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Sam likes to say that he chooses these shitty nightclubs for Dean’s benefit, but that’s not the whole truth. There are nice advantages for carrying out business deals in public places: the other party gets their illusion of safety, Sam gets to pretend that he’s humoring his big brother, and Dean gets to have a good time while keeping an eye out for Sam.
They’re working that angle tonight, Sam curled up in his cosy little corner as he shmoozes the shmucks who might or might not be paying them a hefty check to take care of their pest problem.
Dean, for his part, is enjoying his share of the night’s fun by making friendly with the sweet young thing grinding in his lap. Her face is an indistinct blur but her eyes are an interesting shade of gray that almost glow in the smoky air of the club. She says something to him, but Dean doesn’t hear it. She’s had nothing interesting to say tonight, anyway.
His phone’s on the table, the screen flashing when a message comes through.
Dean glances back at Sam but his brother’s still in shark mode, pearly whites on display and arms thrown over the backs of the couch to make him look bigger than usual. The sale’s not in the bag yet, but seems like he’s close to clinching it.
The phone could contain a message from Bobby. Or from Ellen, maybe, letting them know that their new place has caught fire and burned down. (Which would make it four for four, wouldn’t that be a fucking hoot?)
It’s not a message from either one of them, though. The number’s unfamiliar, and when Dean pokes at it a picture pops up: some paps-style grainy image of a blonde, moderately attractive chick whose head is tossed back as she rides some joe. No wait, it looks like she still has underwear on, so that’s probably a lap dance.
Dean brings the screen closer to his face. The angle is weird and the lighting casts unusual shadows on the profile, but the guy looks like… well, Dean. He leans back in his chair, bringing his phone up so he can look at it and the girl on his lap at the same time. Huh.
“No pictures in here, honey,” the chicks says. “The bouncers won’t care who you are—”
“Does it look like I’m taking one?” Dean retorts.
Cas is somewhere around here, then. Hell, he’s probably watching at Dean right now. Dean can picture it easily, how he’d be dressed in one of his large jackets that for some reason make people less inclined to notice him, his face completely blank, his eyes just hinting of the things lurking beneath the surface. His hands would be in his pockets, one of them holding a cellphone he’d managed to get past the guys at the door.
Poor, hungry Cas, hiding in the shadows and waiting for scraps because it’s been what, weeks now since Dean last did him the favor of a decent fuck?
Man, that last one had been a good fuck. He’d traced Cas down to that cabin in the middle of nowhere – as if being off the grid could ever slow Dean down – tied him to the bed and opened him up with accessories Dean had made just for him. The best part, though, was when Dean got him to come using only his tongue, because Cas is just that big of a slut.
Cas must be pissed. He didn’t get cock that time, and the guy loves his cock.
He’d be tight again now, too. Desperate for new marks on his skin. Big, bad Castiel, whose many names are shared only under the safety of white noise and darkness, reduced to a single-minded cockslut. Not that Dean can blame him – Dean really is that awesome.
In Dean’s hand, his phone vibrates again. Another picture has come through.
For a moment Dean doesn’t understand what he’s looking at. It’s a close-up of Cas’ naked back – he’d know those shoulder blades anywhere – but what makes his brain skid to a halt is that there is a hand splayed out in the middle of it.
That’s someone else’s hand. The angle is such that the hand probably belongs to whoever snapped the photo.
Someone else touched Cas.
The girl yelps when Dean stands up, sending her tumbling to the floor.
The night is ruined. Someone’s shouting at him but Dean just shoves them out of the way. They’re unimportant, it’s all unimportant, he’ll apologize to Sam later.
“Son of a bitch.” Dean’s vision is hyper-sharp even in the dim light, his heart pounding a soundtrack that’s louder than the crap they’re passing for music in this shithole. Cas is somewhere in here, hiding between bodies and noise and smoke, but Dean will find him. Him, and his little friend, too.
At the corner of Dean’s vision there’s a brief flash of sterile light through the doorway that leads to men’s room. Backlit in said light is a familiar dark head.
Times like these, the rest of the world doesn’t exist. There’s just Dean and the hunt, Dean and his prey, Dean and the shithead named Castiel whom he’s followed into the last stall of the men’s room and shoved face-first up against the wall.
Cas gasps the moment Dean’s hands are on him. The sound is flighty, breathless, almost swallowed by the general noise of the club. He manages to choke out a brief, “You—” that is cut off when Dean gets a hand to the back of his neck and flattens his face to the wall. Cas tries to shove back a couple of times but that’s easily dealt with; Cas wants this too much to drag it out.
