Brave Boy (Dean/Cas NC-17)
Summary: Castiel uses ropes, a belt, and a game of trials and rewards to show Dean that he's stronger than he thinks.
Contains: explicit sex, fairly intense pain play, bondage, trust!kink, praise!kink
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There was a little hook in the ceiling above the bed in the hotel room. It was stainless steel, screwed through the plaster and into the beam. It looked like it might have once held a light fixture, but now it was bare.
Castiel stared at it while Dean unpacked.
"You getting ideas?" Dean asked, following Castiel's gaze.
"Are you going back to the car before bedtime?" said Castiel. He was still looking at the hook.
"Yeah. There's one more bag in the back seat."
Castiel's eyes dropped from the ceiling to where Dean was kneeling and fishing through his duffel. "Get the rope while you're there."
Dean tried to hide his excitement, but his face lit up anyway. "You got it," he said. He disappeared back out into the chilly darkness for several minutes, and when he returned he was carrying a backpack slung over one shoulder and several loops of rope over the other. His cheeks were flushed from the cold. "Sam saw me," he admitted with a sheepish smile.
"Did he say anything?" said Castiel, putting the backpack aside and taking the rope from Dean. He ran the rope through his hands, separating out the different lengths and making sure he wasn't missing any, before laying them out on the bed. Only then did he begin removing Dean's jacket.
Dean held his arms out to make Castiel's job easier. "He definitely noticed the rope," he laughed, but his voice was throaty and quiet. His mind was clearly no longer on Sam. "I think he's down at the front desk asking them to move his room farther away from ours."
Castiel couldn't help but chuckle. "Arms up," he said. Dean complied. Castiel pulled his shirts over his head one by one until Dean was standing bare-chested in front of him. Then he fixed him with the sort of stare that made Dean flinch and look at the ground. "Take off the rest of your clothes," he said, his voice going deeper. "Hang your belt over the headboard. Kneel on the bed, under the hook."
Dean immediately began following Castiel's orders, stripping out of his pants and boxers, but he couldn't help but ask apprehensively, "You gonna string me up?"
"No. It won't hold your entire weight." Castiel didn't elaborate further. He shrugged off his coats and hung them over a chair before loosening his tie and undoing the first few buttons on his shirt. Then he looked up to find Dean still standing next to him and staring. "What did I say?" Castiel growled.
Dean scampered to the bed, taking his place beneath the hook and placing his belt where Castiel had told him, muttering, "Sorry."
"I won't forbid you from speaking," said Castiel as he slowly made his way to the bed. He stepped up onto it, walking across the duvet to tower over Dean's kneeling form. "But if it will distract you from following my orders, I may have to gag you."
His head bowed, Dean repeated even more softly, "Sorry."
Castiel relented. He couldn't bear to scold Dean for long. With one finger under Dean's chin, he gently raised his face. When Dean met his eyes, Castiel said, "Now be good and hold still for me."
Dean didn't move a muscle - he barely breathed - as Castiel crouched behind him and bound his legs together at the ankles and knees.
"Raise your arms above your head," said Castiel. When Dean did so, he bound his wrists with the bight of a fifty-foot length of rope. There were two long tails hanging from the knot when he was done. Those he looped over the hook in the ceiling, and pulled the free ends to take up the slack. Every pull brought Dean's arms higher until he was fully stretched out, a bowed line from knees to fingertips. When the rope was just taught enough to be uncomfortable, Castiel tied the ends to the knot at Dean's wrists and leaned back to admire his work.
Dean struggled to keep his knees under himself, wobbling on his tiny point of balance. Castiel steadied him with a hand on each hip. He slowly let go as Dean straightened. Dean had to grab the rope running from his wrists to the ceiling and pull in order to keep himself upright, and the muscles of his torso and legs twitched as he made tiny adjustments to maintain his balance.
"Good," said Castiel as Dean grunted with the effort of it. Then he took the belt off the headboard, and Dean abruptly fell silent.
"Cas…" he breathed. His shoulders clenched, anticipating the sting of the belt. Cringing. Afraid.
Castiel folded the belt in half and snapped it on itself. The sound made Dean's whole body shake, and he almost lost his balance again. Castiel knelt behind him and kissed the back of his neck until he quieted, then he whispered in his ear, "I'm going to hurt you. I want you to trust me."
The words forced a whimper from Dean's throat. But Castiel was looking down over his shoulder and he could see that he was already half-hard.
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes."
"Do you want me to hurt you?"
Dean hesitated this time, but then he said resolutely, "Yes."
"And to stop me?" Castiel reminded him.
"Safeword."
Castiel nipped Dean's earlobe affectionately. Then he stood up, gripped the end of the folded belt, and swung it across Dean's shoulders with a sharp crack. Dean's eyes fluttered closed and he swallowed hard, but he didn't make a sound. Castiel gave him one more, swinging the belt backhanded this time, and the impact forced the air from Dean’s lungs in a stunned sigh.
As he swung again and again, the belt flying in a figure of eight, Castiel paid close attention to every breath, every twitch, every whimper. Dean may have had incredible reserves of personal strength, but that didn’t mean he was unbreakable. Far from it. Castiel had seen for himself the way that Dean could fall back into Hell, back onto Alistair’s rack, if the pain ever became too cruel or arbitrary.
Pain was a powerful tool in this game of trust. But it was important that it remain a game, a give and take, a conversation, and that it never dip into what Dean could possibly perceive as mindless torture. Castiel could wield pain to both of their advantage, but he had to be careful. So, so careful.
So he started slow. Little cracks of the belt over and over, little stings that grew into a crescendo of pain. Then, just before that low whine in the back of Dean’s throat cracked and became a sob, he backed off. He let the belt fall noiselessly and painlessly against Dean’s back once, twice, letting the rub of cool leather soothe the reddened skin. Then he started again.
“Cas…” Dean whimpered. The puffs of breath that he let out with each impact soon turned into grunts. Those soon turned into groans. With each cycle of pain - slackening, intensifying - his skin became more and more tender. It took a while, but eventually he was twisting in his bonds, yelping and screaming and trying to get away from the lash of the belt.
