spending a few weeks in the dungeon, but Castiel is not an idiot. He's a realist. And he is going to be sent as a present, another addition to the king of Winchester's already enormous-sounding harem. It's always a good idea to go into a new job with working knowledge and a general idea of what duties one will be expected to perform, and Castiel has always been pragmatic. He is going into that harem, and he will be the best sex the man's ever had, because he's heard the stories about a couple girls getting their heads chopped off, and Castiel would very much like to survive to find some way to poison Raphael.
It's not that Castiel is anti-sex. He's anti-harem. Prostitution at least is a willful act, where one does work and is rewarded for it. A harem is a form of slavery, and Castiel is well aware he's being sent into slavery just to keep him from making any trouble for Raphael (that bitch), and while Raphael and the rest of the kingdom seems to think slavery is all well and good, Castiel believes in freedom. He knows about how gladiators can win their freedom by winning 100 fights, so Castiel has decided to operate under the assumption that if Dean has 100 orgasms, he might let Castiel go. It seems a reasonable hypothesis, considering how linked violence and sex seem to be.
The dungeons are full of a wide variety of convicts, and he spends his time talking to the prostitutes and pimps, and the murderers and poisoners as well. He gets tips and advice, and thanks them all very politely with portions of his much-larger meals (after all, they need him looking his best for the Winchester king's birthday) and a promise that, should he ever manage to successfully murder his older brother, he'll be certain to free them and do his best to let prostitutes form a union and would recognize it with full legal rights.
He doesn't know how long he is in the dungeon, but he knows it is long enough that when they drag him out his old clothing doesn't fit and the bath he gets leaves a dark layer of filth in the tub. The sun burns his eyes when they walk him out to the carriage (in chains, of course - he's guessing this is for Raphael's amusement, since Castiel hasn't shown a single bit of resistance, and has no intention of trying to avoid his fate), and the world has turned white from the snow that has covered the castle. At least six months, then. They still don't give him shoes as he walks across the snow and is tossed into the carriage, but the driver and other woman in the carriage with him - Anna, she calls herself - are happy to give him socks and a warm (if rather ridiculous-looking considering the pom-poms all over it) hat to wear on the three week journey to Winchester.
The driver keeps having time-consuming minor difficulties with the carriage and the horses and leaving the door unlocked for the first week. Anna doesn't leave because she was trained for this and seems to be looking forward to the chance to finally do her job, so Castiel finally gets out to politely tell the driver that, while they appreciate his efforts, they'd rather get to Winchester on time than have opportunities to escape.
When they reach the kingdom of Winchester, Castiel can't really see any big difference from his own, aside from having passed a sign that said WELCOME TO WINCHESTER. The road is a bit smoother, but that's the only difference Castiel's been able to notice. Anna decides to tell him all about the way Winchester used to be a third of the size and the past few kings and queens have made a point of taking over everything surrounding the country inch by inch. She also tells him she's been trained to be a perfect companion, being a poet, musician, and renowned finger painter. Castiel decides to not tell her his own viewpoint on what someone in a harem is there for.
The castle - also called Winchester - is already readying for the king's birthday party when they roll in. Their driver is happy to receive his payment for services rendered, and a man wearing the black livery of a servant leads them into a small waiting room much more politely than Castiel had expected. Anna sets herself to pulling out a nice dress and doing her hair, and Castiel takes the opportunity to look in a mirror for the first time in six months. Despite the guards' best efforts, he'd lost weight and muscle. He would work with what he has.
Anna is also determined to work with what Castiel has, throwing clothes in his face and demanding he wash up after all that time in a carriage. "You don't want to leave a bad impression when you meet the king, do you?" she asks, and no, Castiel certainly doesn't, so he washes and puts on the clean clothes, even if he doesn't really care. He's not expecting more than a glance and a thanks for the present sort of comment from the man today, but he's grown fond of Anna during their travels and indulges her.
When a servant comes to retrieve them from their room, Castiel isn't surprised to see a couple up against a wall just a few feet away from their door. Their kingdom's heard plenty of stories about the hedonistic King Dean, and in all honesty, Castiel's glad they were right. He was starting to wonder if Anna was right about the poetry instead of orgasms thing.
The actual party is in a ballroom, with enormous chandeliers and paintings on the ceiling, but most of the people in the room seem more involved with dancing and drinking. Castiel's glad - all the parties at his own palace had seemed to involve long speeches and ceremonies and spending the entire night trying to remember why people bothered coming to them. Here in Winchester, parties actually seem to be a hell of a time.
"Your Majesty," the servant shouts, and is answered with a distant, "Over here!" They do that a few times, the servant navigating them through the group and towards whoever kept answering the servant's shouts. When they finally got to the shouter, Castiel is surprised to see the man isn't ugly. Quite pretty, in fact. All the better. Anna squeezes his hand excitedly, and Castiel has to extract it from her death grip with his other hand.
"Your Majesty, these two are presents from King Raphael, for your harem," the servant says.
The king nods, not really looking at them since he’s much more involved in the drinking contest he seems to be having with a ridiculously tall man sitting next to him. "Show the ladies where to go, then," the king said.
"One lady. I'm a man," Castiel says, and that gets the king's attention, considering the amount of beer that seems to fly out of his mouth.
"What?" the king gapes at him. "Raphael sent me a dude? I thought he was a traditionalist dick!"
"He really is," Castiel says, considers his options for a moment, and then holds his hand out. The king gives him a strange look, but shakes it. "My name is Castiel. This is Anna, who is an excellent finger painter and will be very devoted to you. Happy birthday."
"I like this guy," the tall man declares.
"Shut up, Sam," says the king. "Call me Dean. I'll...see you around, I guess."
"I look forward to it," Castiel says, and heads for the door, the servant and Anna following after.
