Cas was planning his vengeance from the second Dean left. He thought through his options, considering all the ways this could go. Should he kill him? Perhaps. It was certainly the dignified option, and yet, he had no desire to do so. He could chase him down easily enough, but he didn’t need to, all it took was a text. Dean was, as always, eager for his destruction. He arrived at the allotted place at the allotted time, without the most basic of precautions. He wasn’t even carrying a gun.
“Hey Cas,” he spoke with a familiar grin. Cocky. Cas would soon cure him of that.
“Hello Dean,” Cas kept his tone grim, staring Dean down until the smile slipped.
Dean shifted, eyes slightly wider than normal, and Cas pounced.
He yanked down Dean's pants and slapped him across the ass, the sound of flesh against flesh reverberating around the room and into the world beyond before he closed the door behind them, sealing him in.
"Did you carve those words into my cousin?" Dean breathed.
Cas chuckled and gripped the back of Dean's neck, shoving him down over the dresser.
"Yes," it was spoken with a smile, confirming that he was in danger of far more than death, "I assume Raphael was your work."
The response wasn't really necessary, but Dean nodded anyway, before his face was pressed firmly into the woodwork.
"I should kill you right now," Castiel growled as he slapped Dean again, with the full force of all that coiling muscle he hid so well. Dean groaned, arching into the pain.
"Likewise," his voice was breathy, the words insubstantial, they both knew whose life was at risk.
"Why are you here?"
"Why do you think?"
Cas pursed his lips, dissatisfied with the truth.
"You should have stayed away."
"You should have killed me."
He wished Dean didn’t sound sincere, that the words were just mocking.
"Maybe I will."
"Do it then."
"Yes, maybe that is why you're here. I wish I could beat the self-loathing out of you."
He ran his hands across Dean’s back, scratching slightly, disguising the urge to sooth.
"But wouldn't it be fun to try?"
"Well what are you waiting for? Remember what I did to you, how I tied you up and fucked you, how I took what wasn't mine. Take it back. Fucking take it back."
Dean was spitting his words, filling them with aggression, taunting him to action. Cas revelled in the desperation.
"You know, for all your talk of control, I am beginning to suspect you lost more than you gained. Do you feel more control like this, Dean? Does your heart rate steady and your breathing slow as I grind you into a table and make you mine? You need this, don't you?"
"Yes," Dean whispered.
"Then you shall have it," Cas spoke in his ear, "you shall have more than you can bear and then you shall thank me for it, won't you Dean?"
"Yes, Cas, anything for you."
"Do you want me to take my vengeance for what you did to me? Do you want to suffer for your crimes? Is that why you are here?"
He knew he was repeating himself, but he had to be sure, had to ensure he was not misreading Dean’s desires. Their dynamic was one wrong move away from crumbling, turning into something darker, or worse yet, something honest. This had to be done right or he wouldn’t manage it at all.
"Yes," it was barely more than a breath, barely a sound, but Cas didn't push him for more. He had heard, and he would deliver.
"It's a funny quirk of mankind, I find, how while some will do anything to avoid pain, others..." there was no need to finish his sentence, he merely rained down a series of blows in quick succession and allowed Dean's reaction to speak for him. It was beautiful, how quickly he opened up beneath his ministrations, aching for more. Castiel was a sadist, sure, but the pleasure Dean experienced was an aphrodisiac far more powerful than anything else he could remember. He was so responsive, so wantonly needy, and Cas was powerless to refuse his wordless pleas. He beat him hard, not out of anger, no matter how fun it was to play that role, it was more of a devilish curiosity that lead him to land harder and harder blows.
He thought, perhaps, a breaking point would come, and yet it never did. Dean sobbed into his punishment after a time, writhing and crying out, but every time Cas began to slow, to soften the impact or bring things to a close, Dean would level a challenging glare at him and Cas would know that his work wasn't done.
If there was defiance left in him Dean would not be satisfied, of that he was certain. This was a battle, one Dean had to lose, however Cas still had duty of care.
Dean's skin broke beneath him and Cas pulled away.
"Wimp," Dean growled through his tears, "don't tell me you're scared of a little mess."
Cas reached around, pressing his body hard against Dean's throbbing ass, and roughly gripped his cock.