Cas is dressed in an ill-fitting shirt and slacks today. No jacket, but Dean would bet anything that he’d left it out there somewhere, perhaps at a table he’d gotten for himself. He’d have left it because dealing with a jacket would take too much time. Loose slacks and shirt mean easier work for Dean, who only needs a few rips before said slacks are at Cas’ ankles and said shirt is dragged down to trap his arms.
This is Cas, after all, who’s always starving for it.
“Look what we got here,” Dean says. Cas’ body is firm under his, hot and trembling as he braces himself for a fight. Dean leans in to take the scent of Cas, flicking his tongue out to catch the sweat along the side of his face.
“Don’t you have company to attend to?” Cas grunts when Dean knocks his knees to the back of Cas’ thighs, throwing him off-balance. That’s okay, though, because Dean’s got his hands around Cas’ waist, settling him right at the best angle to fuck.
“Attending to it right here,” Dean replies, popping his pants open. Fuck, he’s hard, Cas is a goddamned drug ‘cause just being near him has Dean raring to go like it’s ten years off the clock. The high’s certainly the same, though Dean’s hand does not shake when he lines up his cock and pushes in. “Pussy needs his feeding.”
Holy fucking shit, the clench. Cas is smooth around him, tight and hot and just wet enough for it to be interesting. Cas is making those sounds like there’s not enough air, whine petering out into nothing when Dean slides his way on home. This is Dean’s space right here, Cas was made for him, made for this, because sometimes the world pukes its miracles right in Dean’s lap for the taking.
“Dean,” Cas gasps. He wiggles against Dean, and if it were anyone else they’d be trying to get off the dick rammed up inside them but this is Cas, who just wants it deeper. Deeper and harder, with the kind of hip-snapping action that would have him bouncing off the wall. Dean can definitely deliver on that so he gets on it, taking a quick rhythm pumping into Cas.
Jesus fuck, Dean just wants to bury him in the wall, so that he’s just a hole for the taking whenever Dean wants. Cas moves too much, and as it is all Dean can do right now is shove Cas against that hard surface, immobilizing him with his hands and legs and cock so that he can fuck that ripe of piece of ass until Cas is screaming.
“Hey, hey, man.” Some jerkwipe has approached their stall, frowning at them like who the fuck cares that Dean didn’t close the door. “He hurting you?”
Cas turns his head and glares. Dean keeps fucking him through it, grinning when Cas hisses, “Mind your own business.” He gasps when Dean slams his face against the wood again, muscles instinctively squeezing Dean’s cock. “Oh.”
“Yeah, there it is.” Dean winks at the intruding assmunch, who just shakes his head and wanders off. There are other bodies hanging around but let ‘em see Cas writhing like a whore, as far as Dean’s concerned there’s just Cas and the wall and the fuck, Cas’ soft cries rooting Dean to the spot as he chases the high.
“Dean,” Cas breathes.
The lighting in here is the shit so Dean doesn’t have a clear view of Cas opening up for him but he can imagine it. He’s seen Cas in every way, folded and unfolded him, taken everything he could think to take but the magic thing is? Dean isn’t done. Dean doesn’t know everything about Cas because Cas is the enigma he’d been warned about (some say he killed his own family) and they only see each other once, maybe twice a month in these fucking cat-and-mouse games.
Dean’s unwrapped people in a few hours, sometimes a few days. It’s a matter of professional pride, thank you very much, and then something like fucking Castiel comes along, hungry and elusive and so goddamned delicious it’d taken Dean way too long to be sure that he hadn’t hallucinated the guy up.
It’s all real. This fuck is real, Cas’ cries are real, the drag of the muscles around Dean’s dick are real. Times like these Dean is a god and Castiel is the animal that needs to be put in fucking line, banging his shoulders against the wood paneling as though Dean’s not giving it to him fast enough, hard enough.
From this angle, though, Dean can see the clean expanse that is Cas’ back. He can see the exact dip along his spine where the hand in the photo had been. Dean puts his hand there now, wondering if his touch enough to burn that other motherfucker out of Cas’ body memory.
“He watching us now, Cas?” Dean gets a particularly good shove in, balls knocking up against Cas’ perfect ass. “Your handsy buddy, he watching us?”
Cas makes a strange, near-hysterical sound. It’s close enough to a laugh that Dean gets a hand around the base of Cas’ smooth cock squeezes, making Cas jerk helplessly in the narrow space he’s been allowed.
“Answer me,” Dean growls quietly. “He in here right now? He been touching you?”
“And why,” Cas pants, “would I answer you?”
“’Cause you need it.” Dean grinds against Cas, getting the expected whimper out of him. “And you ain’t getting it until you tell me.”
The thing is, the thing is, someone like Cas can’t turn it off. At least, Dean can’t imagine him turning it off, not when every single time they’ve been together, Cas had been so fucking starved for it like he’d go crazy (crazier) if he didn’t get it. Someone like that needs their fix and goodness knows that when Cas wants something he just goes after it. If Cas wants cock… well.