----
He's summoned to the king-call-me-Dean's chambers two days after the birthday party, and he's glad of it, because the rest of the harem had been telling them horror stories that...honestly hadn't sounded terribly horrible. Predominately about having to learn how to knit or cook or even brew beer, which Castiel thinks sound like nice, practical uses of their time. Still, Castiel knows he isn't the usual harem occupant, so he simply nods along when they share their woes and waits for his turn to be called. Thankfully, Anna shows no ill will at the fact he's been summoned before her (or any of the other new occupants, oddly enough).
Castiel isn't certain what he should be expecting when he walks in to the king-call-me-Dean's chambers, but the man sitting down in an armchair and looking through an assembly of papers was not on the list. Perhaps red candles, or an orgy already in progress.
"You're Castiel," the king-call-me-Dean says, nodding at him in greeting. "You know, you're only on the manifest as 'Cas'. Want to explain that?"
"Not particularly," Castiel says, and walks towards him.
"And you seem to know King Raphael personally," the king-call-me-Dean (who does not seem particularly kingly, so Castiel really is starting to call him Dean) says. "And I hear he has a younger brother named Castiel."
"I'm here to have sex," Castiel states. "My goal is one hundred orgasms."
Dean stares at him. "What."
"I truly have no ulterior motive," Castiel says, and drags Dean out of his chair. "Trust me or not, I don't care. But I am in your harem, and I expect to be treated accordingly."
"I think you've got this backwards," Dean says, only to stop talking when Castiel yanks the king's shirt off over his head. "Wow, okay, how about we talk about this-"
"No," Castiel says, and kisses him. It takes Dean a moment to respond, and Castiel blames that on his own inexperience - the kiss is sloppy and awkward at best, but after a long moment of stillness, Dean finally takes control of the kiss, and it quickly improves. He takes note of the things that feel good, and the things that feel very good, and from the surprised groan Dean gives him, Castiel decides he has earned the title of 'fast learner'.
Dean pulls away, panting and staring. "You are," he says, and stares at Castiel. Castiel waits for a moment, but when he just keeps looking, he mentally shrugs and drops to his knees. "Whoa, hey, come on Cas-"
"Are you not a consenting adult?" Castiel asks, looking up at the king, genuinely curious. This isn't exactly how he'd expected their first engagement to go, but it's certainly been intriguing. "Would you prefer something else?"
At first Dean can only really make a strange squeaking noise, but he clears his throat. "I'm, uh." He takes a deep breath. "I think you think something is going on here that isn't."
Castiel frowns, and looks at the very obvious bulge in Dean's pants, directly in front of him. Explanations, then. He can manage that. "What I think is going on, is I think I'm offering to suck your cock."
Dean groans, grabbing at the chair behind him. "You're. I just. Are you serious?"
"Completely," Castiel says, and figures the easiest way to get started is to actually get started, considering Dean's body at least seems to have made up its mind. He manages to drop Dean's pants with minimal difficulty, and he feels like he should have some sort of assessing criteria to judge Dean's cock by, but...well, it just looks like erect genitalia to Castiel.
"You're insane," Dean says.
"No, I'm just preemptive," Castiel says, and does his best to suck all coherency out of Dean Winchester's mind.
---
When he returns to the harem, they all seem to think it strange he was gone for so long.
They think it's even stranger when he's summoned back the next day.
The third time, Dean is behind a very big and very new oak desk. "Cas, we really, really need to talk."
"Or we could have sex again," he says, because really, he still has 98 more to go, and there's definite room for improvement after yesterday. Besides, Dean always seems to start out meetings with this sort of attempt at discussion.
Dean clears his throat. "Yeah, about that," he says. "See, the harem was mostly my dad's thing, and now it's kind of more of a craft workshop, because people just keep sending me new harem girls."
Castiel nods, because he'd been wondering about the basket weaving. "So you don't want to have sex with me."
Dean stares at him, looking terribly awkward. "I...would not say that, but it means you shouldn't feel, uh." He sinks down in his chair a little, a hand over his face. "Obligated."
"I'm determined, not obligated," Castiel says. "Are we done talking now?"
Dean throws a hand in the air. "Dude, I don't even know," he says, and puts his head down on the desk. "Screw it, come here."
Castiel can't help but smile a bit. Numbers three and four will soon be his.
---
He has eighty-three orgasms to go until freedom when there's another man in the room when he enters. Dean is behind the big clunky desk again (which is disappointing, he usually doesn't hide behind it anymore), and the man sitting in Dean's usual armchair is tall and has floppy hair and looks vaguely familiar.
Castiel looks from Dean, to the man, and then back. "Just so you know, I'm counting him towards my tally if there's voyeurism," Castiel tells him.
"You see what I'm dealing with?!" Dean shouts, looking at the man with a desperate save me sort of expression. "I am not strong enough for this, Sam."
The tall man, who is Sam, sighs. "Prince Castiel," he says. "We know you're here as a very strange sort of extradited political prisoner, you don't have to try and play the part of harem...person."
Castiel frowns at him. "I don't understand."
"You don't have to try and, uh." Dean waves a hand through the air in a way that Castiel assumes is very illustrative to people who aren't him. "You don't have to try and 'blend in with your surroundings', alright? We know what's up and why you're here."
He nods. "Then you know why I need to get to one hundred orgasms."
"You what?" Sam blurts out, words nearly lost in the laughter.
Castiel sighs, and figures he might as well sit down, so he takes over the couch. "In my kingdom, there is a tradition for gladiators that, after one hundred victories, a gladiator earns his freedom." He shrugs. "As we have no harems, and you have no gladiators, I assume the tradition carries over."
"It's a cultural thing, Sam," Dean says, and for some reason he looks relieved. "See? I'm morally obligated to have sex with him now."
"If that's how you want to see it," Castiel says, because he's learned to humor Dean when it comes to these things. There were, of course, masters who would refuse to put a gladiator in the ring to keep them from approaching anything close to 100 victories, but Dean is probably too nice of a person to do that to him. Particularly when he's aware of why Castiel is here in a harem instead of being the rightful ruler of his kingdom in place of Raphael, that bitch.
"You know, we could just free you," Sam says.