Just before panic truly began to set in, Castiel turned the final swing of the belt into a gentle arc that wrapped it around Dean’s chest. He grabbed both ends, using it to pull Dean back against him. Dean’s hot, inflamed shoulders pressed against the front of Castiel’s pants while his head fell back to rest against Castiel’s belly.
Dean’s eyes were screwed closed. His chest heaved with every breath, fighting the pressure of the belt. “Are you with me?” said Castiel gently.
“Cas, please…” Dean turned as best he could to look Castiel in the face. His eyes were wet - not crying, but close.
Castiel put the belt aside and knelt in front of Dean. With one hand on each side of his face, he wiped Dean’s eyes dry with the pads of his thumbs. He knew better than to take the tears as a sign of weakness. This had very little to do with pain tolerance. Castiel had seen Dean drag himself back to the Impala under his own power with multiple broken bones; the pain of this flogging was nothing compared to what he’d endured in his life. But the act of making himself completely vulnerable was enough to drag up all manner of unexpected emotions.
“You’re doing so well,” said Castiel, and Dean immediately brightened. “So well. I’m going to give you twenty more. You can make all the noise you like, but I want you to try to keep still. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Dean, eager to earn more praise.
The skin of Dean’s back was raw and beginning to become uneven as welts rose. When Castiel took the belt back up, he kept his swings light and rhythmic - enough to sting, but not enough to overwhelm. Enough to be a challenge, but not enough to make his orders impossible to follow.
Dean swore sharply at the first few blows, then he lapsed into loud groans. His entire body tensed, trembling. But he didn’t try to dodge or twist away. He took each swing of the belt beautifully until Castiel said aloud, “Twenty,” and let the last one fall.
This time when Castiel knelt to check on him, Dean’s eyes were dry. But his face was flushed with exertion and he was breathing through clenched teeth.
All Castiel gave him for his trouble was a brief kiss on his forehead and a terse, “Good.”
Dean managed a weak laugh. “That’s all I get?”
“Did you want a spanking too?” said Castiel, unable to suppress a grin.
Dean leaned forward, trying for a kiss. The ropes stopped him before he could reach, and he had to shimmy back into position to keep from falling over. “Please?” he said with a winning smile.
Castiel held up the belt. “One more for a kiss,” he said, and Dean nodded eagerly.
But what Dean didn’t know as Castiel stood and positioned himself was that the game was only now truly beginning. All the little stinging blows he had taken so far had worn him down, warmed him up. Made him ready for the true challenge.
This time, Castiel swung so hard that the belt made a quiet whooshing sound as it flew through the air. It landed with a crack, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to make Dean arch and bend, screaming in surprise as this one lash hit him with more pain than the last twenty. He overbalanced and fell forward, the ropes around his wrists taking his weight.
Castiel bent down and gave Dean the kiss he’d promised. At first Dean didn’t respond. He just gasped for air, choking back tears, and whispering between kisses, “Not fair… you… fucking… bastard…” But as the pain faded he managed to get upright again, and kissed Castiel back as forcefully as he could manage while still bound hand and foot.
“You’re right,” said Castiel, stroking Dean’s cheek gently, “That was duplicitous.”
Dean’s shoulders were still tight and his voice strained as he became accustomed to the ache setting in. “If by that you mean it was a fucking dick move,” he muttered. He stuck his chin out, lips pursed, silently asking for one more kiss. Castiel gave it to him. He’d earned it.
“Let me suck your cock,” said Dean as soon as Castiel pulled away.
Castiel tried to sound threatening when he said, “Do you think you’re in a position to be making demands?” but Dean just flashed his eyebrows cheekily. He’d figured out Castiel’s game.
“I’ll do anything you want,” he said. His smile wavered in anticipation.
“Good,” said Castiel. “I want you to count to three.”
Before Dean could ask what he meant by that, Castiel was on his feet with the belt in his hand again. Dean braced himself for it this time, his hands gripping the ropes white-knuckled, his toes curling, his head ducking below his trembling shoulders. Castiel swung another deep, bruising blow. Dean howled in pain when it landed, but he managed to stay upright.
Castiel waited a few seconds for Dean to catch his breath before prompting him, “Well?”
“One!” Dean barked out between gasps. Another blow came down right on top of the first. “Two!” Dean pitched forward, trying to soften the final blow, but it still cracked across his shoulders hard enough to make his voice shake as he said, “Three…” and panted with relief.
This time Castiel took a few minutes to cuddle up to Dean, pulling him back from the edge with little nuzzles at his neck and fingers massaging into his hair. “Well done,” he whispered, his lips brushing Dean’s collarbone.
Castiel could tell that Dean had recovered somewhat when he said slyly, “So where’s my reward?”
“Coming right up,” said Castiel. He rolled off the bed, kicked off his shoes, and began unbuttoning his fly. He hadn’t stopped to notice until now how uncomfortably hard he was. The inside of his boxers was sticky with pre-cum.
“Looks like it’s already up,” said Dean with a smirk.
Castiel pulled his tie and his shirt over his head, leaving himself completely naked, and stepped back up onto the bed. “I’d tell you to be quiet,” he said, “But I don’t think that will be a problem for much longer.” He teased the head of his cock against Dean’s lips and Dean opened wide, inviting.
The pain of the whipping had made Dean’s cock limp, but now it twitched back upwards as Castiel fucked his face. Castiel pressed in deep and hard, making Dean’s eyes water with the effort not to gag. But then he eased back and gave Dean room to breathe. Dean’s eyes flicked up to watch Castiel’s face as he rolled his tongue against the head of his cock. Moaning, Castiel pressed forward again even more forcefully. Dean answered with a moan of his own, the vibrations making Castiel’s cock throb so hard that he had to grab Dean’s arms to steady himself.
And then Dean was bobbing his head forward and back, rubbing his tongue against the underside of Castiel’s cock as he swallowed him back as far as he could manage. Castiel’s knees nearly buckled. He dug his fingertips into Dean’s arms, his shoulders, and then even his back where painful welts were rising up and deep bruises were blooming. That only seemed to encourage Dean, who didn’t stop even though his cheeks were turning red from lack of air, even though he was drooling out the side of his mouth.