He could get anyone he wanted. He could go into any lowlife joint, climb on a table and open his legs to take all cocks in the room. Who’d say no to that? Dean certainly hadn’t been able to resist.
Hasn’t been able to resist.
It’s just not fucking fair. Dean’s balls deep in the guy and Cas has him by the balls. Months of this and Dean’s only scratched the surface.
“You have no right to ask,” Cas snarls. His head snaps back when Dean nails his prostate, and there’s a couple of seconds of blissful fucking, but after that he’s hissing, “Who was that girl on your lap?”
“What girl?” Dean asks. “That girl? Who the fuck cares?”
“Who the fuck cares if I ride someone else’s dick?” Cas chokes when a sharp thrust gets him up on to his toes.
“You fucker!” Dean’s back is going to hate him tomorrow, but that’s tomorrow. Right now there’s just the glorious, filthy ritual of taking Cas with him. Cas is a moron if he thinks he can get away with it. Dean’s going to scrub him clean, pound his swollen fuckhole hard and fast – although goodness knows Cas doesn’t deserve it – until that fucking intruder is flushed right out of his system.
“Oh god,” Cas gasps, stiffening when he comes.
While there are many awesome things about Cas, one of Dean’s favs is that he always comes like he doesn’t mean to. Every orgasm is a surprise, as if his body only got there because Dean made it that way.
Because his body is Dean’s to use.
Then it’s Dean’s turn to come, which he does with that last thought ringing in his head. He can fucking lose himself in this, the best kind of high, his personal slice of Heaven. Dean’s whole body is on fire, burning up all the crap and leaving behind something inscrutable and pure and free.
Fine, maybe Cas isn’t the only one starving for it.
Dean rocks against Cas for a while, chasing down the last of the rush. Cas is breathing steadily now, his mind slowly reforming itself from wherever it is it drifts to when he lets go.
The world slowly slinks back in around them. It’s noisy and gross, the smell of nicotine and other happy-making things coming over from the next stall. Pulling out of Cas isn’t as fun as going in, and Dean grabs a whole handful of toilet paper to dab himself clean.
“So you gonna tell me or not?” Dean asks. “There’s a hand I gotta cut off.”
Cas, who’s turned around and is pulling his badly-wrinkled shirt back on, rolls his eyes.
It’s fucking annoying, so Dean shoves Cas back up against the wall again, a hand around his throat. He freezes when he feels the press of something sharp against his stomach. He glances down at Cas’ shiv, like, where the hell had he been hiding that?
“Back off, Dean,” Cas says. “He’s not important.”
“Not important?” Dean leans in anyway, ignoring the prick of pain when blade breaks the skin. “You let someone touch you and it’s not important?”
“I don’t owe you anything.” Cas raises his knee, pressing it firmly to Dean’s really fucking tender dick, and smiles when Dean winces. “If you get to have fun with other people, I don’t see why I shouldn’t as well.”
“What, you think we’re the same?” Dean laughs softly. “That’s not how we roll, Cas.”
“Oh?” Cas widens his eyes in a mockery of curiosity and surprise. (Liar, liar, pants on fire, Castiel feels too much and pretends he doesn’t feel at all.) “You think you can control me, Dean?”
There’s no way that Dean should be up for another round at this point. The family jewels insist they’re on a break, but the challenge in Cas’ eyes can’t be ignored.
Dean knows what’s happening here, of course. This is what Cas does. This is what they do, in this months-long dance they’ve been having. Cas likes to mess with Dean because he’s a fucking psycho, the only catch being that he sometimes he pulls shit that just – isn’t – funny, and all Dean wants to do is get his hands on him and cut those ideas clean out of his head.
Jesus Christ, Dean got Cas to come like a freight train and he’s still pissy? Way to be grateful.
“If you touch anyone else, this is over,” Dean says. “This ends, and it’ll be your fault. Did you forget how we got here? This started when you came after me.”
“You restarted it.”
“Because I knew how much you wanted me.” Dean grins when he catches the very faint flinch that Cas tries to hide. Cas wants to worship Dean, go figure. “Fact is, unlike you, I can actually walk away from this.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Yes, I can.” Dean pushes in, grinning when Cas retracts his blade, and nips at Cas’ mouth. “It’s okay, you can come crawling back to me any time you’re ready to give me your word.”
“You need me as much as I need you,” Cas hisses.
“Not true.” Dean pulls away, snickering when Cas stumbles forward.
Fuck, Cas is a sight like this, clothes barely salvageable and come all over his stomach. Any other time and Dean’d throw him over the nearest surface and fuck him again, with a cock or hand or whatever else, doesn’t matter. Cas is glaring at Dean like he matters, and Dean barely suppresses his whoop of triumph.