"We could?" Dean asks, and then clears his throat. "I mean, yes, we could, obviously, but...it's a cultural thing, Sammy. You're always saying we can't go stomping all over people's cultural diversity, monarchy or no, so why is this different?"
Sam glares at him. "Because he happens to be the rightful ruler of our neighboring country!"
"Can't he do that after the one hundred orgasms?" Dean asks. "I mean, Raphael's a dick, but-"
"But so are you," Sam says, and sighs, turning to Castiel. "It's your culture, so it’s your decision. You want to stick it out - shut up, Dean - or be freed?"
Castiel considers the question carefully. While he'd like to be freed, he isn't exactly prepared to go face down his older brother and wrest control of the country from him. It's also a true sign of cowardice for a gladiator to run before facing his 100 battles, and Castiel would be shunned for leaving when his sentence hadn't run through. And, of course, sex is actually pretty nice.
He frowns, weighing his options. "I'll continue as I have been," he says.
Dean's smile is so wide that it actually gleams in reflected light.
---
Castiel gives up on living in the harem when he's at around fifty, since he sleeps in Dean's rooms, eats his meals with Dean, helps Dean with his paperwork, and practically lives there anyway. His meager possessions had already made their way into his rooms anyway, so it's simple enough to just stop leaving when Dean leaves.
They talk about things, like families and politics and music and some incomprehensible things that Castiel knows Dean can't explain, where he says things like, "You know I like you, right?" and seems to be waiting for an answer other than, Of course I know that. They play cards and dice and board games, take day trips around the castle, even tour the kingdom together for five days. It's...nice. To be honest, it's the kindest, most pleasant time Castiel has ever lived through.
It all goes well until Castiel is down to having a little under twenty orgasms left, when Dean - still panting, barely pulled out of Castiel, covered in sweat - kisses him and says, "That. That one doesn't count."
Castiel frowns, trying to translate Dean's words into something more sensible, but all he can come up with is, "What?"
"You can't add that to the tally," Dean says, and won't look at him. "I won't let you."
Castiel loathes the way his legs shake after sex, because he can't pull back much further than the end of the mattress. He glares at Dean. "You don't have the right to nullify an orgasm, Dean," he snaps. "Not unless you can magically clean the sheets or turn back time."
And Dean still won't look at him, and. And it hurts, Castiel realizes. He actually feels betrayed again, but it's not the same burning rage he felt with Raphael (that bitch), it's a cold, sharp point that stabs through his chest and out of the front of his throat.
"It still doesn't count," Dean mutters.
And that's how it starts.
---
After spending every night for the past eighty-three days in bed with Dean, Castiel knows every line and edge of his body, knows the curve of his thigh and the strength in his arms and the fact that if he bites down, sharp and teasing, directly beneath his collarbone, Dean will become absolutely unhinged, no matter what he's doing.
And after two long cold horrible nights without sex, even though Dean was one foot away, in the same bed, Castiel is ready to be ruthless.
When Dean walks in to the bedroom and finds himself shoved onto the bed with a wad of (clean) cloth in his mouth, Castiel can tell he knows it.
"I have been nothing but direct about this," Castiel says, straddling him and ignoring the frantic look in his eyes. "And yes, you have been accommodating, but whatever is going on to make you a fool when it comes to this relationship, it needs to stop."
Dean doesn't even try to move, though, which makes him frown. Castiel had expected a vain struggle, most likely turning into a pleasant evening full of frottage, but instead Dean is just laying under him, staring. It's unsettling enough that, after a moment, Castiel actually takes the gag out.
"Is it really so bad to just want to sleep?" Dean asks, breathless.
"This hasn't been sleep, it's been you staring awkwardly at the opposite wall and flinching whenever I touch you," Castiel says, and frowns. "Have I done something to make you afraid of me?"
"No," Dean says, and shakes his head, a hand cupping Castiel's cheek. "No, Cas, you're alright. I just." He clears his throat. "You're coming up on one hundred, is all."
Castiel smiles. "I know."
"And I'll." He takes a deep breath. "I'll miss this, okay?"
Castiel frowns. "You won't sleep with me when I'm free?"
"What?" Dean gapes at him. "Of course I would! I just...would you want to?"
"I thought it was fairly obvious I enjoy sex with you," Castiel says.
"I really enjoy the sex," Dean says. "And you know I, you know, like you, right?"
"I know that," Castiel says.
Dean stares at him. "Do you like me too?"
"Of course," Castiel says, and Dean beams at him. "There were plenty of other people in the castle to choose. I very much prefer you."
The smile falters a bit, but it's still there. "Well. That's...good."
"And we can have sex again now, yes?" Castiel asks.
"You bet we can," Dean says, and Castiel decides he very much likes that particular smile.
---
Castiel usually wakes up after Dean, but he usually doesn't wake up to Dean holding flowers. He never has, in fact. Until now, at least. "Hello, Dean," he says.
"So I got you flowers," Dean says, practically shoving them in his hands.
Castiel looks at the flowers, hoping they'll give him some clue as to this bizarre behavior, but all they do is exist in an aesthetically pleasing manner, which gets him nowhere. "Thank you?"
"You're welcome," he says. "And I was thinking I could take the day off and we could maybe go do something if you wanted."
Castiel frowns. "You have a meeting with the Westerian ambassador at eleven, you can't miss that."
"I could for you," Dean says, his smile oddly hopeful.
"Why would I ask you to miss an important meeting with an ambassador?" Castiel asks. "You need to discuss the importation of Schon trees. Which I am for, regardless of what color they may turn the soil." Dean's smile is waning, though, and Castiel never likes that, so he offers, "But I would enjoy having lunch together."
"We can do that," Dean says, and the smile is back, as if they don't regularly eat lunch together anyway. "Okay. We can have lunch. Do you want anything in particular? I know you like that soup thing, the one with rice. Right. We'll have that."
"Thank you," Castiel says, and frowns. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Of course I am, I'll see you at lunch," Dean says, and leaves.