"You are not in control here, boy, things stop when I say they stop," he pumped his cock brutally, Dean's gasps making him smile around the words, "you will receive as much, or as little, as I see fit," Dean was so hard, Cas knew that he could make him come in an instant, but that would hardly qualify as punishment, and Dean was not even close to defeat, "question my ruling and you shall receive nothing at all," he withdrew his hand, chuckling at Dean's hissed profanities while his body bucked at nothing.
"Now now Dean, we both know you like pain as much as pleasure. It's hardly a punishment if you enjoy it."
"Then what was the point of all that?"
"Seeing you squirm gets me hard," Cas said, keeping his tone even, the words matter of fact.
"Have trouble in that area old man?"
Cas turned him around, pressing him back against the desk, bodies firm against one another. Dean winced slightly at the hard surface against his ass, before he squared his shoulders and regained control of his features.
"I think I have had enough of that mouth for today. Stay silent like a good little slut."
"Make me," Dean uttered the words like a challenge, his eyes echoing the sentiment.
Cas had never backed down from a challenge in his life. He shoved two fingers between Dean's lips, grinning cattishly when Dean choked, immensely thankful for the length of his fingers. He stared him down while he regained control of his gag reflex, adjusting to the unexpected intrusion, before pushing slightly deeper. With his other hand he undid his belt, keeping a firm grip on Dean's jaw so he couldn't pull away, watching Deans eyes dilate while he pulled the leather from the loops in which it rested.
"Kneel," he commanded so firmly that Dean didn't even try to resist, scurrying to follow his orders the second Cas released him.
He slowly unbuttoned his pants, ensuring Dean had time to anticipate. His cock sprung free and Dean licked his lips, leaning forward without being consciously aware he was doing so. Cas pushed him back on his heels, shaking his head with the hint of a smile.
"Open wide," Dean eagerly obeyed, and Cas really did smile now, a fact that Dean seemed to take as approval if the way his shoulders relaxed was anything to go by. It wasn't, it was the satisfaction of a trap being sprung, of prey being caught unawares.
He slowly walked around Dean, giving him a cruel moment of hope, before it was snatched away. He leant down, running his fingers up the back of Dean's neck, making him shiver, then whispered in his ear.
"Naughty boys don't get to touch," he grabbed a handful of Dean's hair and used it to hold him in place as he shoved the belt between his lips and tied it securely around his head. He knew it would only be a partially successful gag, but this was about power, not practicality. He wanted to hear Dean groan.
He removed the rest of his clothes and walked back into Dean's line of sight, watching his hands twitch, clearly fighting the urge to touch, to remove the gag, to do something. Cas would not bind him tonight, that would make things far too easy, Dean's greatest struggle would be self control.
"Stay still and perhaps I will allow you to come tonight."
Dean's cock twitched, but his hands stayed fisted at his sides. Good, progress was being made.
Cas ran a leisurely hand down his own chest, stopping for a little to play with his nipples, then moving down to stroke his cock. He made sure to draw this out, putting on a show, every action designed to drive Dean crazy. It was clearly working, Dean was panting slightly, eyes glazed with lust. Cas shot him a wink, coating his hand with precome and beginning to pump his cock in earnest. Dean groaned, eyes falling closed. Cas wasn't having that, he would not allow Dean to find solace in the dark. He moaned loudly and Dean's eyes snapped back open, fixing on him unblinkingly as Cas thrust into his fist. He whimpered, and Cas could see the moment his resolve broke, he reached out to grasp Cas' hips, then pulled back like he'd been burned. He'd remembered, but too late. Cas grinned wickedly, Dean's knuckles whitening where he clasped them in place, uselessly now. He had condemned himself, and he knew as much.
Cas growled when he came, streaking white across Dean's face and chest. Dean didn't flinch, or move, just blinked up at him, biting into the leather between his teeth. His submission was beautiful, now that his spirit had been so effectively broken, and Cas felt it must be rewarded. He undid the belt and pulled him into a kiss, dragging him up to his feet.
He laid him down across the desk and slowly, so slowly, opened him up. He was already hardening again. Seeing Dean rendered mute and pliant, covered in his come, was turning him on like crazy. Still, he took his time, enjoying the way Dean twitched and writhed as he held on to the edge. Dean wouldn't come, not obedient as he was now, Cas was sure of it. Still, Cas would not make it easy for him. He fucked Dean deep and demanding, not roughly, but thoroughly. Dean gasped out his pleasure, gripping the sides of the desk tighter and tighter as Cas pounded mercilessly at his prostate.