“It’s your call,” Dean says, all amiable and friendly-like as he buttons himself back up. He pats Cas’ face, snickering when Cas jerks away. “Don’t know why you keep fighting it. It’s part of who you are.”
“Really?” Cas’ sneer is a thing of beauty. “Can you really live with the thought of other men having me—”
Dean only slams one fist against the wall. A mild reaction, all things considered. The way Cas’ lower lip drops in surprise is distracting, but not overly so.
“You’re right, I can’t.” Dean grits his teeth. “That’s why I’d make like a banana and split. I don’t need to deal with that bullshit. Not my style.” It’d be a bad idea to kiss Cas right now, so he doesn’t. Take that, Sammy, he has some control.
“Goodbye, then.” Cas clenches his jaw, and holds Dean’s gaze unblinkingly. “It’s been… good.”
“Back atcha.”
If Cas thinks Dean can’t leave him hanging there, then he has another thing coming. Dean’s happy to give Cas the shackles he wants, but the thought of sharing makes Dean sick. One canvas, one artist, that’s how it works in Dean’s world, thank you very much.
Dean grins at Cas and makes his exit, shoving only one stupid prick out of his way before slipping out into the world where Sam’s fuming and ready to yell at him for wandering off.
+
“Dude, I’m sorry,” Dean says for what feels like the hundredth time. “Just give me the contract, I’ll get on it.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Dean,” Sam bitches, “it’s fine if you and Cas want to spend time together but in the men’s bathroom? Really?”
“Yeah, like you’ve never done anything like that before.” Dean shoots a grin Sam’s way, though the Sasquatch has crossed his arms like a freaking brat. “Geez, lighten up, we didn’t even break anything this time.”
Dealing with a sulking Cas is one thing, but a sulking Sam is at least familiar. Dean reaches over and pats his brother’s shoulder, smiling when Sam grumbles and twists towards the window to watch the scenery go by. Dean turns his attention back to the road, hands on the steering wheel, and resists the urge to yank up the music so that Sam can mope in ease. Dean knows that Sam isn’t mad about the deal, or even about having to pay extra back at the club. And despite Dean's ribbing Sam about it, he does appreciate the sentiment.
Fact is, Cas is nuts. Like, really freaking bugfuck grew-up-in-a-cult-that-probably-ran-on-wholegrain-and-incest kind of nuts, and a mind like that doesn’t just let go of its obsessions. Sam calls Dean nuts for keeping up with Cas, but that’s ‘cause Sam holds a grudge from how, one, Cas duped them for all those months he’d pretended to be slave and two, how Cas continues to break into wherever they happen to be staying whenever he wants to see Dean.
Dean’s a good brother. For all of Sam’s griping, Dean has not once thrown it back in his face Sam keeps falling for people who want to kill him.
Cas doesn’t want to kill Dean.
Cas could kill Dean. He’d had a hundred and one chances to in the month or so he’d spent at their old place, thinking he could pass for a domestic while he got his jollies. It still flips Dean out when he thinks about it, how all those weeks he and Sam’d been living with a tiger that’d been pretending to be a kitten, and how it could’ve at any moment shown its fangs and ripped them apart. Only it didn’t. Cas didn’t.
And hey, if Dean gets off to the thought of a feral animal that wants him that bad, then that’s his own business.
“Please stop touching yourself,” Sam says. “I’m right here.”
Dean laughs – they’ve done far more than jerk off in each other’s company – but gamely pulls his hand away from his crotch. He wouldn’t be able to get off properly while driving, anyway. Better to keep the memory for later. “Hey, at least I’m raring to go for that case Bobby’s got out East. You can manage for a while, can’t you?”
“Fine.” Sam pulls out his phone, fiddling away with it in the dark like it’s a security blanket. “Can you give me an estimate of when the next round will be? It’s your turn to go after Cas, right?”
“What, you’ve got a calendar for that?”
“Well, I kind of have to, Dean. At least Cas used to jump you when you’re not at work, though apparently that's changed.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m gonna let Cas stew in his own juices for a while.”
“Sure.”
“I’m serious!” Dean exclaims. “He was acting weird today, I need to take him down a peg.”
It may be Dean’s turn to hunt Cas down, and the active hunt may be the only thing he finds more thrilling than turning off the lights to find Cas already waiting for him in what should’ve been an impenetrable safehouse, but Dean does have some measure of patience. Cas needs to be taught a lesson.
Cas will crack first. Dean may not have his inner workings laid out in a map yet, but he knows that Cas will get over himself. He just needs a little encouragement.