And that's only the start of it. Dean becomes a terrifyingly accommodating creature of gifts and gawking and Castiel has no idea what's going on, or how to stop it. He does not want flowers. He does not want a horse. He does not want to take a quick trip to his favorite part of the large lake (called, of course, Winchester Lake) and be told that maybe, if he was interested, Dean could see about giving the land to Castiel, since Dean's not using it or anything.
"I think your brother is sick," Castiel tells Sam.
"So do I," Sam says, shaking his head. "How much longer until you hit 100?"
Castiel is at 93, but considering the rate at which they've been going - on again, off again, three orgasms one day followed by Dean's absolute refusal to even touch himself in bed and focusing solely on Castiel - he really has no idea, so he says, "Most likely a week."
Sam sighs. "Good luck surviving him," he says. "And if he really starts bugging you with the present thing, come and tell me. He's not sick, he's just stupid."
That, Castiel can certainly agree with.
---
"What if I asked you to not leave?" Dean asks when Castiel is up to 98 orgasms.
Castiel lets himself sink into the pillows. It's difficult to keep his eyes open, particularly when Dean seems so determined to make him comfortable. "Then I would answer you," he says. Dean wraps himself around Castiel, and he hums, sated. "That's how questions usually go."
"Would you stay if I asked?"
"No," Castiel says. "I have things I must do, no matter how much I enjoy your company."
Dean holds him tightly, and says, "Please don't leave."
"I can always come back, if Raphael doesn't kill me," Castiel says, and falls asleep.
---
When the first day of his freedom dawns, Castiel can't get out of their - Dean's, he means - bed, because he's still tied to the headboard, and there's nobody there to cut him loose. At least, not for a long while, and by then he's already fallen asleep again, right along with his arm.
"I am never doing that again," Castiel mutters to himself, because the next time he wakes up he finds himself mysteriously untied and in a very empty set of rooms. His bags are still packed, though, and after a good bit of washing and another glance around reveals that Dean isn't here and hasn't been here for a good long while, he picks them up and heads out.
The horse Dean gave him is already ready and waiting, and it's a long, quiet-looking road back to his kingdom. He has enough money to get along safely, and enough knowledge of self-defense to hopefully not lose his money, so he sets himself on the path and tries very hard to not look back.
It's a long trip, and Castiel tries very hard to put his mind on other things, but it always trails back to the fact Dean didn't even say goodbye, how Sam wasn't anywhere to be seen, how not a single soul in the harem seemed to notice one of their own was leaving. He feels like it should hurt more than it does, but all he's left with is a slow ache that follows him along like a weary dog. It practically keels over when his own castle - tall, intimidating, regal, pretentious - comes into view, along with a small retinue making its way into the courtyard.
He has to be here, because he has to take control back from Raphael (that bitch), but more than anything he finds himself wanting to turn around and head back to Winchester and take Dean up on the offer for that ridiculous plot of land. He could plant orchards and orchards of Schon trees just to spite the castle's view with bright orange dirt, could finally get finger-painting lessons from Anna, could mock Dean endlessly with Sam, and still wake up with Dean's side of the bed still warm every morning.
Castiel takes a deep breath, dismounts, and heads into the courtyard.
The first thing to assault his ears is the sound of his brother's voice, shouting out, "He actually believed that?" and an echoing crack of laughter that reverberates around the columns.
Castiel doesn't bother wasting time, though - he never really has. It's easy to spot his brother, standing in the courtyard with two of the members of the small retinue. They look vaguely familiar, but Castiel ignores that in favor of pulling out his dagger and trying to remember what he'd learned all that time ago in prison.
Really, it's astonishingly easy to throw a knife into someone's back.
"Holy shit!" the shorter of the two men near Raphael says as the ex-king falls forward and dies.
Castiel sighs and walks towards them, and hopes nobody can tell how relieved he is to hear the voice. Or to see that Raphael really is dead. "Hello, Dean," he says, and pulls his dagger out of Raphael's cooling body. "You're looking well."
"Holy shit, Cas, you just threw a knife into your brother from like sixty feet away," Dean says.
"Hi, Castiel," Sam says, looking awkward, but still more than happy to see him. "We were actually hoping to talk to you, mostly about Dean being your queen."
"I'm sure you've noticed that he's very male," Castiel says, and pulls the crown off his brother's head. "How was your trip? Pleasant, I hope?"
"Good enough, but we're going to get some roadwork done where it gets bumpy near the border," Sam says.
"Where did you learn to do that?!" Dean asks.
"Prison," Castiel says. "I'll do the same, particularly on that bridge a few miles out. You're welcome to stay for however long you'd like, of course."
"Which brings me back to the Dean being your queen thing," Sam says.
"Are we seriously ignoring the corpse right there?" Dean asks.
"And this is why I'm going to take over Winchester and he'll be your queen so everyone can live happily ever after," Sam says dryly. "He's not so big into politics, but he's really into you, so it probably works out for the best."
"You don't have to give up your crown for me," Castiel says, frowning.
Dean looks down at Raphael's still-bleeding body, and then looks at Castiel for a long moment, takes a deep breath, and shrugs. "I know, but it fits Sam's giant floppy head better anyway. And if you can't come to me, I figure I might as well come to you."
"I was going to visit," Castiel says.
"Yeah, I like having you around too much for that to be enough," Dean says, and doesn't seem to think anything remarkable is going on in the least when he holds Castiel's hand. "Now, I've got some ideas for number 101. That's a hell of a number, Cas, we'd better make it one to remember."
"Oh, you'll definitely be remembered," Sam says.
As Dean starts pulling him towards the castle doors, smiling at him, Castiel decides that he's absolutely right.
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R HAHAHA NO ACTUAL PORN. WHAT.
Warnings: This entire thing could be considered dubcon. It is also not serious, at all. Also, prisons, harems, and a murder.
Word Count: ~5000
Notes: This was written for deancastiel's Everlasting Birthday Challenge.
