SPN fic: This Is The Very Ecstasy 2/5 (Dean/Cas, NC-17, bdsm AU)

[the_diggler]

Doubt thou the stars are fire. Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar. But never doubt my love.
-- Hamlet, Act II, Scene ii

~

For almost the entire week that follows, Castiel can’t take anything more than Dean’s tongue. And even then Dean has to be careful. Cas usually likes it when Dean teases him with his tongue-stud, catching it on his rim and tugging on it as he mouths at Cas’ hole – but even that is too much for Castiel to take.

On the upside, Dean doesn’t have to worry about not being able to get it up for him. But Dean knows the reprieve will only last so long. By the time the weekend comes around again, they’re back at square one, and he’s all out of ideas.

“I have a suggestion,” Castiel broaches quietly, and Dean’s pretty sure they’re about to have a talk about little green pills or something – but what comes out of Castiel’s mouth instead is completely unexpected.

“Why don’t we try going back to The Pit?”

“Do what now?” Dean goggles.

“I’m not saying we have to… do anything there. But maybe we can just… watch?” Castiel smiles nervously. “Who knows? We might pick up some inspiration,” he shrugs.

“I dunno, Cas,” Dean shakes his head, doubtful of the idea. He hasn’t felt the need to return to The Pit in a long time. He can’t deny that he’s had some good times there, especially during the later years, but a lot of his early years there are tied up in the memory of how he ended up there in the first place. He was in a dark place then, struggling to regain some sense of control after Alastair, and it was a long time before he found himself going to the place just for the enjoyment of it.

“Dean, the last time we were there was very special to me. To us,” Castiel says, and Dean can’t help but smile fondly at the memory. Last year was a huge turning point in his relationship with Cas. A huge turning point in his life. Letting Cas take him in front of everyone – claim him… Dean doesn’t know how he even existed before then. He never knew that he wanted to be owned just as much as he wanted to own. Though by that stage, the two things had become the same.

But then again, Castiel has a way of making him want things he never realized he wanted.

“What have we got to lose?” Cas adds softly, and Dean barks a laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face to hide his reaction. It’s only meant to be a harmless question, but it hits too close to the mark for Dean’s liking.

“Dean?” Cas murmurs, sensing something’s wrong. “We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable with the idea, it was just a suggestion.”

“No, I know, angel,” Dean croons, crumbling a little at the concern in Castiel’s voice. The last thing he wants is to worry Cas as well. Dean sighs, pulling him close and pressing a kiss into his hair. “We can give it a try if you want,” he says, mustering a smile.

~

The Pit, to Dean’s eyes, is as unchanging as ever. It’s still dark, and shadowy, walking the fine edge between a sense of mystery and the thrill of danger – air filled with the screams of electric guitars, singers that sound like they’re possessed by demons, and the cries of the Chief’s latest volunteer coming from the next room. But through Castiel’s eyes, it’s almost like seeing it anew, and Dean learns things about the place he never noticed before.

He already knows a few things, either through word of mouth, or because it’s commonly known information. For instance, he knows that the bouncer at the main door with the dogs tattooed on his arms calls himself Cerberus, like the multi-headed hellhound that guards the gates of the Underworld. Just like the bartender calls himself Charon, after the ferryman that carries souls to Hades. And according to rumor, the bouncer downstairs who everyone calls ‘T’ is really named Tartarus. But that’s just rumor.

Basically, the whole theme of the place seems to be inspired by different renditions of Hell. The staff all seem to have names from the Greek version of the Underworld, and Dean knows enough to recognize that the sign over the door to the main bar comes from Dante’s Inferno. ‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,’ it says, just like the sign over the gates of Dante’s version of Hell.

Dean just didn’t know how much more of Dante’s Hell actually made it into the place, until Castiel shows him. As soon as they get to the bar, Castiel points out the word painted on the dark wood near the ceiling. ‘Acheron’ it says, barely visible in the dim light, which is probably why Dean’s never noticed it before. That, or the fact that he’s usually looking around the room instead of at it, looking for a potential partner for the night. Or partners.

Not anymore though. Now his attention is entirely on Castiel, as Cas explains what the word means.

“Acheron is the name of one of the five rivers of Hell,” Cas says. “Appropriately, it’s the river Charon ferries the dead across in order to enter Hades,” he smirks, raising his glass to the bartender. Charon grins and salutes in return.