The last time Cas got all weird on him was their last fuck in the old house. Dean still wakes up sometimes to the phantom touch of a blade to his neck, his body remembering how Cas had mounted him in the dark, hands and mouth confident as they claimed what they wanted. That was the first time that Dean understood what he was seeing, and what Cas was. Oh, he’d known there was something off about Cas the moment Sam bought him, but until then he’d had no idea how far it went.
Cas had come to him because he wanted something only Dean could give. That realization had blown Dean’s mind, especially when after they’d had their orgasms, Dean had looked up into Cas’ face and saw what Cas hadn’t wanted him to see.
Lost souls have eyes like shadows.
Honestly, Dean figures Cas is so fucked up because he has no – or very little – idea of what he wants or what he can be. If he did, he wouldn’t have messed around with Dean for so freaking long instead of just taking. That’s the difference between Dean and him.
So Cas had his freakout and left, unable to handle that he’d revealed his want to Dean.
Dean responded by doing the logical thing and going after him. He’d picked at his memories and what security footage Ash managed to get from the house’s back-up systems. He’d gotten Bobby to pull out as much intel as he could on Cas, which took quite a bit of digging and even then there’d only been bits and pieces of mercenary contracts, kill sheets and the occasional newspaper clipping (some of them about the aforementioned creepy ass cult).
Still, it’d been enough to track Cas down. Dean found and fucked him, Cas retaliated by finding Dean and fucking him, and then it’d moved on to what’s been almost eight months of this, the best of kind play where Dean gets to pull Cas apart little by little. Their lives still go on (Cas is an independent contractor now, and Dean’s always got Winchester business), but the interludes in between where they hunt each other down are their weekends. Downtime. Relief.
Sam likes to joke that Dean’s thing with Cas is the longest relationship he’s had in years. Yeah, like Dean’s gonna listen to opinions on relationships from the guy who goes berserk on the anniversary of his former girlfriend’s attempt to set him on fire. (Dean still kinda likes Jess, though he won’t tell Sam that to his face.)
Dean and Cas, though, they’re just having fun. They find each other’s hidden pressure-pleasure points because Dean ain’t gonna look a gift horse in the mouth when it wants to be mounted and saddled.
This is also why Dean knows Cas is gonna come back to him. Chains and rope can be useful, but the really effective bindings are the ones that you can’t see.
Dean’s got Cas all tied up.
+
It’s not often that anyone tries to blackmail the Winchesters and/or wedge them into a corner, but sometimes some poor prick has a go. Today’s lucky winner is none other than Dick Roman, who looks too fucking smug for Dean to be taking him seriously, no matter that Sam is scowling at him like he’d spat on his favorite suit.
“You can’t be serious,” Sam says. “The terms were clear, Roman, you can’t just make things up whenever you feel like it.”
“No,” Roman says slowly, “you made things up as you liked it, and a couple of years ago people might have swallowed instead of spitting, but the Winchester name doesn’t have the clout that it used to. Where do you guys even operate from now?”
“Your mom’s house,” Dean says.
“Charming,” Roman drawls. He must be confident of his hand tonight if he’s being an extra helping of dickish (heh). They’re in an abandoned warehouse this time, which isn’t the best location for a meet but Dean had scouted it earlier and has people outside watching the workable exits.
Dean has no interest in Dick beyond wanting to smack that stupid grin off his face, but Sam gets territorial when other people try to squish their way into what Sam considers their share of the pie. This meet is technically Sam’s; Dean’s due for some rest after the last run taking out bail jumpers, but any chance to one-up Roman is a chance Dean’ll take.
That said, he’s not expecting for Sam snap, “You’re trying to strongarm us?”
Roman steeples his hands together, which isn’t as suave a move as he thinks it is. He’s tossed a cellphone towards Sam, and whatever’s on the screen has Sam scowling. Roman chirps, “You sure you don’t want to have a look, Dean? Might be just your taste.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Dean replies.
“Dean,” Sam says carefully, “I need you to come over here.”
“Oh, take your time!” Roman says cheerfully. “I’ll just have my guy get some coffee. You like yours black?”
The last Dean expects when he gets to Sam’s side is for Sam to whisper, “When’s the last time you saw Cas?”
“Cas?” Dean scowls. “A couple of days ago, you know that. At the club.”
Sam purses his lips. “I’m going to show you something, and I would like you to stay calm.” He pushes the cellphone into Dean’s hands. When Dean’s vision goes a little grey, Sam hisses, “Stay calm.”
Someone has Cas in a chair, a blindfold over his eyes. His teeth are visible around a gag, his neck and collarbone bare where his shirt has been ripped open. Dean touches the screen. It’s just a picture, but he can almost feel the rumble in Cas’ throat, the heave of his chest when he breathes. There are bruises on Cas’ neck. Bruises.
“You made quite the ruckus the other night!” Roman calls out. He raises a cup, eyebrows wagging when he takes a sip.