Castiel was on the verge of coming when he reluctantly grabbed Dean’s head and stilled him. He pulled back so that the head of his cock was just inside Dean’s lips - enough to let Dean breathe, but not enough to let him rest his jaw or stop the drool from dripping down his chin.
“Are you trying to flip me?” Castiel demanded breathlessly. It wouldn’t be the first time Dean had taken the dom role from Castiel in the middle of a scene. It wouldn’t even be the first time he’d done so while still tied up.
Dean mumbled something unintelligible around his mouthful of cock. Castiel pulled the rest of the way out with a fond smile. Dean was finally able to close his mouth, work his jaw back and forth, swallow, and clear his throat. Finally he repeated, “You wish.”
“Hardly,” Castiel replied. “I’m not finished with you yet.” He jumped off the bed and went to retrieve one of the duffels on the other side of the room. Dean twisted and turned, trying to see what he was doing. Castiel took a little longer than he needed, just to give Dean time to squirm.
When he returned to the bed, he was holding a large, tapered, silicone butt plug and a bottle of lube. Dean’s eyes lit up when he saw it.
“Do you want it?” Castiel asked.
Dean nodded, practically licking his lips.
Castiel held up one hand, fingers splayed out. He watched as Dean figured out what it meant, his face going from hopeful to resigned.
“Five,” he groaned. “Okay, give it to me.”
When Castiel took up his place behind Dean, belt in hand, he hesitated. Dean’s back was flaming red and striped with welts and bruises. Castiel couldn’t help but swing a little gentler than before, and wince in sympathy as the belt cracked against Dean’s flesh.
Dean screamed, but it was due more to anticipation than actual pain. He froze as it registered how soft that blow had been compared to the last set. Slowly, he turned to look at Castiel, and there was something dangerous in his eyes.
“Don’t fucking go easy on me,” he growled.
Castiel instantly understood. This game hinged on Dean enduring something unpleasant for the sake of earning a reward. If Castiel went easy on him, the game was over. The challenge was meaningless. The reward was gratuitous. He had earned nothing.
An apology would have only made it worse, so Castiel answered with another lash of the belt. The hardest one yet. This time Dean’s screams were from pain, but even so they sounded strangely satisfied.
“Thank you,” he said through gritted teeth. “One.”
By the time Dean croaked out a weak, “Five,” he was rocking back and forth and his fingers were scrabbling at the rope as if his body were trying to run away from the pain. He started laughing. Then he started sobbing, but he managed to turn it back into a laugh before he could break down completely.
“That’s my boy,” said Castiel. “That’s my good boy.” He gave Dean a kiss for free and held him as his body trembled, waiting for the terrible sting to fade to a manageable ache. With Dean still shaking in his arms, Castiel dabbed some lube onto his fingers and reached down to nudge them between the cheeks of Dean’s ass.
Dean made a strained sound as Castiel worked his fingers in slow circles, pleasure warring with pain. Pleasure finally won out when Castiel added more lube and pressed one finger inside. Dean practically purred.
Castiel smeared the plug with lube and used it to replace his finger. He fucked Dean with it, in and out by inches, pushing just a little deeper with each thrust. Dean melted. Soon he was hanging slack by his wrists. His only movement was to twitch his hips back to meet each thrust of the plug, rough little mewling sounds spilling from his open lips.
When Castiel reached the widest part of the plug, he pushed it slowly past the ring of Dean’s ass. Dean’s mouth fell noiselessly open, his eyes half-lidded, until the plug was inside him up to its flared base. Only then did he let out the breath he’d been holding as a long, satisfied sigh.
“Good?” said Castiel. He pulsed his fingers against the base of the plug, making it vibrate against Dean’s prostate.
“G- Ah! Fuck!” Dean let out a cascade of the neediest moans Castiel had ever heard him make, followed by, “Yes, good, good!”
Pre-cum was beading at the tip of Dean’s cock. He was close. Castiel took his hand off the plug and let it rest still, not wanting Dean to come too early. Dean flexed and clenched, trying to get the plug moving again, but the ropes didn’t allow him enough range of motion to get himself off.
“Please, Cas,” Dean groaned, “C’mon. Please?”
Castiel rested his hand against the base of the plug, but didn’t move it. “Do you want to come?”
“God, yes!” Dean whimpered, “Fuck, fuck yes, please!”
“I can fuck you with this plug until you come,” said Castiel, making Dean shudder with want, “And it won’t cost you a thing.”
Dean fell silent. He knew Castiel well enough to realize that there was a second option coming.
Castiel leaned in close to whisper in Dean’s ear. “Or you could have me instead.” He pressed his erection up against Dean’s hip to make his meaning clear. Dean groaned aloud. “But you have to do something for me first.”
“What do I have to do?” said Dean, but Castiel could tell that he’d already made up his mind.
“Give me ten more.”
There was a “yes” on the tip of Dean’s tongue, but he swallowed it and turned pale. “Ten?” he asked.
Castiel nodded once. When Dean hesitated again, he said, “I wouldn’t ask this of you if I weren’t sure you were capable of it.”
Dean swallowed twice more. He flexed his back, testing out how sore it was. Then he gave a resolute sigh and said, “Okay. Yes. Okay, I’ll do it. I can do it.”
Castiel buried his face in Dean’s hair and kissed his temple. “I know you can,” he said.
The belt fell hard, leaving bruises on top of bruises. The first few blows were made all the worse by the knowledge that there were so many yet to come. After only three, Dean had come unbalanced and was leaning on the ropes. They cut into his wrists, but he made no movement to right himself.
“Four.” There were tears on his cheeks. “Five.” He was gasping for air. “Six.” He could barely get the word out.
“Seven.” The belt cracked against Dean’s back for the eighth time, its sound nearly drowned out by Dean’s screams. He sagged in his bonds, sobbing helplessly. Castiel waited. Dean could take all the time he needed. That was the point of the counting - to let Dean choose when the next blow would fall.