“Huh,” Dean replies, impressed with Castiel's knowledge. As he guides Castiel towards a darkened booth in the back corner, he places a hand on the small of Castiel's back, the simple contact a clear sign of possession as he takes Castiel through the room and its appraising eyes. It’s the perfect location. They’re mostly concealed by the dim light, but they can still see the rest of the room around them. In their quiet corner, they can even hear soft moans coming from the booths nearby. Not that Dean is really paying attention – it’s just the ambience, really. And as soon as he’s done with his whisky, he’s nuzzling into Cas’ neck, sliding his hand under Cas’ shirt to play with the nipple ring there, intent on producing some of their own sounds.

“Dean,” Castiel gasps a few minutes later. “We’re being watched.”

“Yeah, well, we knew that was going to happen when we came here, Cas,” he replies, latching his lips onto Castiel’s throat again.

“No, but, Dean, he’s really watching,” Castiel protests.

“Of course he is, Cas. You’re really beautiful,” Dean smirks.

“Dean!” Castiel laughs breathlessly, but Dean can still hear the unease in Cas’ voice. He pulls away, searching Castiel’s face.

“What’s the matter, angel-face? You’ve never been shy in public before,” he frowns in concern.

“There’s a difference between putting on a show for you, and putting on a show for some random creeper,” Cas grumbles.

“Oh,” Dean blinks stupidly, warmed by the distinction and unable to stop a little grin from twitching at the corner at his mouth, even as his arms tighten protectively around his angel. It’s on the tip of his tongue to suggest that Castiel might be more comfortable under the table, on his knees between Dean’s legs… but Dean’s not feeling up to that, just yet. “Why don’t we get another drink and see what the Chief is up to? It’s darker in there,” he suggests instead. Castiel nods and they head for the bar again.

Carrying their drinks to the exit on the other side of the room, they follow the winding corridor past the bathrooms towards the curtained entrance of the next room, the screams of the Chief’s current victim getting louder and louder as they approach. It takes a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the darkness as they enter the room, but they soon see that it’s packed – nearly every chair, bench, and ottoman taken by the Chief’s audience. And on-stage, the Chief himself, flogging the bared ass of a large man, who is strapped onto a padded horse and completely immobilized, crying out as the Chief works his flesh. Dean finds an empty seat along the back wall, just big enough for one, and sits down, pulling Castiel into his lap.

“There, see?” Castiel leans down to whisper in his ear. “Above the stage, the word ‘Styx.’”

Dean looks up above the stage, and sure enough, he sees the paint there in the dark wood. “You mean, like the band?” he murmurs.

“Like the goddess,” Castiel answers. “The river Styx is the most widely known out of all the rivers. It forms the boundary between Earth and the Underworld.”

“Hmm,” Dean nods, taking in the new information. "Kind of fitting," he replies, thinking of the rooms below.

Castiel doesn’t say anything more after that, quickly becoming absorbed by the show. As the cries of the Chief’s volunteer begin to reach a fevered-pitch, Cas begins to squirm in Dean’s lap, and Dean can feel the pace of Cas’ breath quickening with arousal against his chest. Slowly Dean slides his hand up the inside of Cas’ thigh, and finds Castiel’s dick hard and straining between his legs.

“Oh,” Castiel sighs as Dean cups his hand around it, palming it through Cas’ leather-clad crotch. Castiel squirms even more at the stimulation, vainly trying to hold back his moans as Dean rolls and massages his flesh through the material of his pants – until Castiel very suddenly stops, freezing in Dean’s arms.

“What is it, angel?” Dean whispers, immediately concerned.

“You’re not hard,” Cas whispers back reluctantly.

Dean blinks in surprise. It’s true. And having Cas squirm around in his lap like that, in a room full of people secretly touching each other in the dark, while there’s real-live flogging happening right in front of them, is exactly the kind of thing that should have Dean hard in a heartbeat.

“It’s okay, angel. Just enjoy the show,” he murmurs, rubbing Castiel’s crotch again.

“No,” Castiel hisses firmly, pulling Dean’s hand away. “That’s not what we came here for,” he says, standing up off Dean’s lap.

Dean sighs, taking Castiel’s hand as he stands up and letting himself be led back out of the room. They walk in silence through the winding corridor, this time taking the turn down the stairs, descending to the level below. When they reach the next landing, Castiel stops, grinning as he looks up at the doorways on their left and right.