“Your people saw me and this guy—” Dean waves the phone at Roman, “—together, and you thought, what? That you could use him against me?”
“And they say that the elder Winchester isn’t a businessman,” Roman sneers.
“Dean.” Sam grabs the edges of Dean’s jacket. The thought is comforting but unnecessary, because Dean has no interest in closing the distance between his hands and Roman’s neck.
Dean gives Sam a deliberate nod. “Toss the deal. Roman can’t shake it.”
Sam starts. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” Dean throws the phone back at Roman, who flails and fails to catch it. “He ain’t got shit.”
“You’re calling my bluff?” Roman says in disbelief. “One word from me and your little friend will start losing some pieces…” He trails off when Dean pulls out the gun he’d tucked at the back of his jacket. Roman’s bodyguards take out their own pieces but Dean’s sights are straight for Roman’s shiny forehead.
“Yeah,” Dean says, “I’m calling it. You take our deal or there isn’t gonna a deal.” Sam’s double-take is hilarious but he accepts Dean’s lead, subtly signaling Bobby with his phone.
“I have him right now!” Roman roars, holding the cellphone up like a weapon. “You’re gonna tell me this piece of ass you chased down doesn’t mean something to you?”
It’s almost anticlimactic when Roman falls over like a sack of yesterday potatoes.
There’s mayhem for a while. Roman’s goons go into reactive panic, shouting and shooting blindly while their boss convulses on the ground. Dean manages to get a few shots of his own, while Sam ducks behind him and summons the cavalry.
Really, Roman should’ve just taken the deal.
In the end, there are no casualties. None of that count, anyway, and Roman’s still alive. He glares up venomously when Dean stands over him, but the effect is ruined by the blood he’s spewing all over the place. Dean nudges Roman’s head with his foot, just enough so that he can see the shot’s entry point. Right at the base of Roman’s chin. Neat.
Dean can hear Cas approaching. Bobby and the gang are like bloodhounds, stomping around and growling complaints, but Cas’ footsteps are clear and steady where he’s coming from the opposite side of the warehouse.
“Hey.” Dean looks up.
Cas nods at him. He's pulled a jacket on, and there’s rug burn all along his cheeks and chins. He’s dragging an assault rifle with him, but Dean pulls it out from Cas’ exhausted arms.
“Where were you?” Dean asks.
Cas points up. “There's a narrow floor just under the roof.”
“They hurt you?”
Cas tsks softly, irritated. “Yes.”
Dean crouches down next to Roman, patting him gently on the head. Cas joins him in crouching down, and Dean says, “You had no idea who this guy was, did you? Bet you thought he was just some tail I’d been tapping.”
Sam makes a sound of surprise. “You knew Cas would break free?”
“Hell, Cas probably let ‘em take him.” Dean slings his arm over Cas’ shoulder, laughing when Cas tenses up. “Ain’t that right, Cas? No one gets a jump on you unless you want it.”
“Yet you let people get the jump on you!” Cas snaps suddenly. “What if I hadn’t been here? What if he’d had someone else?”
Dean starts. “It’s just Dick Roman, Cas. He’s not that big a fish.”
“This was a trap, Dean, specially made for you and you walked right into it!” Cas growls in frustration. He tries to pull away but doesn’t get far when Dean grabs his arm. “Stop it! You’re horrible and childish and did you know that Roman is just the start of it? He has generals in the wings and they’re going to be after you once this gets out!”
“Cas, were you worried?” Dean stumbles when Cas knocks him on his ass, climbing on to his lap and trapping his face between Cas’ hands.
“You are so foolish,” Cas hisses. “You take unnecessary risks, and for what? To feel alive?”
Dean’s hands find Cas’ waist, squeezing firmly. “Yeah. I’m with you, aren’t I? Like being in a scorpion pit. Made out of knives. In the Amazon.”
Cas makes a thick sound at the back his throat, head dropping to knock his forehead to Dean’s. Dean holds him, surprised when he hears a very faint, barely audible, almost-soft-enough-to-have-been-hallucinated sniff.
“Hey.” Dean runs his hands up Cas’ sides. “Hey, you wanna watch me make ‘em hurt?”
Cas shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Yeah, you do.” Dean cups Cas’ chin, guiding his face up so that he can savor Cas’ icy glare. This is a different kind of anger, but just as delicious. Maybe more so. Dean wants to lock all of it inside a box only he has the key to. “Come on, Roman’s still alive. We can fix that.”
“You’re still foolish,” Cas spits.
“I know, babe.”
+
The car trip back is quiet for maybe fifteen minutes. That’s about how long it takes before Cas snaps and jumps Dean, to which Dean goes over easily because he can sometimes choose to not be an asshole.