Summary: Castiel knows about how gladiators can win their freedom by winning 100 fights, so Castiel has decided to operate under the assumption that if Dean has 100 orgasms, he might let Castiel go.
When Castiel learns he'll be sent into King Dean's harem, he decides to make it his sworn duty to fuck the man's brains out.
Of course, he determines this after the shock from his older brother Raphael's betrayal of him, and spending a few weeks in the dungeon, but Castiel is not an idiot. He's a realist. And he is going to be sent as a present, another addition to the king of Winchester's already enormous-sounding harem. It's always a good idea to go into a new job with working knowledge and a general idea of what duties one will be expected to perform, and Castiel has always been pragmatic. He is going into that harem, and he will be the best sex the man's ever had, because he's heard the stories about a couple girls getting their heads chopped off, and Castiel would very much like to survive to find some way to poison Raphael.
It's not that Castiel is anti-sex. He's anti-harem. Prostitution at least is a willful act, where one does work and is rewarded for it. A harem is a form of slavery, and Castiel is well aware he's being sent into slavery just to keep him from making any trouble for Raphael (that bitch), and while Raphael and the rest of the kingdom seems to think slavery is all well and good, Castiel believes in freedom. He knows about how gladiators can win their freedom by winning 100 fights, so Castiel has decided to operate under the assumption that if Dean has 100 orgasms, he might let Castiel go. It seems a reasonable hypothesis, considering how linked violence and sex seem to be.
The dungeons are full of a wide variety of convicts, and he spends his time talking to the prostitutes and pimps, and the murderers and poisoners as well. He gets tips and advice, and thanks them all very politely with portions of his much-larger meals (after all, they need him looking his best for the Winchester king's birthday) and a promise that, should he ever manage to successfully murder his older brother, he'll be certain to free them and do his best to let prostitutes form a union and would recognize it with full legal rights.
He doesn't know how long he is in the dungeon, but he knows it is long enough that when they drag him out his old clothing doesn't fit and the bath he gets leaves a dark layer of filth in the tub. The sun burns his eyes when they walk him out to the carriage (in chains, of course - he's guessing this is for Raphael's amusement, since Castiel hasn't shown a single bit of resistance, and has no intention of trying to avoid his fate), and the world has turned white from the snow that has covered the castle. At least six months, then. They still don't give him shoes as he walks across the snow and is tossed into the carriage, but the driver and other woman in the carriage with him - Anna, she calls herself - are happy to give him socks and a warm (if rather ridiculous-looking considering the pom-poms all over it) hat to wear on the three week journey to Winchester.
The driver keeps having time-consuming minor difficulties with the carriage and the horses and leaving the door unlocked for the first week. Anna doesn't leave because she was trained for this and seems to be looking forward to the chance to finally do her job, so Castiel finally gets out to politely tell the driver that, while they appreciate his efforts, they'd rather get to Winchester on time than have opportunities to escape.
When they reach the kingdom of Winchester, Castiel can't really see any big difference from his own, aside from having passed a sign that said WELCOME TO WINCHESTER. The road is a bit smoother, but that's the only difference Castiel's been able to notice. Anna decides to tell him all about the way Winchester used to be a third of the size and the past few kings and queens have made a point of taking over everything surrounding the country inch by inch. She also tells him she's been trained to be a perfect companion, being a poet, musician, and renowned finger painter. Castiel decides to not tell her his own viewpoint on what someone in a harem is there for.
The castle - also called Winchester - is already readying for the king's birthday party when they roll in. Their driver is happy to receive his payment for services rendered, and a man wearing the black livery of a servant leads them into a small waiting room much more politely than Castiel had expected. Anna sets herself to pulling out a nice dress and doing her hair, and Castiel takes the opportunity to look in a mirror for the first time in six months. Despite the guards' best efforts, he'd lost weight and muscle. He would work with what he has.
Anna is also determined to work with what Castiel has, throwing clothes in his face and demanding he wash up after all that time in a carriage. "You don't want to leave a bad impression when you meet the king, do you?" she asks, and no, Castiel certainly doesn't, so he washes and puts on the clean clothes, even if he doesn't really care. He's not expecting more than a glance and a thanks for the present sort of comment from the man today, but he's grown fond of Anna during their travels and indulges her.
When a servant comes to retrieve them from their room, Castiel isn't surprised to see a couple up against a wall just a few feet away from their door. Their kingdom's heard plenty of stories about the hedonistic King Dean, and in all honesty, Castiel's glad they were right. He was starting to wonder if Anna was right about the poetry instead of orgasms thing.
The actual party is in a ballroom, with enormous chandeliers and paintings on the ceiling, but most of the people in the room seem more involved with dancing and drinking. Castiel's glad - all the parties at his own palace had seemed to involve long speeches and ceremonies and spending the entire night trying to remember why people bothered coming to them. Here in Winchester, parties actually seem to be a hell of a time.
"Your Majesty," the servant shouts, and is answered with a distant, "Over here!" They do that a few times, the servant navigating them through the group and towards whoever kept answering the servant's shouts. When they finally got to the shouter, Castiel is surprised to see the man isn't ugly. Quite pretty, in fact. All the better. Anna squeezes his hand excitedly, and Castiel has to extract it from her death grip with his other hand.
"Your Majesty, these two are presents from King Raphael, for your harem," the servant says.
The king nods, not really looking at them since he’s much more involved in the drinking contest he seems to be having with a ridiculously tall man sitting next to him. "Show the ladies where to go, then," the king said.
"One lady. I'm a man," Castiel says, and that gets the king's attention, considering the amount of beer that seems to fly out of his mouth.
"What?" the king gapes at him. "Raphael sent me a dude? I thought he was a traditionalist dick!"
"He really is," Castiel says, considers his options for a moment, and then holds his hand out. The king gives him a strange look, but shakes it. "My name is Castiel. This is Anna, who is an excellent finger painter and will be very devoted to you. Happy birthday."
"I like this guy," the tall man declares.
"Shut up, Sam," says the king. "Call me Dean. I'll...see you around, I guess."