“What is it?” Dean looks up, and sees the faded words painted above each doorway.

“Cocytus,” Castiel says, pointing at the word above the left doorway. “The river of wailing,” he smirks, and Dean barks a laugh. There’s a thick curtain hanging over the doorway, but it does nothing to filter out the groans and cries coming from the room.

Then Castiel points towards the doorway on the right, leading to another small coatroom and bar, and beyond that, several small rooms for private use. “Lethe,” Castiel reads. “The river of oblivion,” he explains, turning to Dean. “The word ‘Lethe’ literally means ‘oblivion’, ‘forgetfulness’, or ‘concealment’,” he says.

“Also fitting,” Deans smirks. “So what’ll it be angel-face?”

“Well,” Castiel frowns, considering. “I didn’t get to see much of the place the last time I was here,” he says, glancing back to the left again.

“Gotcha,” Dean grins, leading him through the heavily curtained doorway.

Castiel audibly gasps when he sees the room, though it’s a wonder Dean can hear it over all the moaning and grunting, skin slapping on skin, leather striking flesh. It’s a sight to see – the vast space filled with bodies in various stages of undress, in various positions – hanging from walls, suspended in slings, draped over the many beds or kneeling on thick glass tables, being watched from all angles – the mirrors lining the ceilings making the room seem twice as large, and twice as full of writhing flesh.

Dean sees an empty space on one of the large couches and heads for it, pulling Castiel along behind him. But when he goes to sit down, Castiel stops him, sitting down first and motioning for Dean to sit in between the V of his legs. Dean shrugs and sits down, laying back along Castiel’s chest and leaning his head against Cas’ shoulder, so Castiel can still see the room.

Directly in their view, a naked man hangs chained by his wrists from a metal frame, another man kneeling in front of him and mouthing his balls while yet another licks into him from behind, his mistress watching on and testing his nipples with a small electric prod. Pressed as he is against Castiel’s chest, Dean can feel how Cas’ breath hitches every time the man cries out, and pretty soon he begins to feel Castiel’s erection nudging insistently into his back. Dean grins, reaching behind to unzip Castiel’s fly, pulling his cock out.

“Dean,” Cas hisses at the stimulation, breath hot and harsh against the side of his neck.

“You like that, Cas?” Dean murmurs, stroking Castiel slowly. Cas groans, right against the shell of his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

“Last time we were here, I claimed you, just like that,” Cas murmurs into his ear. “Whipped you in front of everyone downstairs, then made love to you, so they would know you belonged to me,” Castiel growls, grabbing Dean’s jaw as he says it and turning Dean’s face to meet his lips in a brutally possessive kiss.

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean gasps breathlessly when finally Castiel pulls away. “Bet you want that now, don’tcha? Want me to chain you up, make sure everyone knows you’re mine?”

“Dean, yes,” Castiel sighs, nuzzling along his jaw.

“Fuck, Cas, I want that so bad,” Dean moans. But when Castiel’s hand wanders down to his crotch, they both realize it isn’t going to happen.

Dean huffs miserably, twisting around to curl up in Castiel’s arms, giving up on the rest of the room.

“It’s alright, Dean,” Castiel murmurs soothingly. “We can still go downstairs, find a rack to strap me to. I still want that,” he says, the ‘at least’ left hanging in the air between them. Dean huffs petulantly again.

“Please, Dean. I’d like to move somewhere else anyway,” Castiel says quietly. “Our young creeper friend has found us again.”

“Oh, now he’s young?” Dean snorts, raising his head and looking around. When Cas said ‘creeper’ Dean had pictured some older dude with a lecherous leer. But sure enough, on the other side of the room, sitting next to two blonde women, is a pale young man, staring intently at them – young enough that his build is still slender underneath his dark clothes, but not too young for the light beard on his cheeks. He’s… not unattractive. And there’s something in the way he’s watching them that’s not so much creepy as it is... hopeful.

“Come on,” Castiel urges him off the couch, clearly not interested in whatever it is the young man so obviously wants to approach them for. And that’s just fine with Dean. He lets himself be led out of the room and back towards the stairs.

“I suspect the basement will be named ‘Phlegethon’ after the last remaining river of the Hell – the river of fire that leads to the depths of Tartarus,” Cas explains as they descend the stairs.