“Be quiet,” Cas growls, pawing at Dean like they hadn’t just fucked a couple of days ago. Dean had hoped to drive Cas to this state by avoiding him for a couple of weeks, maybe over a month if necessary. He got here anyway, so maybe Roman has his uses after all.
“I’m right here,” Dean laughs, arms around Cas’ shoulders and leg wound right around Cas’ waist. Their clothes are filthy but Cas insists on shoving tight against him, biting his neck and rutting against Dean’s crotch in short, sharp bursts. The miracle here is that there’s still a couple of layers of cloth between their interesting parts and Dean’s getting hard anyway.
Bobby’s driving up front and Sam’s riding shotgun. One or both of them immediately turn the radio up as loud as they can stand. Good on them.
Dean tries to toe off his shoes but it’s a lost cause, Cas has a hand on the inside of Dean’s thigh, holding him open so he can rub against the tight V between his legs. Dean’s dick has perked up, confused but interested because Cas has only ever made these furious sounds whenever Dean is inside him.
“Dean,” Cas gasps.
There's not much space in the back seat. Dean’s foot is knocking the window and his head is pressed against the door, but none of that matters. Cas is a wild thing in his arms, his sulk overridden by desperate want.
“There was no other guy, was there?” Dean grabs handfuls of Cas’ hair, forcing him to look Dean in the eye. “You were just jealous and trying to prove a point.”
Cas snarls, but Dean knows that jealousy is a hook. Dean can tie it into a knot under Cas’ ribs and pull.
“Say it, Cas.” Dean tightens his hold. “Say that you need me.”
He can feel Cas’ cock pressing at his inseam, hot and heavy but now unmoving. Dean can be patient when he wants to be, watching the war in the blue eyes above him until Cas finally says, the words sounding like they had to be scraped right out his throat, “I need you.”
Dean’s won.
Everything is right. The world is clear. Dean has Cas in his arms and it all makes sense, no matter that Cas is trying to turn his face way and growling when Dean kisses him.
Cas is a clever boy and has learned a new trick, so it’s only fair that Dean reward him.
The kiss is hard, teeth on teeth because of Cas’ struggling. Cas huffs against Dean’s mouth and shoves at his chest, which is at odds with how he’s still rutting against him. There’s a war in Cas’ head but Dean has a handle on it, holding on and breathing into Cas’ mouth and laughing when Cas bites him.
Dean’s remade so many people, but those never pan out because people leave. People abandon your ass the moment they see a glimpse of what you are, because people are stupid and fickle and afraid.
Not Cas, though. The only fear that Cas knows is this, which has obviously unnerved him to whatever foundations exist in his soul. These hooks go all the way down, and Dean can use them remake Cas into whatever he wants. He can reshape Cas from the lost, formless thing he is into a creature of power and purpose. Dean can put his marks on every part of Cas – seen or unseen – and Cas will take them all.
Everyone else can have their money and power. All Dean wants is someone who’ll always come back to him.
“You’re done,” Dean declares, grabbing at Cas and locking his head in a hold. There’s no coordination in this but it doesn’t matter, they’re just two hot bodies that have found each other, twisting like animals in the cramped space because there’s nothing else in the world more important than this.
Cas is panting against his neck, every other breath cut with a frustrated sob. Dean takes pity on him, pushing one hand back until it finds the crevice of Cas’ ass and digs into the heated space there. “Oh,” Cas gasps, and then he’s grinding harder, back and forth into Dean’s hip and his hand, grateful and frantic.
“Fuck, yes!” Dean roars. Cas’ helpless whimper kickstarts Dean’s orgasm, a hot twist of bliss that starts low in his stomach and ratchets up his spine to squeeze the breath from his lungs. Dean digs his hands in Cas’ ass and keeps thrusting upwards, an unfortunate shoe gone flying when he kicks at the ceiling. “Goddamn, Cas, fuck!”
Dean’s not sure who got there first, but when he comes back down there’s a wet spot against his hip that definitely doesn’t belong to him. Cas lies limp and sated where he’s sprawled across Dean’s body.
“Hey, Sam,” Dean calls out. Sam doesn’t reply, so Dean assumes he’s just moping. “Sam, get Ellen on standby. I want her to have a look at Cas once we get back.”
+
Once they get to the safehouse, Dean tosses Cas at Ellen, who drags him to the guest room. Dean still has some ground to cover with Sam and Bobby about the potential damage control they’ll have to take after the day’s events, and that discussion takes long enough that by the time Sam calls it a day, Ellen’s done stitching Cas up.
“He good?” Dean asks.
“He’s been through worse,” Ellen answers, with a meaningful look that makes Dean roll his eyes. “Yes, he’s good.”