"I look forward to it," Castiel says, and heads for the door, the servant and Anna following after.
----
He's summoned to the king-call-me-Dean's chambers two days after the birthday party, and he's glad of it, because the rest of the harem had been telling them horror stories that...honestly hadn't sounded terribly horrible. Predominately about having to learn how to knit or cook or even brew beer, which Castiel thinks sound like nice, practical uses of their time. Still, Castiel knows he isn't the usual harem occupant, so he simply nods along when they share their woes and waits for his turn to be called. Thankfully, Anna shows no ill will at the fact he's been summoned before her (or any of the other new occupants, oddly enough).
Castiel isn't certain what he should be expecting when he walks in to the king-call-me-Dean's chambers, but the man sitting down in an armchair and looking through an assembly of papers was not on the list. Perhaps red candles, or an orgy already in progress.
"You're Castiel," the king-call-me-Dean says, nodding at him in greeting. "You know, you're only on the manifest as 'Cas'. Want to explain that?"
"Not particularly," Castiel says, and walks towards him.
"And you seem to know King Raphael personally," the king-call-me-Dean (who does not seem particularly kingly, so Castiel really is starting to call him Dean) says. "And I hear he has a younger brother named Castiel."
"I'm here to have sex," Castiel states. "My goal is one hundred orgasms."
Dean stares at him. "What."
"I truly have no ulterior motive," Castiel says, and drags Dean out of his chair. "Trust me or not, I don't care. But I am in your harem, and I expect to be treated accordingly."
"I think you've got this backwards," Dean says, only to stop talking when Castiel yanks the king's shirt off over his head. "Wow, okay, how about we talk about this-"
"No," Castiel says, and kisses him. It takes Dean a moment to respond, and Castiel blames that on his own inexperience - the kiss is sloppy and awkward at best, but after a long moment of stillness, Dean finally takes control of the kiss, and it quickly improves. He takes note of the things that feel good, and the things that feel very good, and from the surprised groan Dean gives him, Castiel decides he has earned the title of 'fast learner'.
Dean pulls away, panting and staring. "You are," he says, and stares at Castiel. Castiel waits for a moment, but when he just keeps looking, he mentally shrugs and drops to his knees. "Whoa, hey, come on Cas-"
"Are you not a consenting adult?" Castiel asks, looking up at the king, genuinely curious. This isn't exactly how he'd expected their first engagement to go, but it's certainly been intriguing. "Would you prefer something else?"
At first Dean can only really make a strange squeaking noise, but he clears his throat. "I'm, uh." He takes a deep breath. "I think you think something is going on here that isn't."
Castiel frowns, and looks at the very obvious bulge in Dean's pants, directly in front of him. Explanations, then. He can manage that. "What I think is going on, is I think I'm offering to suck your cock."
Dean groans, grabbing at the chair behind him. "You're. I just. Are you serious?"
"Completely," Castiel says, and figures the easiest way to get started is to actually get started, considering Dean's body at least seems to have made up its mind. He manages to drop Dean's pants with minimal difficulty, and he feels like he should have some sort of assessing criteria to judge Dean's cock by, but...well, it just looks like erect genitalia to Castiel.
"You're insane," Dean says.
"No, I'm just preemptive," Castiel says, and does his best to suck all coherency out of Dean Winchester's mind.
---
When he returns to the harem, they all seem to think it strange he was gone for so long.
They think it's even stranger when he's summoned back the next day.
The third time, Dean is behind a very big and very new oak desk. "Cas, we really, really need to talk."
"Or we could have sex again," he says, because really, he still has 98 more to go, and there's definite room for improvement after yesterday. Besides, Dean always seems to start out meetings with this sort of attempt at discussion.
Dean clears his throat. "Yeah, about that," he says. "See, the harem was mostly my dad's thing, and now it's kind of more of a craft workshop, because people just keep sending me new harem girls."
Castiel nods, because he'd been wondering about the basket weaving. "So you don't want to have sex with me."
Dean stares at him, looking terribly awkward. "I...would not say that, but it means you shouldn't feel, uh." He sinks down in his chair a little, a hand over his face. "Obligated."
"I'm determined, not obligated," Castiel says. "Are we done talking now?"
Dean throws a hand in the air. "Dude, I don't even know," he says, and puts his head down on the desk. "Screw it, come here."
Castiel can't help but smile a bit. Numbers three and four will soon be his.
---
He has eighty-three orgasms to go until freedom when there's another man in the room when he enters. Dean is behind the big clunky desk again (which is disappointing, he usually doesn't hide behind it anymore), and the man sitting in Dean's usual armchair is tall and has floppy hair and looks vaguely familiar.
Castiel looks from Dean, to the man, and then back. "Just so you know, I'm counting him towards my tally if there's voyeurism," Castiel tells him.
"You see what I'm dealing with?!" Dean shouts, looking at the man with a desperate save me sort of expression. "I am not strong enough for this, Sam."
The tall man, who is Sam, sighs. "Prince Castiel," he says. "We know you're here as a very strange sort of extradited political prisoner, you don't have to try and play the part of harem...person."
Castiel frowns at him. "I don't understand."
"You don't have to try and, uh." Dean waves a hand through the air in a way that Castiel assumes is very illustrative to people who aren't him. "You don't have to try and 'blend in with your surroundings', alright? We know what's up and why you're here."
He nods. "Then you know why I need to get to one hundred orgasms."
"You what?" Sam blurts out, words nearly lost in the laughter.
Castiel sighs, and figures he might as well sit down, so he takes over the couch. "In my kingdom, there is a tradition for gladiators that, after one hundred victories, a gladiator earns his freedom." He shrugs. "As we have no harems, and you have no gladiators, I assume the tradition carries over."
"It's a cultural thing, Sam," Dean says, and for some reason he looks relieved. "See? I'm morally obligated to have sex with him now."