“How do you know all this stuff, Cas?” Dean asks curiously.

“Religious family, remember?” Cas replies wryly.

“Hmm, yeah, sorry,” Dean replies, squeezing his hand. “But I wonder why they used the names of the rivers instead of the nine circles of Hell? Aren’t those more well-known?”

“Perhaps the owner has an affinity for water?” Castiel suggests. “Or maybe it’s just that there’s only five different areas here,” he adds.

“You’re so smart,” Dean grins. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Dean bangs on the door there three times. As they wait, Dean sees the word ‘Phlegethon’ above the doorway in faded paint, and huffs a laugh, pointing it out to Castiel. He’s amazed he never noticed all these little details before, and he’s been coming to the place for years.

They don’t have to wait long before the grill on the door slides open, and Dean sees a pair of familiar eyes, assessing him through the grate. “Hey, T,” Dean grins.

“Dean. Didn’t think you’d be back,” T replies.

“Yeah well, that time of the year I guess,” Dean shrugs. The grill slides shut again, and Dean hears the familiar sound of the door being unlocked from the inside, before it swings open. When T sees Castiel come in after Dean, his eyes widen minutely in recognition, and Dean preens a little with pride. Cas must’ve made quite an impression for the bouncer to remember him after just one visit, a whole year ago.

Then again, up until that night with Castiel, Dean had been notoriously dom-only around here, and notoriously unattached.

And it wasn’t every day that someone managed to silence Meg with a single kiss.

“Meg will be disappointed she missed you,” T smirks, glancing at Cas, and confirming Dean’s suspicions.

“She’s not here tonight?” Dean asks.

“Nah,” T answers. Dean breathes an internal sigh of relief.

“Okay, thanks, T,” he says, leading Castiel down the hall.

Most of the doorways are roped off for privacy tonight, the sounds of whips and cries coming through the curtains signalling masters already at work. But there’s an open session at the end of the hall, so Dean heads in that direction. He leads Castiel through the curtain as discreetly as possible, so as not to interrupt whatever might be in progress, but it seems they’ve showed up in between sessions, by the way the guests are milling around.

Dean looks around in curiosity, wondering which master’s room they’ve stumbled into. But as he looks around the room he starts to realize how out of the action he’s been. He used to know nearly every face downstairs, but now he barely recognizes anyone.

“Excuse me, Castiel?” comes a soft-spoken voice, and then very suddenly Dean does see a familiar face – in the form of their young stalker.

“Yes…?” Castiel replies, frowning.

“My name is Inias,” the young man says. “I saw the two of you here last year.”

“Inias, yes,” Castiel echoes, face scrunched up in thought, and Dean vaguely remembers Meg mentioning the name as they were leaving last year.

“I was very… impressed by you last year, and I was hoping, if you wanted, that you might let me… spend some time with you?” Inias stammers, a slight flush creeping across his cheeks as he speaks, and Dean can tell the guy doesn’t do this very often.

“I’m sorry, but Dean and I are exclusive,” Castiel replies, not unkindly, letting the guy down as gently as possible.

Dean finds himself squeezing Castiel’s hand at the response, his chest swelling a little at the words. He already knows where they stand, but it’s nice to hear it said once in a while.

“Please!” Inias blurts. “Just twenty minutes? Right here if you want!” he pleads.

Dean’s eyes widen at the earnest look on the guy’s face. They must’ve really made an impression last year for the guy to want it so bad.

And… it’s not like anything else they’ve tried tonight has worked so far.

“Maybe we should give him a chance,” Dean leans over to whisper in Castiel’s ear. “He seems like a sweet kid, and he really seems to want you,” Dean shrugs. “I don’t mind if you just want to give him a little spanking. We’ve tried everything else.”

“Dean, I… I don’t think I can,” Castiel whispers, eyes wide with trepidation.

“I know you can, Cas,” Dean encourages him. “You know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to… But you’re always so good with me. I know you could be good for him too,” he murmurs.

And for some reason, that’s when it happens. For some reason, the idea of Cas domming someone else, makes Dean twitch in his pants.

“Fuck!” Dean gasps in surprise, looking down at his crotch. “Um, I think I like this idea,” he says, stunned.

“Seriously?” Cas gapes in disbelief.

Dean nods, dumbfounded.