Cas is in the shower when Dean enters the room. It’s a small guest room, but that’s because it’s a small safehouse, nowhere near as expansive or useful as their old place. Dean doesn’t miss the old house, but he knows Sam loved the convenience of it. Dad taught them ages ago about the advantages of being mobile and not getting attached to things, but not all of Dad’s ideas are good ones. They’ll probably get a new place soon. One not so easily destroyed, too.
Dean stands behind the door when Cas exits the bathroom. Cas is rubbing a towel over his hair, which would in theory make it the perfect time to tackle him, but Dean's frozen in place by what he sees.
“Ah, shit,” Dean sighs.
Cas turns, pulling the towel down to his shoulders. His face is blank, but he inclines his head, acknowledging Dean’s expression.
There are rope burns around Cas’ forearms and waist. Bruises are slathered along his torso, down low in his stomach and at the sides near his kidneys. All that gorgeous damp skin is marred, and even the fact that his boxers are slung low on his hips isn’t enough for Dean to close the distance between them.
“Dick did that?” When Cas responds with a nonplussed look, Dean suppresses the noise of disgust curdling in his throat. “Did you like it?”
Cas huffs under his breath. “What do you think?”
“I think you could still be playing me,” Dean says. “That you could’ve set all of this up so that I’d take you back.”
Cas turns away to drape the towel across the back of a chair. Dean expects him to say something, to rebuff his statement or snark at him, but Cas just sits on the edge of the bed quietly, lifting his foot up on to his lap to massage his ankle. There are bruises on his back, too. Some of them might belong to Dean, but he can’t tell.
Dean sheds his clothes. Cas starts at the sound, frowning when he sees Dean toss his belt to the chair.
“Ellen give you anything?” Dean crawls onto the bed, coming up to kneel behind Cas.
“Yes, it’s sufficient.” Cas tilts his head back, jaw clenching when he sees how Dean’s hand has frozen in the air, reaching out but unable to touch him. Instead of asking what Dean’s doing, Cas merely slides under the covers and turns on to his side, back to Dean.
Dean can’t touch him. Cas knows why Dean’s in here, and he apparently knows why Dean hasn’t touched him.
Someone else touched Cas and it’s disgusting.
If Dick were still alive Dean would use him to work off his frustration, but that’s over and done with. There’s just Cas, who’s closed his eyes and is trying to sleep because he knows Dean doesn’t want him like this. Can’t want him like this.
Dean could make new marks to cover these ugly ones, but he’d know the old ones were there. He needs to start anew, with a clean, untainted body.
Cas rolls his shoulders, trying to get comfortable.
It’s also true that Dean still wants Cas. He’d come in here with every intent of claiming his relief in Cas’ body, and although the logical part of his brain knows that’s been taken away from him, the rest of Dean refuses to get the memo. This is why his next action is to slip beneath the covers and draw close to Cas’ back.
“What are you doing?” Cas mumbles, trying to look over his shoulder.
“Shut up.” Dean slings his arm over Cas’ torso, careful not to press too hard – wouldn’t want those marks to last longer than they have to. “Don’t move.”
“Dean—”
“Stop wriggling!” Dean gets his leg over Cas’, twisting their bodies as close as he can. “Just relax.”
“Relax,” Cas echoes flatly. “You’re breathing on my neck.”
“Yeah, well, tough.” Dean presses his nose to the space behind Cas’ ear, inhaling deeply. He strokes his hand up Cas’ chest, cupping his pec and kneading it curiously. Cas’ nipples aren’t hard, and there’s definitely nothing interesting happening in his boxers, but the smooth planes are interesting against Dean’s palm. It isn’t new, precisely, since Dean’s fucked Cas while he was unconscious, and there was that time Dean meticulously shaved Cas’ balls without fucking him at all, but it's still different. Strange.
“I didn't set you up,” Cas admits. “I knew Roman had you in his sights, but I didn't plan for this.”
“I wouldn't have minded, but okay, that's good to know.” Dean traces a line down Cas’ chest to his navel. An image swirls into form in Dean’s head of a tattoo: a dark and bold pattern from Cas’ neck to his cock. On his cock. That’d be cool. Another idea eclipses the first. “Hey, Cas. I want you on my security team.”
“What?” He can practically hear Cas’ frown.
“You’re great at finding blindspots, plugging the gaps. It makes sense.”
“You want…” Cas puts his hand on top of Dean’s cautiously. “You want to hire me?”
“As a consultant, yeah.” Dean nods, shuffling closer until his arms are comfortable around Cas. “You’ll be shadowing me, of course. Sam won’t like it at first, but he’ll come around. What, you don’t think I can afford you?”
“That’s not the issue.”
“Great!” Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The exhaustion of the day is finally creeping in, weighing down his limbs. Cas even relaxes after a while, but Dean always knew he’d give in eventually.
Cas isn’t going anywhere.