spn fic: hang 'em high (dean/castiel)

Jun 05, 2012 11:51

Title: Hang 'em High
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers/Warnings: inspired by 6.18, obviously, but no spoilers; light bondage (handcuffs and a cowboy hat-turned-blindfold) -- Dean is bitchy, but 100% consenting.
Disclaimer: Not my boys
Summary: The restraints dig into his wrists but don't give an inch - he knows he's not going anywhere and that's just fine by him, except that his hat has slipped down over his eyes. ~930 words.
A/N: Originally written for janie_tangerine forever and a half ago, who wanted Western fetishization and consensual d/s. I found it and some other old Five Acts fic saved on a flash drive, so I decided to spruce them up (i.e. add 200+ words, apparently) and repost. <3



Dean tries to move his arms, more out of instinct than any real desire to free himself. The restraints dig into his wrists but don’t give an inch - he knows he's not going anywhere and that's just fine by him, except that his hat has slipped down over his eyes. While there's something to be said for the element of surprise, he likes to at least see what's coming. The blindfold leaves him feeling just shy of too vulnerable, but the panic he expects to start rising in his chest never comes. He knows he’s in good hands.

Of course, he doesn’t know where those hands are at the moment, but they’re not on him and he’s starting to get cranky. He rattles the cuffs against the metal bars of the headboard to get Cas' attention, the sound jarring the silence. “A little help here,” he says, trying to peek underneath the brim. He hears Cas chuckle, a low rumble somewhere in the darkness, but that’s the only response he gets, so he waits - and waits, and waits, but patience has never been his strongest suit. “You gonna fuck me or you gonna leave me here all night?”

“I could,” Cas says, and Dean tries to follow the sound of his voice. He presses back against the bars, tries to pull his hat back just a little, just enough to look at the teasing bastard. Instead, it falls forward even further. “I could leave you there.”

Dean gives a frustrated huff and bites back half a dozen choice words. “You wouldn't.”

“How do you know?” Cas' voice is louder now, closer, coming from a completely different direction than before, and Dean’s head jerks toward the sound. He’s going to be disoriented as hell if this goes on much longer.

“Cause if I thought you'd pull a dick move like that, I never would've let you tie me up.”

The touch comes out of nowhere: a hand on his chin, thumb rubbing lightly across his lips. Dean shivers, his whole body lighting up at the unexpected touch. He leans into it, presses his tongue against the pad of Cas' thumb, and tries to suck it into his mouth - but Cas pulls away, gently brushing his knuckles across Dean’s cheek before disappearing completely. “Your trust is touching, Dean.”

“C'mon, Cas.” Dean tugs at the restraints again when he doesn’t get a response, as if the noise will somehow move Cas to get this show on the road, but, predictably, there’s still nothing. He strains his ears, trying to listen for anything that might indicate where Cas is or what he’s doing - a rustle of clothing or a creaking floorboard - but the son of a bitch his stealthy. He’s probably enjoying the hell of out of this, watching Dean squirm and knowing that he’s stuck here until Cas decides he’s through fucking with him. That idea shouldn’t be as hot as it is, shouldn’t cause a fresh wave of arousal to course through his veins, but it does and Cas knows it. And Dean knows that, no how matter much of a cocktease he may be, Cas will take care of him. He always does.

Then, finally, the bed dips, springs squeaking, and he feels Cas move across the mattress. He's obviously taking special care not to touch Dean - dragging it out as long as possible, the fucking tease - and Dean’s body moves instinctively towards the heat radiating off of Cas, trying to find the source. Cas is apparently content to watch him struggle a little more, but enough is fucking enough.

“C'mon, don't be a - ” The rest of that thought dies somewhere in Dean’s throat, morphing into a pathetic choked off sound when there’s suddenly a glorious, wet heat engulfing his half-hard dick. Cas sucks gently, tongue gliding along the underside. It’s different from any other time they’ve done this - Dean’s a visual guy and half the fun is watching Cas suck him off, seeing those lips stretched around his cock and those ridiculous eyes staring up into his. There’s none of that now; all Dean can do is feel and the pure sensation of it is almost overwhelming. Cas takes him deeper, one hand wrapped around the base of Dean’s cock and the other resting on his stomach, blunt nails scraping the skin just enough to feel, and it’s so good Dean could fucking die.

Of course, just when it starts to get really good, Cas pulls off and Dean's hips jerk up after him. The mattress dips again, this way and that, and Dean has no idea what Cas is even doing. He’s about to make another colorful remark when suddenly the veil is lifted and there’s Cas, right in front of him with a smug look on his face, lips red and wet and curved into one of his almost-smiles. He adjusts Dean's hat properly before leaning down to kiss him, slipping his tongue into his mouth, letting him taste himself there.

They part for air, foreheads pressed together, nearly knocking Dean's hat off but Cas catches it, holds it in place. He moves in closer, nudges Dean's thighs farther apart and settles in between them. Dean takes advantage of the new position, wraps one leg around Cas’ waist and ruts up against him, leaning forward to mouth at his jaw, nip at his bottom lip. “You done messing around or what?”

Something dangerous flashes in Cas’ eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching even further upward. “Maybe,” he says, and pulls Dean’s hat back down over his eyes.

fanfiction, fic: spn: castiel/dean, fic: spn

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