Castiel snaps his mouth shut, jaw set with resolve as he turns to Inias. “Fifteen minutes,” he tells him, and Inias cracks a smile that so completely transforms his face, Dean can’t help but grin as well.

Dean immediately goes to ask T which master he has to sort out the rack-time with, but when T hears what they want to do he goes to arrange it for them himself, leaving Dean preening about the impact of Cas’ impression again. In less than a minute, T comes back with the thumbs up.

Castiel inhales a deep, shaky breath at that, and Dean squeezes his hand, giving him an encouraging smile. “You can do this,” he murmurs, and Castiel smiles at him gratefully, stealing one last fortifying kiss from his lips, before letting go.

Turning to Inias, Dean hears Castiel ask, “What’s your safeword?”

“Metatron,” Inias replies, and Castiel’s eyebrows raise momentarily in surprise. Well, even Dean has to admit, using the name of a Transformer is a pretty unusual choice, but maybe it’s one of those words that actually have a “safe” association. Like a childhood toy or something. Most of the time people choose words that they never want to think of in the middle of a scene. Or during sex, if that’s involved.

“Alright,” Castiel says, and Dean hears the change of tone in his voice, already more authoritative with that one word. “You will only speak when spoken to, and when you do, you will only use the words ‘Yes’, ‘No’, or ‘Please’ if you want to beg,” Castiel says, and Dean grins at the familiar spiel. He can’t believe it’s been nearly two years since he last used it – nearly two years since the first time he used it on Castiel.

“…And you will refer to me as ‘Sir’ at all times,” Castiel adds, and Dean raises an eyebrow at the new stipulation. He never used to bother with titles like ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’. It reminded him too much of his time before, with Alastair. And using titles or names implied some kind of relationship, inherent in the dynamic. So he just avoided it altogether, kept the sex as anonymous and unattached as possible, so it was clear to everyone involved that they were just there for a good time.

Yet somehow Cas broke through that barrier. He was the first person in a long time that made Dean want to know his name. And the first person that Dean wanted to keep around for more than a night. He hasn’t regretted anything since.

But now, the whole ‘Sir’ thing, coming from Castiel… Dean has to admit, it’s fucking hot.

“Do you understand what I’ve said?” Castiel asks Inias, the low growl in his voice demanding respect.

“…Yes, sir,” Inias all but whimpers, and Dean has to swallow down a similar sound, his cock twitching to attention in his pants. Yeah, he definitely likes this.

“Very good,” Castiel smiles. “Now please go lie on the rack, face down. Undo your pants,” he orders.

“Yes, sir!” Inias replies excitedly, and his fingers tremble so much he can barely get his belt undone, rushing to obey Castiel’s commands.

When Inias finally lies waiting on the rack, Castiel just watches him for a long moment, letting the anticipation build as he considers his approach, and testing Inias’ patience with it. By the time Castiel steps forward, the room has fallen so silent, the mere sound of his bootfall is enough to make Inias’ whole body shudder.

“Very good,” Cas murmurs when he reaches Inias’ side. Then taking Inias’ wrist, Cas guides Inias’ arm up towards the leather cuff on the metal frame of the rack. “Dean,” Castiel calls as he fastens Inias’ wrist in the strap, and Dean rushes forward to help, strapping Inias’ other arm to the frame. “Spread,” Castiel murmurs softly as he goes to cuff Inias’ ankles as well, and then “Good,” when Inias obeys, stroking a hand down his thigh.

When Inias is securely strapped in, Castiel then reaches around Inias’ waist, pulling his pants down to his knees, and then his boxer-briefs, exposing his rear-end to the room. Dean is impressed with the carefulness Castiel does it, so gentle that Inias’ breath hitches at every contact, as clinical as it may be at the moment. But then, once Inias is exposed, Castiel lets his hand hover over Inias’ skin, just over the small of his back – not touching, but still close enough for Inias to feel the heat of Castiel’s palm – a tease that sends Inias’ breath to a frenzied pace.

“Shhh,” Castiel soothes, slowly following the path of Inias’ skin – over the curve of his rear, down his trembling thighs – and Cas hasn’t even really touched Inias yet, but the young man is already fighting to swallow down his moans. It’s ridiculously hot, the power Castiel has, and Dean finds his own breath speeding up as well, just from watching.

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs again, calling his attention and motioning for him to turn the bed.

