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Servus Enim Vobis (Slave for You)

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Dean said no. Charlie was crazy and Dean didn't believe in all that crap. So he said no.

That was about eight (or nine?) shots of tequila ago. Then he figured, what the hell? What's the harm in humoring Charlie for a few minutes? After all, she did bring a massive meat-lovers pizza and a birthday pie.

So here he is now, full and sated, clutching the nearly-empty bottle of Patrón to his chest as his best friend flips through a huge, leather-bound book.

“Where did you even get that thing?” Dean asks, watching Charlie's brow furrowing in concentration.

“Gilda found it in an old Wicca store.”

“Right,” Dean says dubiously. An old Wicca store. Where you find ancient tomes on summoning thousands-of-years-old sex gods. Or so it says.

“Crush these,” his friend tells him, handing him a little mortar full of “magical” crap and a pestle. Dean takes another swig of alcohol because Jesus Christ, he's in fucking potions class at Hogwarts right now.

“Yes, Professor Snape,” Dean teases, earning him a flick on the nose that he falls over backwards trying to dodge. Righting himself, he gets to work, fumbling drunkenly a few times and almost dropping the bowl while Charlie sighs in exasperation.

“This is so dumb,” he tells her, handing her the bowl of herbs that may as well be oregano for all he knows.

“No, what's dumb is how long it's been since you've gotten laid.”

So Dean hasn't been feeling up to mindless hookups these past few months. And yeah, he's been lonely, but not lonely enough to merit a voodoo séance over.

“Come on, Mr. Grumpy Gills. You can't tell me you don't want a piece of that.” Charlie shoves the book in his face and Dean has to lean back in order to make out what she's trying to show him.

His vision is swimming but he can tell that the guy in the picture is hot. For a fictional “god of passion.”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbles.

“Okay, we're ready,” Charlie says, sprinkling whatever he crushed all over his coffee table.

“Hey! You're so cleaning that up.”

“Read this,” she tells him, pointedly ignoring his remark about the mess, and hands him the book.

Dean squints at the cursive letters. “You read it.” He's not even sure he could pronounce these words sober. “It's all Greek to me.”

“One, it's Latin,” Charlie corrects. “And two, I'm not the one binding myself to a sex god for a month. As hunky as he is, you know I don't swing that way.”

Dean glares at the words, grabbing his Patrón.

Surge Castiel deus passione, hoc te accerso plenilunium. Te fore Luna praecipere in posterum.

He seriously reconsiders his choice of friends.

“Come on, Dean, just do this for me. Remember that time you got a virus on Sam's laptop from watching Tribble porn and I had to debug it?”

Yep, new friends it is.

“Fine. Fuck.”

Dean stumbles over the words, his tongue clumsy and heavy in his mouth, and he has to repeat himself several times. He loses count at around seven.

He finally gets it right, he thinks, but nothing happens for the first few seconds. About to start over, or throw the book out the window, he begins the first words again. And then a breeze picks up. In the middle of his living room. All of the windows are closed.

“Charlie?”

“Hold on to your butts,” she supplies unhelpfully.

There's a massive crack! and a flash of light, as if lightening was struck right in front of them. Through the spots in his eyes he can make out a figure standing a few feet away. The tequila falls from his hand.

The figure is a man, the man from the picture in the book. Castee-something or other. In his house. Out of nowhere.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Chapter Text

“Oh my god!” Charlie shrieks. “It worked!”

Dean stares, then blinks, then stares some more. This is either a: a vivid inebriated hallucination or b: an elaborate prank. He’s betting on the second.

The rational side of Dean is angry; he doesn’t like being fooled. But physically, he wants nothing more than to throw Charlie out the door and take this man apart. Wait… What?

“Okay, Charlie. That’s enough. Pay the guy so he can get out of here.” And put some clothes on. He’s currently standing in white cloth pants (that are doing nothing to hide his sizeable erection) and nothing else. Unless this man is hiding a shirt somewhere, he’s going to be walking outside into the January cold like that.

“I can not accept money from you,” the guy says in a deep, gravelly voice that almost makes Dean shiver. His mind and mouth are saying one thing and his body is taking a completely different direction.

“This is bullshit,” Dean growls and the man looks offended.