But instead of giving the next number in the sequence, when Dean next spoke it was to say, “Cas. Cas. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
For a moment neither moved. Dean knelt, bound, trembling. Castiel stood over him, the belt dangling from his hand. Then Castiel slowly walked around in front of Dean, got down on his knees, and took Dean’s face in his hands. Though his eyes were pointed down in defeat, Castiel could see untapped reserves of strength left in them.
“Dean, listen to me,” he said. Dean tried to turn away, but Castiel held him still. “Two more. You can give me two more.”
“No, I can’t,” said Dean. “Please, Cas. It hurts. Please don’t make me.”
The words were like knives in Castiel’s chest, but this was too important to just let slide. “You think you’re weak,” he said, and finally Dean’s eyes rose to meet his. “But you’re wrong. Do you trust me?”
Dean nodded, his eyes bright and scared and confused.
“Then trust me when I say that you are strong enough to bear this. I know it’s hard. But I want you to do this for me. Be brave for me.”
Dean’s brow knitted and his teeth clenched, and for a second Castiel couldn’t tell whether it was pain or anger showing on his face. Then his eyes closed. He fell still. He forced himself to take a long, deep breath.
He opened his eyes and said as clear as a bell, “Eight.”
Castiel made himself stand and take up the belt one more time. The urge was so strong to reward Dean’s courage by sparing him more pain, but it was more important now than ever not to go easy on him. It wasn’t enough to tell Dean how strong he was. Castiel had to show him that it was true.
The belt snapped against Dean’s back, and for a moment it looked like he was finished. He collapsed, letting the ropes take his weight once more. His mouth opened in a silent scream. His face turned pale, then flushed as his breath caught in his throat. Castiel was about to comfort him when Dean suddenly gasped and coughed out, “Nine!”
Castiel swung the belt for the last time.
Before Dean was even finished shouting, "Ten!" Castiel was dropping to his knees, yanking the quick-release on the ropes around Dean's wrists. Dean began to slump forward, but Castiel caught him and held him upright in a strong embrace.
Dean trembled and jerked in Castiel's arms. Castiel nuzzled the back of his head, his neck, and whispered in his ear, "Good boy. Good boy. I knew you could do it, my brave boy." Dean’s face was transcendent with anguish and triumph mixing in equal parts.
With no warning, Castiel drew the plug out of Dean and replaced it with his cock. Dean threw his head back against Castiel’s shoulder, and this time his groaning was happy instead of pained. He rutted backwards against Castiel as best he could with his legs still bound.
“My brave boy,” Castiel said again. He wrapped his arms around Dean from behind and fucked into him, picking up the pace little by little and replacing Dean’s pain with ecstasy. “My darling. My love. My everything.”
They toppled over so that Dean’s face was pressed into the mattress, muffling his groans. Castiel was on top of him, his chest pressed against the heat of Dean’s back. He kept thrusting into Dean, bringing them both closer and closer to the edge, and never stopped speaking into his ear, “I knew it from the moment I first laid hands on your soul. There was no one better than you, no one more beautiful. No human, no angel. No one else for me but you.”
Dean was far beyond words. Castiel could feel his own powers of speech deserting him as his orgasm crept up on him, muddying his mind and making him stammer as he said, “Can’t believe… you’re mine. My beautiful… perfect… Dean, I love you…”
He reached around to grip Dean’s cock, and with the barest touch Dean was coming, pouring out over Castiel’s hand and onto the mattress. That was enough to send Castiel over the edge, and with one more thrust he came inside Dean, the words, “I love you,” still rolling off his tongue.
They laid together, sticky with cum and sweat, until Castiel finally managed to push himself upright. He untied Dean’s legs first. Dean’s body was limp and pliable, so Castiel spent some time arranging him in what looked like a more comfortable position. Then, while he waited for Dean to rejoin the world, he sat cross-legged beside him and began massaging his wrists where the ropes had left shallow imprints.
“Love you,” he said, kissing each of Dean’s fingertips before setting his hands back down.
“Love you, too,” Dean muttered in return. His voice was still groggy with bliss, but his eyes were focused again.
Castiel ran his fingers gently down Dean’s back, feeling the unevenness of the welts there. Dean closed his eyes and grunted softly in protest.
"I can heal you now, if you want,” said Castiel.
"No!” Dean said, his eyes flying open. “No. It… it's good. I'm good."
Castiel cocked his head. "You're not in pain?"
Dean shrugged, then immediately winced. "It hurts, yeah,” he said, “But… Aw, you know how it is, right? I want to feel it. It reminds me. I earned it."
Castiel understood perfectly. He beamed down at Dean proudly. “Does that mean you enjoyed it?”
“Heh,” said Dean, closing his eyes and smiling. “I don’t know if ‘enjoyed’ is the right word. But I’m glad I did it, you know?”
Castiel watched Dean rest for several minutes. He wasn’t even sure if Dean was still awake when he finally asked, "Did you really want me to stop?"
Dean’s eyes opened, and he began to laugh. "Yeah,” he admitted, “Yeah. Man, I thought I was done for."
"I wasn’t sure…” said Castiel, troubled. “You didn’t use your safeword. I would have stopped, you know.”
Dean levered himself up as best he could and put a reassuring hand on Castiel’s leg. “I know, babe. It’s okay. I’m glad you kept going. Like you said, you knew I had it in me.”
“Yes,” said Castiel. “But just because you’re capable of something doesn’t mean you’re bound to do it. You could have stopped me. If you really wanted me to stop, you should have.”
But Dean shook his head. "But that's the point. That's the fun of it. You take me to where I want to stop, and then you show me that I've got just a little more left in me. I can go a little further, a little longer. Wanting you to stop is good. I'll safeword if I need you to stop."
Castiel stared at Dean for one stunned moment. Then he smiled. “Agreed.”
Dean returned the smile sleepily. He raised his arm, inviting Castiel to lie with him. “C’mere,” he said, yawning, “Tell me more good things about me.”
Castiel curled up against him, arranging the arm over himself like a blanket, and whispered a constant stream of praise into Dean’s ear until he fell asleep.
