Work Text:
A haze of smoke fills the loft as Dean slips out of the rest of his clothes.
Well… most of them at least.
Dean adjusts the elastic around his hips. He’s not fully hard yet—his nerves getting the best of him—but the panties hug his curves all the same.
He’d gone with the pink satin ruffles. At the time it had seemed like a good idea, but now that the moment was here he was nervous that it was all too… girly.
Which was a ridiculous statement all around because ‘girly’ was kind of the whole point.
After taking a calming breath, Dean turns to find an increasingly familiar sight.
Cas is splayed out on the bed, his arms over his eyes. He’s wearing a long lacy skirt today and Dean’s unsure whether this choice to wear something androgynous was done purposefully in an attempt to calm Dean’s nerves or just what he felt like wearing for the day. Both were equally as likely. The outfit is complete with a cropped t-shirt from some band Dean’s never heard of. His eyes follow the trail of dark hair down to the line of black lace.
Smoke is still swirled from the cherry of the joint left to burn out in the tray on the side table. Dean hopes (not for the first time) that those surprise drug tests Sandover always threatens employees with are empty threats.
Castiel looks relaxed, as if he’d wait there all day if Dean needed him to.
A spark of affection grows in his chest and leaves him with a jolt of confidence.
“You can look,” Dean says.
And Castiel does—languidly—his hands gliding off his face, his eyes slowly blinking to alertness, his hands dragging across the sheets as he sits up.
Dean watches it all with anticipation.
He leans his weight from one foot to the other, his hands clasped together behind his back.
For one moment, and then another, Castiel stares.
The heat of his gaze warms Dean’s body from the tips of his toes to his steadily reddening cheeks. Just when it’s becoming too much Castiel reaches a hand out.
“Come here.”
Dean walks the few steps on shaky feet.
Before he can grab Cas’ outstretched hand he drops it back onto the bed.
“Turn around,” he commands.
He does.
Dean twirls around slowly, letting Cas take in the view. When he turns back around Cas is looking up at him with a stare that makes him weak in the knees.
Luckily, it’s at that moment that he’s pulled into Cas’ embrace. His mouth only reaches Dean's chest, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he presses kiss after kiss into the skin there. He wonders briefly if Cas can feel the erratic beating of his heart.
Teeth graze the sensitive skin of his nipple and he gasps into the soft bite before Cas’ tongue soothes the tender skin there.
This teasing goes on for some time.
A bite here; a gentle kiss there; some leaving dark red circles that will almost definitely be bruises in the morning.
“Oh sweetheart,” Castiel mumbles. The endearment is one he uses a lot, but Dean isn’t expecting what comes next. “My pretty girl.”
The whimper that leaves his lips is somehow connected to the short circuiting occurring in his brain, but Dean’s isn’t quite sure how.
His head is still swimming as Cas slides down from the mattress onto his knees in front of Dean.
Looking down he’s met with the glazed over look in Castiel’s eyes (he’s unsure how much of this is desire and how much is from the weed) as he looks up at Dean. His dark hair is sticking up at odd angles from where Dean has been grasping onto it for dear life. The black of his hair and his outfit in contrast with the softness of Dean’s flushed skin and his pink panties.
Castiel leans back in to continue kissing adoration into Dean’s skin.
It’s all too much.
The feeling of hands on his skin, his hips, the waistband of the panties. Soft lips kissing over the satin, so close to what Dean wants—what he needs—but somehow still so far away. The deep rumble of Castiel’s voice as he whispers sweet nothings; calling Dean ‘ his pretty girl’ until he can’t take it anymore.
He’s gripping onto Cas’ shoulders, trying to control himself.
“Cas…Castiel…”
Dean gasps, his hips thrusting forward searching for more, but Castiel is busy sucking bruises into his thighs. His hands on Dean’s hips to hold him in place.
He wants to beg.
He wants to cry.
He wants more .
He never wants this to end.
Suddenly, Dean is being lifted by his hips and before he can register what’s happened he’s flat on the bed with Castiel above him.
The image of Castiel above him with the light from the sun dying behind him—casting him in a golden glow—is ethereal and so incredibly hot.
As is the bulge that is lifting up the lacy fabric of Castiel’s skirt.
Dean’s mouth waters as the sight.
“These stay on,” Castiel says.
He’s so enthralled that it isn’t until Castiel grasps onto the panties that Dean registers what he means. He pulls on the elastic band before letting it snap back onto the head of his cock. Dean flinches at the sting, but collects himself and nods at Castiel’s command.
“Good girl.”
Dean groans.
Casiel grasps him gently, fingering the sticky mess that has collected there.
“You’re dripping wet for me sweetheart.”
Dean nods again, his voice gone.
“God I wanna fuck you.”
“Please,” he manages.
Cas doesn’t waste any time reaching back for the lube. One hand slides his panties to the side as the other opens him up. Cas starts with two fingers—scissoring him open— which is how Dean knows he is affected as well.
Sometimes it’s still difficult for Dean to tell. Castiel always seems so stoic, but sometimes Dean can tell he’s losing that resolve a bit.
This is one of those times.
Dean reaches forward to slide his hand under the skirt. The soft hairs of Cas’ thigh prickle up with goosebumps as he trails a path to his erection. It twitches as Dean reaches his destination, the head slick with arousal. Perfect for Dean as he strokes him languidly.
The reaction is everything Dean had been wanting.