"If that's how you want to see it," Castiel says, because he's learned to humor Dean when it comes to these things. There were, of course, masters who would refuse to put a gladiator in the ring to keep them from approaching anything close to 100 victories, but Dean is probably too nice of a person to do that to him. Particularly when he's aware of why Castiel is here in a harem instead of being the rightful ruler of his kingdom in place of Raphael, that bitch.
"You know, we could just free you," Sam says.
"We could?" Dean asks, and then clears his throat. "I mean, yes, we could, obviously, but...it's a cultural thing, Sammy. You're always saying we can't go stomping all over people's cultural diversity, monarchy or no, so why is this different?"
Sam glares at him. "Because he happens to be the rightful ruler of our neighboring country!"
"Can't he do that after the one hundred orgasms?" Dean asks. "I mean, Raphael's a dick, but-"
"But so are you," Sam says, and sighs, turning to Castiel. "It's your culture, so it’s your decision. You want to stick it out - shut up, Dean - or be freed?"
Castiel considers the question carefully. While he'd like to be freed, he isn't exactly prepared to go face down his older brother and wrest control of the country from him. It's also a true sign of cowardice for a gladiator to run before facing his 100 battles, and Castiel would be shunned for leaving when his sentence hadn't run through. And, of course, sex is actually pretty nice.
He frowns, weighing his options. "I'll continue as I have been," he says.
Dean's smile is so wide that it actually gleams in reflected light.
---
Castiel gives up on living in the harem when he's at around fifty, since he sleeps in Dean's rooms, eats his meals with Dean, helps Dean with his paperwork, and practically lives there anyway. His meager possessions had already made their way into his rooms anyway, so it's simple enough to just stop leaving when Dean leaves.
They talk about things, like families and politics and music and some incomprehensible things that Castiel knows Dean can't explain, where he says things like, "You know I like you, right?" and seems to be waiting for an answer other than, Of course I know that. They play cards and dice and board games, take day trips around the castle, even tour the kingdom together for five days. It's...nice. To be honest, it's the kindest, most pleasant time Castiel has ever lived through.
It all goes well until Castiel is down to having a little under twenty orgasms left, when Dean - still panting, barely pulled out of Castiel, covered in sweat - kisses him and says, "That. That one doesn't count."
Castiel frowns, trying to translate Dean's words into something more sensible, but all he can come up with is, "What?"
"You can't add that to the tally," Dean says, and won't look at him. "I won't let you."
Castiel loathes the way his legs shake after sex, because he can't pull back much further than the end of the mattress. He glares at Dean. "You don't have the right to nullify an orgasm, Dean," he snaps. "Not unless you can magically clean the sheets or turn back time."
And Dean still won't look at him, and. And it hurts, Castiel realizes. He actually feels betrayed again, but it's not the same burning rage he felt with Raphael (that bitch), it's a cold, sharp point that stabs through his chest and out of the front of his throat.
"It still doesn't count," Dean mutters.
And that's how it starts.
---
After spending every night for the past eighty-three days in bed with Dean, Castiel knows every line and edge of his body, knows the curve of his thigh and the strength in his arms and the fact that if he bites down, sharp and teasing, directly beneath his collarbone, Dean will become absolutely unhinged, no matter what he's doing.
And after two long cold horrible nights without sex, even though Dean was one foot away, in the same bed, Castiel is ready to be ruthless.
When Dean walks in to the bedroom and finds himself shoved onto the bed with a wad of (clean) cloth in his mouth, Castiel can tell he knows it.
"I have been nothing but direct about this," Castiel says, straddling him and ignoring the frantic look in his eyes. "And yes, you have been accommodating, but whatever is going on to make you a fool when it comes to this relationship, it needs to stop."
Dean doesn't even try to move, though, which makes him frown. Castiel had expected a vain struggle, most likely turning into a pleasant evening full of frottage, but instead Dean is just laying under him, staring. It's unsettling enough that, after a moment, Castiel actually takes the gag out.
"Is it really so bad to just want to sleep?" Dean asks, breathless.
"This hasn't been sleep, it's been you staring awkwardly at the opposite wall and flinching whenever I touch you," Castiel says, and frowns. "Have I done something to make you afraid of me?"
"No," Dean says, and shakes his head, a hand cupping Castiel's cheek. "No, Cas, you're alright. I just." He clears his throat. "You're coming up on one hundred, is all."
Castiel smiles. "I know."
"And I'll." He takes a deep breath. "I'll miss this, okay?"
Castiel frowns. "You won't sleep with me when I'm free?"
"What?" Dean gapes at him. "Of course I would! I just...would you want to?"
"I thought it was fairly obvious I enjoy sex with you," Castiel says.
"I really enjoy the sex," Dean says. "And you know I, you know, like you, right?"
"I know that," Castiel says.
Dean stares at him. "Do you like me too?"
"Of course," Castiel says, and Dean beams at him. "There were plenty of other people in the castle to choose. I very much prefer you."
The smile falters a bit, but it's still there. "Well. That's...good."
"And we can have sex again now, yes?" Castiel asks.
"You bet we can," Dean says, and Castiel decides he very much likes that particular smile.
---
Castiel usually wakes up after Dean, but he usually doesn't wake up to Dean holding flowers. He never has, in fact. Until now, at least. "Hello, Dean," he says.
"So I got you flowers," Dean says, practically shoving them in his hands.
Castiel looks at the flowers, hoping they'll give him some clue as to this bizarre behavior, but all they do is exist in an aesthetically pleasing manner, which gets him nowhere. "Thank you?"
"You're welcome," he says. "And I was thinking I could take the day off and we could maybe go do something if you wanted."
Castiel frowns. "You have a meeting with the Westerian ambassador at eleven, you can't miss that."
"I could for you," Dean says, his smile oddly hopeful.
"Why would I ask you to miss an important meeting with an ambassador?" Castiel asks. "You need to discuss the importation of Schon trees. Which I am for, regardless of what color they may turn the soil." Dean's smile is waning, though, and Castiel never likes that, so he offers, "But I would enjoy having lunch together."