He meant every word.
Contains: explicit sex, fairly intense pain play, bondage, trust!kink, praise!kink
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There was a little hook in the ceiling above the bed in the hotel room. It was stainless steel, screwed through the plaster and into the beam. It looked like it might have once held a light fixture, but now it was bare.
Castiel stared at it while Dean unpacked.
"You getting ideas?" Dean asked, following Castiel's gaze.
"Are you going back to the car before bedtime?" said Castiel. He was still looking at the hook.
"Yeah. There's one more bag in the back seat."
Castiel's eyes dropped from the ceiling to where Dean was kneeling and fishing through his duffel. "Get the rope while you're there."
Dean tried to hide his excitement, but his face lit up anyway. "You got it," he said. He disappeared back out into the chilly darkness for several minutes, and when he returned he was carrying a backpack slung over one shoulder and several loops of rope over the other. His cheeks were flushed from the cold. "Sam saw me," he admitted with a sheepish smile.
"Did he say anything?" said Castiel, putting the backpack aside and taking the rope from Dean. He ran the rope through his hands, separating out the different lengths and making sure he wasn't missing any, before laying them out on the bed. Only then did he begin removing Dean's jacket.
Dean held his arms out to make Castiel's job easier. "He definitely noticed the rope," he laughed, but his voice was throaty and quiet. His mind was clearly no longer on Sam. "I think he's down at the front desk asking them to move his room farther away from ours."
Castiel couldn't help but chuckle. "Arms up," he said. Dean complied. Castiel pulled his shirts over his head one by one until Dean was standing bare-chested in front of him. Then he fixed him with the sort of stare that made Dean flinch and look at the ground. "Take off the rest of your clothes," he said, his voice going deeper. "Hang your belt over the headboard. Kneel on the bed, under the hook."
Dean immediately began following Castiel's orders, stripping out of his pants and boxers, but he couldn't help but ask apprehensively, "You gonna string me up?"
"No. It won't hold your entire weight." Castiel didn't elaborate further. He shrugged off his coats and hung them over a chair before loosening his tie and undoing the first few buttons on his shirt. Then he looked up to find Dean still standing next to him and staring. "What did I say?" Castiel growled.
Dean scampered to the bed, taking his place beneath the hook and placing his belt where Castiel had told him, muttering, "Sorry."
"I won't forbid you from speaking," said Castiel as he slowly made his way to the bed. He stepped up onto it, walking across the duvet to tower over Dean's kneeling form. "But if it will distract you from following my orders, I may have to gag you."
His head bowed, Dean repeated even more softly, "Sorry."
Castiel relented. He couldn't bear to scold Dean for long. With one finger under Dean's chin, he gently raised his face. When Dean met his eyes, Castiel said, "Now be good and hold still for me."
Dean didn't move a muscle - he barely breathed - as Castiel crouched behind him and bound his legs together at the ankles and knees.
"Raise your arms above your head," said Castiel. When Dean did so, he bound his wrists with the bight of a fifty-foot length of rope. There were two long tails hanging from the knot when he was done. Those he looped over the hook in the ceiling, and pulled the free ends to take up the slack. Every pull brought Dean's arms higher until he was fully stretched out, a bowed line from knees to fingertips. When the rope was just taught enough to be uncomfortable, Castiel tied the ends to the knot at Dean's wrists and leaned back to admire his work.
Dean struggled to keep his knees under himself, wobbling on his tiny point of balance. Castiel steadied him with a hand on each hip. He slowly let go as Dean straightened. Dean had to grab the rope running from his wrists to the ceiling and pull in order to keep himself upright, and the muscles of his torso and legs twitched as he made tiny adjustments to maintain his balance.
"Good," said Castiel as Dean grunted with the effort of it. Then he took the belt off the headboard, and Dean abruptly fell silent.
"Cas…" he breathed. His shoulders clenched, anticipating the sting of the belt. Cringing. Afraid.
Castiel folded the belt in half and snapped it on itself. The sound made Dean's whole body shake, and he almost lost his balance again. Castiel knelt behind him and kissed the back of his neck until he quieted, then he whispered in his ear, "I'm going to hurt you. I want you to trust me."
The words forced a whimper from Dean's throat. But Castiel was looking down over his shoulder and he could see that he was already half-hard.
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes."
"Do you want me to hurt you?"
Dean hesitated this time, but then he said resolutely, "Yes."
"And to stop me?" Castiel reminded him.
"Safeword."
Castiel nipped Dean's earlobe affectionately. Then he stood up, gripped the end of the folded belt, and swung it across Dean's shoulders with a sharp crack. Dean's eyes fluttered closed and he swallowed hard, but he didn't make a sound. Castiel gave him one more, swinging the belt backhanded this time, and the impact forced the air from Dean’s lungs in a stunned sigh.
As he swung again and again, the belt flying in a figure of eight, Castiel paid close attention to every breath, every twitch, every whimper. Dean may have had incredible reserves of personal strength, but that didn’t mean he was unbreakable. Far from it. Castiel had seen for himself the way that Dean could fall back into Hell, back onto Alistair’s rack, if the pain ever became too cruel or arbitrary.
Pain was a powerful tool in this game of trust. But it was important that it remain a game, a give and take, a conversation, and that it never dip into what Dean could possibly perceive as mindless torture. Castiel could wield pain to both of their advantage, but he had to be careful. So, so careful.
So he started slow. Little cracks of the belt over and over, little stings that grew into a crescendo of pain. Then, just before that low whine in the back of Dean’s throat cracked and became a sob, he backed off. He let the belt fall noiselessly and painlessly against Dean’s back once, twice, letting the rub of cool leather soothe the reddened skin. Then he started again.
“Cas…” Dean whimpered. The puffs of breath that he let out with each impact soon turned into grunts. Those soon turned into groans. With each cycle of pain - slackening, intensifying - his skin became more and more tender. It took a while, but eventually he was twisting in his bonds, yelping and screaming and trying to get away from the lash of the belt.