“This is real, Dean,” Charlie says, approaching the man with pretend awe. Who knew she was such a good actress? Must be all the LARPing. “I don’t ride the D-train, but damn .”

Dean looks down at the book. The man in front of him looks exactly like the one in the picture. Only the drawing does him no justice. He looks down and feels his cheeks heat up when he realizes that there are two hard-ons in the room. He wills it to get down. Think of Bobby naked.

A little better.

“Okay, you don’t want money. What do you want? Just a good laugh? Haha. Great job guys. Had me going there for a second.”

“I’m not here to make you laugh, though sometimes I have that effect on people,” the stranger says stoically.

“I’m sure,” Dean says, lacing his tone with sarcasm. “What do you want, then?”

“To please you, carnally.”

Dean’s mouth drops open and he turns to Charlie.

“You hired me a hooker? A magician hooker? With a fake spell book and everything?”

The inhumanly attractive hoax looks offended. “I am neither a hooker nor a magician. I am servant of passion and pleasure. Now,” he says, looking them both up and down. “Will this be a threesome?”

“Ew!” Charlie and Dean exclaim in unison. The “servant of passion” looks dejected.

“It’s not you,” Dean assures, though he’s not really sure why he’s trying to comfort someone who’s either a liar or delusional. “It’s just that she’s like a sister to me.”

“And I’m a lesbian,” Charlie adds.

“That problem can be easily fixed,” the man says, touching Charlie’s cheek tenderly. A second later Charlie gets this dreamy look in her eyes, like the way she looks at Gilda when she says or does something really romantic. She starts to lean in towards him.

“Charlie!” Dean snaps and his friend blinks and shakes her head back and forth.

“Hey, put me back!” she demands, shoving him in the chest, and then caressing it. She jerks away once she realizes what she’s doing. “I have a girlfriend and my sexuality is not a ‘problem.’”

“My apologies, miss,” he says, sounding sincere. He touches her forehead this time, just the tips of his fingers, and Charlie backs away, face red.

“How the hell do you do that?” Dean asks, grabbing his friend by the arm and pulling her behind him.

“I was created with the power of desire. I can invoke it in others, but for most humans it comes naturally.”

Humans ? And what exactly are you supposed to be?”

“You know, Dean. You summoned me.”

Dean throws his head back and laughs. He feels like he’s the crazy one now. He was sure this was some sort of setup, but this “natural human desire” is taking over more and more of his brain. The guy freakin’ materialized, and Charlie was acting like a horny schoolgirl, and the book…

“You need to leave,” Dean growls out after realizing he’s been staring at the fake sex god's lips for a little too long.

“I am bound to you until the next full moon,” the man says, furrowing his brow and frowning. “I don’t understand. Why did you summon me if you did not wish for my services?”

“I was just playing along with Charlie. I didn’t think she had it in her to take it this far.” He balls up his fists in anger and also in an attempt to focus on the pain and not the throbbing in his cock.

“Dean,” Charlie whispers into his ear. “This isn’t a joke, I swear. I would never do something to make you angry. I swear it’s legit. This is Castiel.”

Maybe it’s his trust in his best friend, maybe it’s all the tequila he’s downed, or maybe it’s the cell-deep desire to fuck this guy’s brains out with an urgency that he’s never felt before, but Dean starts to wonder if maybe they’re telling the truth.

“Prove it,” Dean challenges, although he’s already seen several things he can’t explain.

“I don’t like being tested,” Castiel says with a scowl.

“Yeah, well I don’t like being played for a fool.”

The man rolls his eyes and raises his arms–his well-defined, toned arms–and closes his eyes. When he opens them they are glowing blue. Dean’s windows fly open and a bolt of lightning shoots in from each one, hitting Castiel. Instead of frying to death like a normal hooker-magician would, he seems to absorb the energy. A bright aura of blueish-white light surrounds him, expanding and growing stronger until Dean has to cover his eyes. And then it’s gone and Castiel is staring at him with an unreadable expression.

Dean, at a complete loss of what the fuck to do, drops to his knees and bows his head, which feels like it has been completely wiped clean of any sensible thoughts.

“Please don’t do that,” Castiel asks awkwardly. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

Dean scurries to his feet and looks behind him to Charlie, who looks shocked but looks to be feeling much more composed than Dean is.