Dean nods, biting down the urge to reply ‘yes, Cas!’ as he reaches for the handle that will rotate the frame into an upright position.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel murmurs, giving him a soft smile, and Dean nods again, getting the message and stepping back into the shadows to watch with the rest of the onlookers.

Castiel then turns to the small wheeled-table next to the rack, perusing the available tools. Dean can see a flogger hanging over the side of the table, and while it’s the most commonly used tool, Castiel picks up a flat rubber paddle instead. Dean approves of the choice. It’s a simple tool, but the flexibility of the rubber offers a variety of use. Wooden paddles are mainly designed to bruise, but rubber ones can do anything from tease to punish.

As expected, Castiel starts easy, using the paddle to spank Inias lightly, almost playfully, testing Inias’ response. But by the time it happens, Inias is so tense with anticipation, his entire body jumps at the tease, and he’s unable to stop a sob from escaping his throat.

“Do you like that?” Castiel husks, barely loud enough for Dean to hear.

“Yes, sir,” Inias mumbles, cheeks flushed.

“Then you’re allowed to say, ‘Thank you, sir,’” Castiel instructs.

“Thank you, sir,” Inias mumbles, and Dean erection throbs. He never taught Cas to say that, but it’s so insanely hot, he doesn’t know why he didn’t. He almost wants to order Inias to speak up, but Cas is in charge now, and Dean understands that Castiel is easing into it, for both their sakes.

“Very good,” Castiel croons, soothing a hand over Inias’ hair. “Now just relax, and enjoy it.”

“Yes, sir,” Inias whimpers again, his body visibly loosening at Castiel’s touch.

Castiel’s next strike across Inias’ ass is harder, and while Inias still jumps and gasps in response, he recovers more quickly, relaxing into it. “That’s it. Good,” Castiel says.

“Thank you, sir!” Inias moans, and Dean has to readjust his pants. The guy responds so obediently, and so good for Cas, it isn’t long before Cas’ strikes start coming faster, and increasingly harder in strength. Beautiful cherry-red swells start to bloom across the pale skin of Inias’ buttocks and thighs, and Dean’s mouth begins to water at the sight of it.

Inias’ moans soon become indiscriminate, exhaled with every breath regardless of the rhythm of Castiel’s strikes. And Cas keeps up a steady stream of encouragement as he whips the paddle across Inias’ flesh, murmuring as soft and gentle as his strikes are sharp and severe. Every now and then Cas will pause briefly to murmur praise in Inias’ ear or stroke his hair, letting Inias catch his breath, but also to check Inias closely, judging how much further he can be pushed.

Seeing the way Cas is with Inias, Dean doesn’t know why he’s not feeling any jealousy, or even envy about it. When they were here last year, the thought of someone merely looking at Cas funny made him feel a little sick inside. But now… Dean can hardly stand still, his dick becoming so hard as he watches the scene in front of him, it’s nearly painful.

It seems Inias can barely contain himself either, wriggling and thrusting his hips in the air as he takes his strikes, seeking friction against the padding of the bed with thank you’s that begin to sound more like delirious rambling than actual responses. And then, not even ten minutes into it, Inias’ entire body seizes up, and he comes, crying out one last “Thank you, sir!” with a long, drawn-out wail.

Dean just blinks, stunned, when it happens. But Castiel catches on quickly, ceasing his paddling immediately and pressing up along Inias’ side, stroking Inias’ back and murmuring softly in his ear, easing him through it.

Dean finds himself breathless when it’s done, awed at the response Castiel has evoked, and in only ten minutes. He has an inkling now of the kind of impression Cas must’ve made last year, wielding such power and showing such care and devotion at the same time – such a mesmerizing combination.

And it all belongs to Dean.

By the time Dean snaps out of it, Castiel has already reset the bed to lie horizontally, and unstrapped Inias from the frame so that he’s now lying gingerly on his side, recovering his breath. Dean grabs a towel and rushes over, handing it to Inias so he can wipe himself down.

“Cas,” Dean practically whines into Castiel’s neck, pressing up against him and nudging his erection into Cas’ thigh. Castiel hisses a shaky breath when he feels it.

“Inias, do you have friends here who can take care of you?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” Inias replies breathlessly, nodding. “My friends Hester and Rachel are here,” he says, looking over at the two blonde women they saw with him upstairs.

“In that case, I’m very sorry, but I must go,” Castiel says apologetically.