Just before panic truly began to set in, Castiel turned the final swing of the belt into a gentle arc that wrapped it around Dean’s chest. He grabbed both ends, using it to pull Dean back against him. Dean’s hot, inflamed shoulders pressed against the front of Castiel’s pants while his head fell back to rest against Castiel’s belly.
Dean’s eyes were screwed closed. His chest heaved with every breath, fighting the pressure of the belt. “Are you with me?” said Castiel gently.
“Cas, please…” Dean turned as best he could to look Castiel in the face. His eyes were wet - not crying, but close.
Castiel put the belt aside and knelt in front of Dean. With one hand on each side of his face, he wiped Dean’s eyes dry with the pads of his thumbs. He knew better than to take the tears as a sign of weakness. This had very little to do with pain tolerance. Castiel had seen Dean drag himself back to the Impala under his own power with multiple broken bones; the pain of this flogging was nothing compared to what he’d endured in his life. But the act of making himself completely vulnerable was enough to drag up all manner of unexpected emotions.
“You’re doing so well,” said Castiel, and Dean immediately brightened. “So well. I’m going to give you twenty more. You can make all the noise you like, but I want you to try to keep still. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Dean, eager to earn more praise.
The skin of Dean’s back was raw and beginning to become uneven as welts rose. When Castiel took the belt back up, he kept his swings light and rhythmic - enough to sting, but not enough to overwhelm. Enough to be a challenge, but not enough to make his orders impossible to follow.
Dean swore sharply at the first few blows, then he lapsed into loud groans. His entire body tensed, trembling. But he didn’t try to dodge or twist away. He took each swing of the belt beautifully until Castiel said aloud, “Twenty,” and let the last one fall.
This time when Castiel knelt to check on him, Dean’s eyes were dry. But his face was flushed with exertion and he was breathing through clenched teeth.
All Castiel gave him for his trouble was a brief kiss on his forehead and a terse, “Good.”
Dean managed a weak laugh. “That’s all I get?”
“Did you want a spanking too?” said Castiel, unable to suppress a grin.
Dean leaned forward, trying for a kiss. The ropes stopped him before he could reach, and he had to shimmy back into position to keep from falling over. “Please?” he said with a winning smile.
Castiel held up the belt. “One more for a kiss,” he said, and Dean nodded eagerly.
But what Dean didn’t know as Castiel stood and positioned himself was that the game was only now truly beginning. All the little stinging blows he had taken so far had worn him down, warmed him up. Made him ready for the true challenge.
This time, Castiel swung so hard that the belt made a quiet whooshing sound as it flew through the air. It landed with a crack, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to make Dean arch and bend, screaming in surprise as this one lash hit him with more pain than the last twenty. He overbalanced and fell forward, the ropes around his wrists taking his weight.
Castiel bent down and gave Dean the kiss he’d promised. At first Dean didn’t respond. He just gasped for air, choking back tears, and whispering between kisses, “Not fair… you… fucking… bastard…” But as the pain faded he managed to get upright again, and kissed Castiel back as forcefully as he could manage while still bound hand and foot.
“You’re right,” said Castiel, stroking Dean’s cheek gently, “That was duplicitous.”
Dean’s shoulders were still tight and his voice strained as he became accustomed to the ache setting in. “If by that you mean it was a fucking dick move,” he muttered. He stuck his chin out, lips pursed, silently asking for one more kiss. Castiel gave it to him. He’d earned it.
“Let me suck your cock,” said Dean as soon as Castiel pulled away.
Castiel tried to sound threatening when he said, “Do you think you’re in a position to be making demands?” but Dean just flashed his eyebrows cheekily. He’d figured out Castiel’s game.
“I’ll do anything you want,” he said. His smile wavered in anticipation.
“Good,” said Castiel. “I want you to count to three.”
Before Dean could ask what he meant by that, Castiel was on his feet with the belt in his hand again. Dean braced himself for it this time, his hands gripping the ropes white-knuckled, his toes curling, his head ducking below his trembling shoulders. Castiel swung another deep, bruising blow. Dean howled in pain when it landed, but he managed to stay upright.
Castiel waited a few seconds for Dean to catch his breath before prompting him, “Well?”
“One!” Dean barked out between gasps. Another blow came down right on top of the first. “Two!” Dean pitched forward, trying to soften the final blow, but it still cracked across his shoulders hard enough to make his voice shake as he said, “Three…” and panted with relief.
This time Castiel took a few minutes to cuddle up to Dean, pulling him back from the edge with little nuzzles at his neck and fingers massaging into his hair. “Well done,” he whispered, his lips brushing Dean’s collarbone.
Castiel could tell that Dean had recovered somewhat when he said slyly, “So where’s my reward?”
“Coming right up,” said Castiel. He rolled off the bed, kicked off his shoes, and began unbuttoning his fly. He hadn’t stopped to notice until now how uncomfortably hard he was. The inside of his boxers was sticky with pre-cum.
“Looks like it’s already up,” said Dean with a smirk.
Castiel pulled his tie and his shirt over his head, leaving himself completely naked, and stepped back up onto the bed. “I’d tell you to be quiet,” he said, “But I don’t think that will be a problem for much longer.” He teased the head of his cock against Dean’s lips and Dean opened wide, inviting.
The pain of the whipping had made Dean’s cock limp, but now it twitched back upwards as Castiel fucked his face. Castiel pressed in deep and hard, making Dean’s eyes water with the effort not to gag. But then he eased back and gave Dean room to breathe. Dean’s eyes flicked up to watch Castiel’s face as he rolled his tongue against the head of his cock. Moaning, Castiel pressed forward again even more forcefully. Dean answered with a moan of his own, the vibrations making Castiel’s cock throb so hard that he had to grab Dean’s arms to steady himself.
And then Dean was bobbing his head forward and back, rubbing his tongue against the underside of Castiel’s cock as he swallowed him back as far as he could manage. Castiel’s knees nearly buckled. He dug his fingertips into Dean’s arms, his shoulders, and then even his back where painful welts were rising up and deep bruises were blooming. That only seemed to encourage Dean, who didn’t stop even though his cheeks were turning red from lack of air, even though he was drooling out the side of his mouth.