"We can do that," Dean says, and the smile is back, as if they don't regularly eat lunch together anyway. "Okay. We can have lunch. Do you want anything in particular? I know you like that soup thing, the one with rice. Right. We'll have that."
"Thank you," Castiel says, and frowns. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Of course I am, I'll see you at lunch," Dean says, and leaves.
And that's only the start of it. Dean becomes a terrifyingly accommodating creature of gifts and gawking and Castiel has no idea what's going on, or how to stop it. He does not want flowers. He does not want a horse. He does not want to take a quick trip to his favorite part of the large lake (called, of course, Winchester Lake) and be told that maybe, if he was interested, Dean could see about giving the land to Castiel, since Dean's not using it or anything.
"I think your brother is sick," Castiel tells Sam.
"So do I," Sam says, shaking his head. "How much longer until you hit 100?"
Castiel is at 93, but considering the rate at which they've been going - on again, off again, three orgasms one day followed by Dean's absolute refusal to even touch himself in bed and focusing solely on Castiel - he really has no idea, so he says, "Most likely a week."
Sam sighs. "Good luck surviving him," he says. "And if he really starts bugging you with the present thing, come and tell me. He's not sick, he's just stupid."
That, Castiel can certainly agree with.
---
"What if I asked you to not leave?" Dean asks when Castiel is up to 98 orgasms.
Castiel lets himself sink into the pillows. It's difficult to keep his eyes open, particularly when Dean seems so determined to make him comfortable. "Then I would answer you," he says. Dean wraps himself around Castiel, and he hums, sated. "That's how questions usually go."
"Would you stay if I asked?"
"No," Castiel says. "I have things I must do, no matter how much I enjoy your company."
Dean holds him tightly, and says, "Please don't leave."
"I can always come back, if Raphael doesn't kill me," Castiel says, and falls asleep.
---
When the first day of his freedom dawns, Castiel can't get out of their - Dean's, he means - bed, because he's still tied to the headboard, and there's nobody there to cut him loose. At least, not for a long while, and by then he's already fallen asleep again, right along with his arm.
"I am never doing that again," Castiel mutters to himself, because the next time he wakes up he finds himself mysteriously untied and in a very empty set of rooms. His bags are still packed, though, and after a good bit of washing and another glance around reveals that Dean isn't here and hasn't been here for a good long while, he picks them up and heads out.
The horse Dean gave him is already ready and waiting, and it's a long, quiet-looking road back to his kingdom. He has enough money to get along safely, and enough knowledge of self-defense to hopefully not lose his money, so he sets himself on the path and tries very hard to not look back.
It's a long trip, and Castiel tries very hard to put his mind on other things, but it always trails back to the fact Dean didn't even say goodbye, how Sam wasn't anywhere to be seen, how not a single soul in the harem seemed to notice one of their own was leaving. He feels like it should hurt more than it does, but all he's left with is a slow ache that follows him along like a weary dog. It practically keels over when his own castle - tall, intimidating, regal, pretentious - comes into view, along with a small retinue making its way into the courtyard.
He has to be here, because he has to take control back from Raphael (that bitch), but more than anything he finds himself wanting to turn around and head back to Winchester and take Dean up on the offer for that ridiculous plot of land. He could plant orchards and orchards of Schon trees just to spite the castle's view with bright orange dirt, could finally get finger-painting lessons from Anna, could mock Dean endlessly with Sam, and still wake up with Dean's side of the bed still warm every morning.
Castiel takes a deep breath, dismounts, and heads into the courtyard.
The first thing to assault his ears is the sound of his brother's voice, shouting out, "He actually believed that?" and an echoing crack of laughter that reverberates around the columns.
Castiel doesn't bother wasting time, though - he never really has. It's easy to spot his brother, standing in the courtyard with two of the members of the small retinue. They look vaguely familiar, but Castiel ignores that in favor of pulling out his dagger and trying to remember what he'd learned all that time ago in prison.
Really, it's astonishingly easy to throw a knife into someone's back.
"Holy shit!" the shorter of the two men near Raphael says as the ex-king falls forward and dies.
Castiel sighs and walks towards them, and hopes nobody can tell how relieved he is to hear the voice. Or to see that Raphael really is dead. "Hello, Dean," he says, and pulls his dagger out of Raphael's cooling body. "You're looking well."
"Holy shit, Cas, you just threw a knife into your brother from like sixty feet away," Dean says.
"Hi, Castiel," Sam says, looking awkward, but still more than happy to see him. "We were actually hoping to talk to you, mostly about Dean being your queen."
"I'm sure you've noticed that he's very male," Castiel says, and pulls the crown off his brother's head. "How was your trip? Pleasant, I hope?"
"Good enough, but we're going to get some roadwork done where it gets bumpy near the border," Sam says.
"Where did you learn to do that?!" Dean asks.
"Prison," Castiel says. "I'll do the same, particularly on that bridge a few miles out. You're welcome to stay for however long you'd like, of course."
"Which brings me back to the Dean being your queen thing," Sam says.
"Are we seriously ignoring the corpse right there?" Dean asks.
"And this is why I'm going to take over Winchester and he'll be your queen so everyone can live happily ever after," Sam says dryly. "He's not so big into politics, but he's really into you, so it probably works out for the best."
"You don't have to give up your crown for me," Castiel says, frowning.
Dean looks down at Raphael's still-bleeding body, and then looks at Castiel for a long moment, takes a deep breath, and shrugs. "I know, but it fits Sam's giant floppy head better anyway. And if you can't come to me, I figure I might as well come to you."
"I was going to visit," Castiel says.
"Yeah, I like having you around too much for that to be enough," Dean says, and doesn't seem to think anything remarkable is going on in the least when he holds Castiel's hand. "Now, I've got some ideas for number 101. That's a hell of a number, Cas, we'd better make it one to remember."
"Oh, you'll definitely be remembered," Sam says.
As Dean starts pulling him towards the castle doors, smiling at him, Castiel decides that he's absolutely right.