Wanton moans leave Castiel's mouth as he thrusts into Dean’s hand. His teeth latch onto his lip to try and catch the sounds.
It’s then that Dean realizes how desperate he is for Castiel's lips to be on him.
“Kiss me,” he pleads.
Their lips crash together. Teeth clicking together as they breathe each other in.
The position is awkward with Castiel fingers still inside of him, his knee pressed into Cas’ chest, and his hand still up his skirt, but neither of them care. Dean kisses Castiel like he is the air needed to breathe and Castiel kisses him back just the same.
“Now,” Dean gasps, “I’m ready.”
He’s definitely not ready, but the thought of waiting for Castiel to be inside of him any longer is almost too much to bear. Dean Smith has always been a patient man, but he’s never had to be with Castiel. He always gives Dean exactly what he needs, when he needs it.
Castiel’s only response to the declaration is to slide another finger in beside the first two while continuing to kiss Dean silly.
“I want you to ride me,” Castiel finally says.
Dean doesn’t have to be told twice.
Cas throws off the crop top, but Dean tells him to leave the skirt on. The comment is met with a raised eyebrow, but no objections as he settles himself back on the bed. Dean straddles his hips, the fabric of the skirt pooling beneath him. The view of Castiel played out below him—miles of deliciously toned tan skin—gives him an idea.
He reaches over to rummage through the drawers beside the bed. Dean has gotten mostly familiar with them over the past few months, but it still takes him a few moments before he finds what he’s looking for.
The metal of the handcuffs shimmers in the low light of the loft as he holds them up.
“Can I…” Dean begins to ask, but Cas has already lifted his arms above his head.
With a smile he slides the cuffs between the metal bars of the headboard and clicks them into place around Cas’ wrists. He brushes his fingers lightly down his arms where they’re pulled taut by the restraints. The motion leaves shivers in their wake.
Dean revels in the feeling of Castiel being at his mercy for the briefest of moments as he hikes up his skirt and languidly slicks him up. It's much more attention than is needed to prepare Dean for him, but he loves the way Cas ruts against his hand; twitching and moaning. The fidgeting causes the metal of the cuffs to clank against the bars in an erratic rhythm.
Cas isn’t the begging type, but Dean thinks he could get him there.
Another time, he thinks; too excited himself.
When Dean finally settles himself onto Cas’ lap his bright blue eyes come alert to watch. His piercing gaze follows Dean as he sits himself slowly down onto his hard cock. It’s a stretch—they probably should have spent more time opening Dean up—but he can’t find it in himself to care as he bottoms out.
The aching stretch of taking it leaves him gasping in pleasure as he lifts himself up on shaking thighs just to press himself down again more completely.
The elastic of the panties is digging into his thighs where they’re straining against the stretch of Cas’ cock and the satin is stroking his erection in a delicious combo that is driving Dean crazy.
Castiel’s hands are fists as he watches Dean fuck himself; his hips thrusting up to meet him.
Dean is already fighting off his orgasm as he settles into a rhythm, but then Cas starts talking.
“Atta girl,” he moans. “You take me so well, Dean. You look so pretty riding my cock, sweetheart.”
Something about the jump from ‘ girl’, to ‘ Dean’, to ‘ sweetheart’, is doing crazy things to his brain. His bounces become jumpy and erratic. The noises that leave his mouth are high pitched and needy and should be embarrassing, but Dean thinks he’s passed those feelings in this relationship, so he just keeps making them as Castiel continues to tell him how pretty he is.
It’s not long after that Dean is taken over by his orgasm. It rips through him aggressively and he comes half in his panties and half onto his own stomach and chest.
“ Fuck. Dean.”
Castiel sounds and looks wrecked. His whole body is flushed—covered in a sheen of sweat. His ebony hair is a mess. His bright blue eyes are dark with desire. His mouth is open in a gasp as he watches Dean collect himself.
With shaking thighs he pulls himself up and off of Cas; groaning as his cock slips from him. He feels empty immediately—his ass clenching around nothing—before resettling on his knees.
Cas’ cock is slick as Dean works him quickly.
When he comes Dean makes sure it lands on his ruined panties; painting the pink fabric.
Reaching up blindly to click the release on the cuffs, Dean practically collapses onto Cas after. His arms are around him immediately. The cuffs are still dangling from one of his wrists, but Cas doesn’t seem to notice and Dean doesn’t have the brain capacity to mention it.
“That was…”
“Yeah,” Dean agrees, with a laugh.
Before he knows it they’re both laughing a stupid surprised giggle that makes Dean jump where he’s resting against Cas’ chest.
As they quiet down Cas asks, “it wasn’t too much?”
Dean shakes his head with a blush. His early confidence is dwindling, but he reminds himself that Cas is a safe place.
“I liked it. All of it. Like a lot .”
“Me too,” Castiel reassures him.
The sun has set and the only light illuminating the loft are the lamps from downstairs. It makes Dean brave.
“Maybe next time you could take some pictures.”
Castiel stops breathing for a second. Dean can feel the stutter of his chest before he takes a deep breath.
It’s something they’ve talked about many times. It seems like a natural discussion with Cas’ job making videos. Dean has even seen him film—watched from behind the camera as he performed; one hand on his cock, and the other over his mouth so his noises wouldn’t be captured by the microphone—but he had never been comfortable enough to join him in front of the camera even if it was just for the two of them.
Castiel moves them so that they’re facing one another.
There’s a smirk on his face when he says, “Dean Smith I think I might be a bad influence on you.”