Castiel was on the verge of coming when he reluctantly grabbed Dean’s head and stilled him. He pulled back so that the head of his cock was just inside Dean’s lips - enough to let Dean breathe, but not enough to let him rest his jaw or stop the drool from dripping down his chin.
“Are you trying to flip me?” Castiel demanded breathlessly. It wouldn’t be the first time Dean had taken the dom role from Castiel in the middle of a scene. It wouldn’t even be the first time he’d done so while still tied up.
Dean mumbled something unintelligible around his mouthful of cock. Castiel pulled the rest of the way out with a fond smile. Dean was finally able to close his mouth, work his jaw back and forth, swallow, and clear his throat. Finally he repeated, “You wish.”
“Hardly,” Castiel replied. “I’m not finished with you yet.” He jumped off the bed and went to retrieve one of the duffels on the other side of the room. Dean twisted and turned, trying to see what he was doing. Castiel took a little longer than he needed, just to give Dean time to squirm.
When he returned to the bed, he was holding a large, tapered, silicone butt plug and a bottle of lube. Dean’s eyes lit up when he saw it.
“Do you want it?” Castiel asked.
Dean nodded, practically licking his lips.
Castiel held up one hand, fingers splayed out. He watched as Dean figured out what it meant, his face going from hopeful to resigned.
“Five,” he groaned. “Okay, give it to me.”
When Castiel took up his place behind Dean, belt in hand, he hesitated. Dean’s back was flaming red and striped with welts and bruises. Castiel couldn’t help but swing a little gentler than before, and wince in sympathy as the belt cracked against Dean’s flesh.
Dean screamed, but it was due more to anticipation than actual pain. He froze as it registered how soft that blow had been compared to the last set. Slowly, he turned to look at Castiel, and there was something dangerous in his eyes.
“Don’t fucking go easy on me,” he growled.
Castiel instantly understood. This game hinged on Dean enduring something unpleasant for the sake of earning a reward. If Castiel went easy on him, the game was over. The challenge was meaningless. The reward was gratuitous. He had earned nothing.
An apology would have only made it worse, so Castiel answered with another lash of the belt. The hardest one yet. This time Dean’s screams were from pain, but even so they sounded strangely satisfied.
“Thank you,” he said through gritted teeth. “One.”
By the time Dean croaked out a weak, “Five,” he was rocking back and forth and his fingers were scrabbling at the rope as if his body were trying to run away from the pain. He started laughing. Then he started sobbing, but he managed to turn it back into a laugh before he could break down completely.
“That’s my boy,” said Castiel. “That’s my good boy.” He gave Dean a kiss for free and held him as his body trembled, waiting for the terrible sting to fade to a manageable ache. With Dean still shaking in his arms, Castiel dabbed some lube onto his fingers and reached down to nudge them between the cheeks of Dean’s ass.
Dean made a strained sound as Castiel worked his fingers in slow circles, pleasure warring with pain. Pleasure finally won out when Castiel added more lube and pressed one finger inside. Dean practically purred.
Castiel smeared the plug with lube and used it to replace his finger. He fucked Dean with it, in and out by inches, pushing just a little deeper with each thrust. Dean melted. Soon he was hanging slack by his wrists. His only movement was to twitch his hips back to meet each thrust of the plug, rough little mewling sounds spilling from his open lips.
When Castiel reached the widest part of the plug, he pushed it slowly past the ring of Dean’s ass. Dean’s mouth fell noiselessly open, his eyes half-lidded, until the plug was inside him up to its flared base. Only then did he let out the breath he’d been holding as a long, satisfied sigh.
“Good?” said Castiel. He pulsed his fingers against the base of the plug, making it vibrate against Dean’s prostate.
“G- Ah! Fuck!” Dean let out a cascade of the neediest moans Castiel had ever heard him make, followed by, “Yes, good, good!”
Pre-cum was beading at the tip of Dean’s cock. He was close. Castiel took his hand off the plug and let it rest still, not wanting Dean to come too early. Dean flexed and clenched, trying to get the plug moving again, but the ropes didn’t allow him enough range of motion to get himself off.
“Please, Cas,” Dean groaned, “C’mon. Please?”
Castiel rested his hand against the base of the plug, but didn’t move it. “Do you want to come?”
“God, yes!” Dean whimpered, “Fuck, fuck yes, please!”
“I can fuck you with this plug until you come,” said Castiel, making Dean shudder with want, “And it won’t cost you a thing.”
Dean fell silent. He knew Castiel well enough to realize that there was a second option coming.
Castiel leaned in close to whisper in Dean’s ear. “Or you could have me instead.” He pressed his erection up against Dean’s hip to make his meaning clear. Dean groaned aloud. “But you have to do something for me first.”
“What do I have to do?” said Dean, but Castiel could tell that he’d already made up his mind.
“Give me ten more.”
There was a “yes” on the tip of Dean’s tongue, but he swallowed it and turned pale. “Ten?” he asked.
Castiel nodded once. When Dean hesitated again, he said, “I wouldn’t ask this of you if I weren’t sure you were capable of it.”
Dean swallowed twice more. He flexed his back, testing out how sore it was. Then he gave a resolute sigh and said, “Okay. Yes. Okay, I’ll do it. I can do it.”
Castiel buried his face in Dean’s hair and kissed his temple. “I know you can,” he said.
The belt fell hard, leaving bruises on top of bruises. The first few blows were made all the worse by the knowledge that there were so many yet to come. After only three, Dean had come unbalanced and was leaning on the ropes. They cut into his wrists, but he made no movement to right himself.
“Four.” There were tears on his cheeks. “Five.” He was gasping for air. “Six.” He could barely get the word out.
“Seven.” The belt cracked against Dean’s back for the eighth time, its sound nearly drowned out by Dean’s screams. He sagged in his bonds, sobbing helplessly. Castiel waited. Dean could take all the time he needed. That was the point of the counting - to let Dean choose when the next blow would fall.