“I’m sorry your–uh–majesty?”

“Stop,” the god, the god, says sternly. “I’m not here to be worshiped. You are my master, I am here to serve you.”

“I’m sure it won’t be too much of a chore,” Charlie says, laughing in that way she does when she’s incredibly nervous. “Dean hasn’t gotten laid in months, but I’ve heard his bedroom skills are, um… above average.”

“Gotten laid?” Castiel asks, squinting for a moment before he seems to understand. “Oh, had intercourse.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck, feeling it heat up. “Uh, yeah. Intercourse.”

“My apologies,” Castiel says. “Terminology changes so frequently. I haven’t been released from the book in a while.”

Dean feels pity for the first time since he realized, or drunkenly dreamt, that this Castiel guy is not human. He feels guilty; he was too focused on shock and painful arousal to comprehend that this being is a victim.

“How long?”

“My last time outside of those pages,” he gazes at the spellbook ruefully, “was 1996.”

“Holy mackerel,” Charlie gasps. “It’s 2016 now.”

“I know. I can hear what goes on in the book’s surroundings.”

“It must be lonely,” Dean says, reaching out to touch Castiel’s cheek without thinking. He didn’t even notice that he’s moved into the man’s space. By the time he comes to his senses he doesn’t even care, just cups his fingers around the god’s face. As soon as they touch he feels a connection, a bond being formed with such an intense force and speed that he feels whiplash. It’s not just sexual desire, although that increases tenfold. He wants to know Castiel, inside and out. Physically and emotionally.

“Yes,” the being says, placing his hand over Dean’s. Instantly the human’s dick throbs and he squirms uncomfortably.

“Can you, uh, un-voodoo me? This is getting a little painful.”

“That is not under my control,” Castiel tells him, inching closer until their bodies are pressed against each other. The other man is hard as hell too and Dean groans at the contact.

“Okay, that’s my cue to leave,” Charlie says gleefully, clearly pleased with herself. “And I’m still feeling a little less homo than I’m comfortable with, so if this doesn’t wear off by the next time I see you I’m kicking your ass, god or not.”

“Later,” Dean mumbles, unable to tear his eyes away from Castiel’s.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, miss Charlie. I apologize for altering your hormones without your permission.”

Charlie giggles and pushes her hair behind her ear. “You’re forgiven. You two have fun. I’m going to go eat out my girlfriend until I forget what a dick looks like.”

Dean thinks he hears the front door and then Castiel’s lips touch his.

Dean backs up, even if it’s only just a centimeter. “Wait, wait. We need to talk about this.” He’s surprised he can put together a coherent sentence with the lack of blood in his head. Well, the head attached to his neck.

“Of course,” Castiel says, nosing at Dean’s neck. “Positions, fetishes, attire, toys–”

“No, no. I mean, uh…” Dean loses his train of thought as the god kisses his earlobe gently. It takes all of Dean’s willpower and currently escaping morals. “You’re not doing this by choice. You’re under a spell. You don’t want this.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Castiel states plainly.

“Yes it does,” Dean nearly yells, frustrated in more ways than one. Someone has drilled into this being’s brain that it’s fine to be used against his will. Dean can guiltily but honestly admit that he’s viewed men and women in a less-than-respectful way, but he’s never done anything that his partner wasn’t comfortable with. “I won’t rape you.”

Castiel’s eyes widen for a moment before he looks down. “No one has ever shown so much concern regarding my consent before.”

Dean tries to concentrate on the topic at hand and not the warmth radiating off of Castiel or the hardened length pressing against his. Think of Bobby in panties. Pink, lacy, thong panties. Dean lets out a shaky breath and Castiel shivers. 

“Look, as much as I feel like I’m about to come in my pants just talking to you, you’re a person. Or, uh, god. Either way, you’re not an object and you’re not a slave.”

Castiel looks back up at him with something akin to adoration. His pupils are dilated to the point where Dean can hardly see the blue. “The intensity of the arousal will decrease once we consummate my summoning. And as for my consent,” Castiel says in a deep, gravelly voice, cradling Dean’s face. “You have it.”

“Oh, thank God,” Dean sighs. He gives in to every longing cell in his body and kisses Castiel.