"Please, please," Dean gasped out, reaching for Cas' shoulders, not seeming to know whether to push him away or pull him closer.
"Please what, pet?"
"Come inside me," Dean breathed out in a rush, blushing deeply.
Well, who was Cas to deny him when he'd asked so very nicely?
Dean's muscles clenched around him, but somehow he held himself back as Cas came deep into him. Dean was sweating, nails almost biting into Cas' shoulders, the strain clear on his face.
Cas pulled out and, before Dean could recover, grabbed the plug that he had stowed in his jacket pocket and filled his hole once again.
"You will wear this for the rest of the day. Let it serve as a reminder."
Cas smirked at him.
"I own you," it was a statement of fact, one that Dean did not dare to refute.
It was a large plug, almost as large as Castiel himself, and Cas knew that every time it jostled within him Dean would know those words to be true.
"Oh, and Dean, you are not to masturbate today."
Cas raised an eyebrow and Dean ducked his head. He didn't need to answer, Dean would do as he was told.
Once again Dean was left helplessly aroused. This time, however, he had no one to blame but himself. He was pretty sure a part of him had done it deliberately, had needed that extra level of control. He knew he could just defy his orders, that Cas would never know if he took the plug out or went for a quick wank in the backseat of the impala, that a part of him wanted to see what Castiel would do if he did find out. However, as the day wore on, he found a sort of calm in obeying. It was torturous, sitting behind the wheel of the impala, feeling the thrum of the engine jostling the plug within him while the hard leather put pressure on the sensitive skin of his ass, his cock straining against his jeans, and knowing he could do nothing but take it, that he would do nothing but take it. He loved it even as he hated it, the way his mind twisted itself up in knots, the way he could still feel the sticky reminder of Cas' release on his skin and inside him, that feeling like he was still being fucked even though Cas was far away. It was torture, and Dean wanted so much more of it. He was happy as he went about his day, thinking about all the ways he could goad Cas into dominating him, in a way he was quite unaccustomed to. He felt like there was a future, like there was hope, like something good could exist in his life again. It was probably stupid to get so damn cheerful because of a bit of kinky sex, he hadn't even come, but damn if it hadn't felt good.
He turned up to his scheduled meeting with Samuel, having willed the erection to chill a little, with a smile on his face. Samuel narrowed his eyes at him, clearly not trusting Dean's uncharacteristically good mood, but it didn't dim his elation. He did a quick mental check to ensure he wasn't walking funny or anything, which seemed entirely possible given how thoroughly fucked out he was, and relaxed when he found everything in order.
"So, what's up gramps?" He knew he was poking the bear, Samuel always made a concerted effort to ignore the fact that Dean was anything more than a soldier to him, but he couldn't really give a fuck. They were family, what did it matter if he acknowledged it?
Samuel glared at him, before rolling his eyes and returning to business.
"We figured out who killed Christian. Here's the bastard's address. Make it thorough, show them we don't take deaths in the family lightly."
Dean hoped he hadn't visibly paled. He felt like all the blood in his body had been drained away, or maybe that was what was caught in his throat. His head was ringing, ears buzzing, and he was horrifically aware of the reminders he had been left. He didn't need to open the binder he had been passed, he knew what he'd find, but still he made a show of it, if only to hide the panic on his face. Sure enough, there was a photo of Castiel, staring up at him like all the other dead.
"What do you want me to do?" He mumbled, head still ducked, as if he was reading the things he already knew.
"Use your imagination," Samuel grumbled darkly, and Dean knew what he was demanding, knew the horrors he was expected to inflict.
"Yes sir," Dean said quietly, practically running back to his car now that the necessary amount of conversation was over. He had cut it off quickly, perhaps suspiciously so, but he couldn't bring himself to worry about that now. The fear in his eyes had been far more dangerous. He sat down heavily behind the wheel, the action driving the plug deep into him. He groaned, resting his head on the wheel, and tried to breathe.
He would do it, he had to do it. This was as inevitable as the rain, it wasn't like he hadn't known that. He would kill him, but not tonight. Tonight he would sit outside the apartment building he now knew he lived in, miserable and still so fucking aroused, and he would follow his orders (tonight the first and tomorrow the second) and somehow he would find a way to live with it.