“I understand,” Inias smiles at them, before fumbling around for the pocket of his pants and pulling out his wallet. “If you ever… want me for anything, please don’t hesitate to call me,” he says, handing them his card.

“I will send you my number as soon as I can, just in case you need to contact me as well," Castiel replies, ever considerate, trying to provide as much care as he can.

“Thank you, so much. For everything,” Inias says, genuinely grateful.

“Well, I have a feeling I should be the one thanking you,” Castiel replies, smiling as he catches Dean’s eye. Dean’s trying his best not to hop on his foot like a child in need of a bathroom, and luckily Cas senses his urgency, quickly finishing up their goodbyes and letting Dean drag him away.

They scramble back up the stairs in a mad rush, unable to stop themselves from pressing up against each other every now and then on the way, rubbing up against each other and revelling in the feel of how hard Dean is. By the time they make it to the private rooms they’re both flushed and panting hard – but to Dean’s dismay, they discover all the rooms are already in use.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean curses. It’s just his fucking luck.

“Dean,” Castiel groans, practically panting into his ear by that stage. “The other room,” he says, and Dean’s eyes widen.

“In front of everyone? You sure?” Dean asks, but Cas is already nodding, pulling him across the hall.

“Want you. Now,” Cas growls, and Dean can barely resist the urge to say ‘yes, sir!’ again.

“Fuck yeah, Cas,” Dean groans, dragging Cas into the room by the hand. “I’ll bet you do,” he growls, scanning the room for a clear surface amongst all the bodies. “Want me to take you in front of everyone, don’t you,” he rumbles, finding an empty seat on one of the leather couches and making a beeline for it. “Want me to claim you, so everyone knows you’re mine!” he snarls, throwing Cas down on the seat.

Castiel hits the leather with a dull thud, practically trembling with need by then, and whimpering, “Yes! Yes!”

“Shit, Cas, I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” Dean growls, practically ripping off Castiel’s pants. “You’re gonna feel it for days,” he promises.

“Dean! Yes!” Castiel moans, scrabbling at the rest of his clothes as Dean throws his own shirt to the floor, pushing down his pants. And when Dean’s erection bobs free, it bounces thickly off his stomach, precome smearing everywhere, he's so ready.

Thank God Cas is already prepped, lubed up and stretched by the plug he’s been wearing this whole time. All Cas has to do is slide it out of himself, hook his arms under his thighs and hold himself open, before Dean is climbing onto the couch on top of him, and pushing in.

Dean doesn’t mess around, plowing so deep on that first thrust, he hits home right off the bat. And all that tight heat, enveloping him so suddenly and so perfectly, after so long… It’s a wonder he even hears Castiel’s scream over his own groan of relief.

Or maybe Cas just screams that loud.

Not like they have any chance of holding back. It’s been too long, and they’ve both wanted it so much. Dean goes for it, grabbing onto the back of the couch so he can pull himself even deeper, harder, with nearly brutal force as he practically bends Cas in half beneath him, screaming and cursing at the top of their lungs.

“Do you like that?” Dean gasps, halfway between breathless and shouting. “Is that what you wanted?”

“Yes! Yes!” Castiel screams back, whimpering at the force of it.

“Say ‘Thank you, sir!’” Dean yells.

Castiel sobs, gasping down air as Dean relentlessly pounds into him, before he finally manages to find enough breath. “Thank you, sir!” he shouts.

“Goddamn, Cas!” Dean whines at that, knees nearly buckling underneath him, before his whole body suddenly locks up, and his orgasm shoots out of him, one more glorious howl belatedly ripped from his lungs as it takes him over.

“Dean!” Castiel yells, clutching onto him as his own body begins to buck and seize, thick spurts of come spraying hot and perfect across their stomachs.

They’re both still gasping for air, trying to regain their breath and their sanity, when they hear it

Applause.

Dean lifts his head weakly to look around, having virtually forgotten where they are, and that they have a room full of people as an audience. And they’re all applauding, expressions of amusement and impressed smiles on their faces.

He feels more than hears Castiel laughing beneath him then, and when he looks down, Castiel is grinning so wide Dean can’t help but bark a laugh as well. He pumps a triumphant fist in the air for the benefit of their audience, before Castiel yanks him down by the neck, stealing the breath from his lips all over again.

~ tbc