But instead of giving the next number in the sequence, when Dean next spoke it was to say, “Cas. Cas. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
For a moment neither moved. Dean knelt, bound, trembling. Castiel stood over him, the belt dangling from his hand. Then Castiel slowly walked around in front of Dean, got down on his knees, and took Dean’s face in his hands. Though his eyes were pointed down in defeat, Castiel could see untapped reserves of strength left in them.
“Dean, listen to me,” he said. Dean tried to turn away, but Castiel held him still. “Two more. You can give me two more.”
“No, I can’t,” said Dean. “Please, Cas. It hurts. Please don’t make me.”
The words were like knives in Castiel’s chest, but this was too important to just let slide. “You think you’re weak,” he said, and finally Dean’s eyes rose to meet his. “But you’re wrong. Do you trust me?”
Dean nodded, his eyes bright and scared and confused.
“Then trust me when I say that you are strong enough to bear this. I know it’s hard. But I want you to do this for me. Be brave for me.”
Dean’s brow knitted and his teeth clenched, and for a second Castiel couldn’t tell whether it was pain or anger showing on his face. Then his eyes closed. He fell still. He forced himself to take a long, deep breath.
He opened his eyes and said as clear as a bell, “Eight.”
Castiel made himself stand and take up the belt one more time. The urge was so strong to reward Dean’s courage by sparing him more pain, but it was more important now than ever not to go easy on him. It wasn’t enough to tell Dean how strong he was. Castiel had to show him that it was true.
The belt snapped against Dean’s back, and for a moment it looked like he was finished. He collapsed, letting the ropes take his weight once more. His mouth opened in a silent scream. His face turned pale, then flushed as his breath caught in his throat. Castiel was about to comfort him when Dean suddenly gasped and coughed out, “Nine!”
Castiel swung the belt for the last time.
Before Dean was even finished shouting, "Ten!" Castiel was dropping to his knees, yanking the quick-release on the ropes around Dean's wrists. Dean began to slump forward, but Castiel caught him and held him upright in a strong embrace.
Dean trembled and jerked in Castiel's arms. Castiel nuzzled the back of his head, his neck, and whispered in his ear, "Good boy. Good boy. I knew you could do it, my brave boy." Dean’s face was transcendent with anguish and triumph mixing in equal parts.
With no warning, Castiel drew the plug out of Dean and replaced it with his cock. Dean threw his head back against Castiel’s shoulder, and this time his groaning was happy instead of pained. He rutted backwards against Castiel as best he could with his legs still bound.
“My brave boy,” Castiel said again. He wrapped his arms around Dean from behind and fucked into him, picking up the pace little by little and replacing Dean’s pain with ecstasy. “My darling. My love. My everything.”
They toppled over so that Dean’s face was pressed into the mattress, muffling his groans. Castiel was on top of him, his chest pressed against the heat of Dean’s back. He kept thrusting into Dean, bringing them both closer and closer to the edge, and never stopped speaking into his ear, “I knew it from the moment I first laid hands on your soul. There was no one better than you, no one more beautiful. No human, no angel. No one else for me but you.”
Dean was far beyond words. Castiel could feel his own powers of speech deserting him as his orgasm crept up on him, muddying his mind and making him stammer as he said, “Can’t believe… you’re mine. My beautiful… perfect… Dean, I love you…”
He reached around to grip Dean’s cock, and with the barest touch Dean was coming, pouring out over Castiel’s hand and onto the mattress. That was enough to send Castiel over the edge, and with one more thrust he came inside Dean, the words, “I love you,” still rolling off his tongue.
They laid together, sticky with cum and sweat, until Castiel finally managed to push himself upright. He untied Dean’s legs first. Dean’s body was limp and pliable, so Castiel spent some time arranging him in what looked like a more comfortable position. Then, while he waited for Dean to rejoin the world, he sat cross-legged beside him and began massaging his wrists where the ropes had left shallow imprints.
“Love you,” he said, kissing each of Dean’s fingertips before setting his hands back down.
“Love you, too,” Dean muttered in return. His voice was still groggy with bliss, but his eyes were focused again.
Castiel ran his fingers gently down Dean’s back, feeling the unevenness of the welts there. Dean closed his eyes and grunted softly in protest.
"I can heal you now, if you want,” said Castiel.
"No!” Dean said, his eyes flying open. “No. It… it's good. I'm good."
Castiel cocked his head. "You're not in pain?"
Dean shrugged, then immediately winced. "It hurts, yeah,” he said, “But… Aw, you know how it is, right? I want to feel it. It reminds me. I earned it."
Castiel understood perfectly. He beamed down at Dean proudly. “Does that mean you enjoyed it?”
“Heh,” said Dean, closing his eyes and smiling. “I don’t know if ‘enjoyed’ is the right word. But I’m glad I did it, you know?”
Castiel watched Dean rest for several minutes. He wasn’t even sure if Dean was still awake when he finally asked, "Did you really want me to stop?"
Dean’s eyes opened, and he began to laugh. "Yeah,” he admitted, “Yeah. Man, I thought I was done for."
"I wasn’t sure…” said Castiel, troubled. “You didn’t use your safeword. I would have stopped, you know.”
Dean levered himself up as best he could and put a reassuring hand on Castiel’s leg. “I know, babe. It’s okay. I’m glad you kept going. Like you said, you knew I had it in me.”
“Yes,” said Castiel. “But just because you’re capable of something doesn’t mean you’re bound to do it. You could have stopped me. If you really wanted me to stop, you should have.”
But Dean shook his head. "But that's the point. That's the fun of it. You take me to where I want to stop, and then you show me that I've got just a little more left in me. I can go a little further, a little longer. Wanting you to stop is good. I'll safeword if I need you to stop."
Castiel stared at Dean for one stunned moment. Then he smiled. “Agreed.”
Dean returned the smile sleepily. He raised his arm, inviting Castiel to lie with him. “C’mere,” he said, yawning, “Tell me more good things about me.”
Castiel curled up against him, arranging the arm over himself like a blanket, and whispered a constant stream of praise into Dean’s ear until he fell asleep.
He meant every word.