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Dean was not having a good day.
In fact, he was having a very, very bad day, which, in his profession, also usually equated to life-threatening in one form or another. He cursed, a redundant effort at this point and which failed at making him feel better. He’d been careless, ridiculously so, as he was quickly realizing, and it was a run-of-the-mill job, too. A clean, anonymous shot, with the security around the target almost laughable. And yet he’d manage to fuck it up.
Oh, the man was dead, there was no doubt about that. It’s just that his escape happened to be less clean than the assassination. He’d though he had his escape route all planned out, knew the area well, but no, two men got in his way, almost caught him, damn it. They were dead too, now, but he had a bruised ego and the deep cut of a knife to show for it. It ruined his suit, too.
He cursed again as he drove. He had a feeling that nothing would put him out of his bad mood completely – he didn’t take slip-ups lightly. He’d only made a mistake once before in his long career. Mistakes were not something he could afford in his profession. But maybe Castiel could do just a little something to cheer him up, just a bit.
Or so he thought. The first thing he saw when he walked in was Castiel in another man’s lap. He’d clearly finished his stage routine, and now some sleazy man with slicked-back hair had his hands on those delicate hipbones. He watched angrily as Castiel leaned against the man, his mouth pressed to the skin of the man’s neck. Fuming, Dean walked past, where he knew Castiel would notice him, and took his usual seat. He saw Castiel glance up at him in quick acknowledgement, and when the routine was over, he wandered over to Dean.
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, climbing into his lap without so much as an invitation, and as much as Dean had wanted to act restrained and uninterested, he wasn’t going to resist Castiel’s advances. However fake they were. His hands found his way to Castiel’s hipbones almost automatically as Castiel ran a hand slowly up his chest.
But, somehow he failed to be more than passingly interested. He ran his hands up from Castiel’s hips to his chest, but all he could think of was how another man’s hands had sat exactly there, on those very same hips, and he almost wanted to push Cas away in distaste. Castiel leaned against him, breath hot against Dean’s neck, but all Dean could think of was Castiel’s mouth against the skin of another man who slipped him bills for the same service. He slipped Castiel a few bills, absent-mindedly and routinely, desperately missing the thrill, the exhilaration he had grown so accustomed to in this man’s presence. His face remained expressionless, and he was sure that Castiel noticed his lack of interest, but he didn’t bother to elucidate. Let the man stew in his confusion and hurt for a bit.
When the song ended, Dean slipped a generous bill to Castiel without a word. Castiel uttered a goodbye, which Dean barely acknowledged, before walking off. And with that, he walked away. He didn’t want to see Castiel giving dances to anyone else. One was enough.
…
In the dressing room after his shift, Castiel changed slowly, lost in thought.
Needless to say, he was confused. He’d been happy to see Dean that night, after a few nights of painful absence, but the man had seemed so…uninterested. Was he fed up with Castiel? Did he not want him anymore? Perhaps he was ignoring him as a precaution, though Castiel was quite certain Dean knew he’d never tell anyone about Dean and everything he knew (or didn’t know) about the man. Or perhaps Castiel had simply been too easy, and Dean was bored. He knew he really shouldn’t be that sad – Dean was only a client, and one who’d threatened him with a gun, besides fucking him in ways that he was pretty certain did not count as consensual.
He sighed. None of those things bothered him. The only thing that bothered him was that Dean wasn’t there.
“Hello, Cas.”
Castiel spun around, shocked and exhilarated at the same time. As usual, the dressing room was empty, all the other dancers gone, and only Dean was there. Dean.
“Dean,” he said quietly. Dean looked pissed, and he hadn’t the least idea why. A thousand possibilities ran through his mind before Dean slammed him against the wall, gun between them. Castiel almost laughed at the familiarity of it. Here was the Dean he missed, the one sending arousal through him with his anger.
“What the hell was that?” Dean hissed at him. Castiel attempted to concentrate on the question, but Dean was so intoxicating, the scent of his expensive cologne rendering Castiel stupidly pliant as Dean pressed his body against him.
“What was what?” Castiel asked, growing increasingly confused.
“You, getting so cozy with that sleazy jerk. You liked his hands all over you, didn’t you, Cas?”
Castiel stared. Everything was slowly starting to make slightly more sense while growing increasingly convoluted. He almost wanted to laugh, but something about Dean’s expression advised him against it.
“You’re jealous because I gave a lap dance?” he asked. “I’m a stripper, Dean. It’s my job. I pretend to like people and make them feel wanted.”
He met Dean’s eyes, which were staring daggers at him, and he could still feel the barrel of the gun, pressing against his ribs. He found himself wishing that Dean would trail it down, over his skin, like last time…he forced himself back to the present, to Dean’s angry words.
“Is that what you did for me as well? Made me feel wanted, just like any other client, Cas?”
Castiel shook his head. “No, you’re – “ he paused, looking away.
“What?” Dean demanded.
“You’re different,” he confessed, looking up at Dean.
“Yeah? Am I really?” Dean asked, digging the gun even further into his skin. Castiel winced. “Or maybe you’re just a slut. Maybe you beg every single man who comes in here the way you begged me last time.”
Castiel rolled his eyes, then. He could tell Dean was actually angry, for whatever reason, but the whole thing was starting to feel like a charade.
“What are you going to do, commit a murder because you’re jealous that I was doing my job? You don’t own me, Dean,” he spat, glaring back at him. He could feel the adrenaline rushing through him as Dean stared him down uncompromisingly. He would have liked to say that he remained unfazed in the face of the situation, and hey, that was mostly true. Mostly.
Dean chuckled, shaking his head.
“No, Cas, I’m going to make sure you know that, at the end of the day, you’re mine.” Dean said the words quietly, which was perhaps more terrifying than all of his anger could be. He produced a blindfold about whose origin Castiel decided not to bother thinking, and ordered “Put it on.”
“Kinky,” Castiel commented, raising his eyebrows. Dean glared at him – patiently.
“I don’t see why you think this necessary. It’s not like anything you do will be a surprise,” Castiel pointed out.
Dean smirked.
“You’re putting it on because you’re coming with me, Cas. What, did you think I was going to fuck you here?”
Oh.
Castiel put on the blindfold slowly, wondering yet again what the Hell he was doing. Dean could take him anywhere, and he wouldn’t know. He was starting to get desperately hard from Dean’s threats and attempted to control himself, damn it, Dean had barely touched him and he was already willing to acquiesce to anything the man suggested.
Dean stood behind him, pressing his body close to Castiel’s, the gun still between them, and Cas wondered if Dean was trying to frustrate him. “Come,” Dean ordered in his ear, guiding him with a hand on his waist, and Castiel followed. With a deft hand, Dean guided him through the complex way to his car, ordering him in.
The drive was uneventful, even if full of turns – he wondered if Dean was taking a convoluted route on purpose. The car filled with silence as Dean drove. Castiel resisted the temptation to remove his blindfold and instead wondered what he could ascertain about Dean from the car. It smelled of expensive leather, and the engine sounded like it belonged to a luxury vehicle. Dean drove like – well, if Castiel had to describe it, he’d almost say like James Bond attempting to take a car out for a pleasure drive and being unable to quite manage calm driving. He leaned back into the seat, which seemed molded just right for his body. Not that Castiel doubted Dean had money – his tips were more than any high end stripper could ever hope for – but this reminded Castiel of how much Dean preferred luxury in every aspect of his life. How far he was above Castiel, who took his clothes off for a living – even if it was at a classy place.
When Dean parked and opened his door again, he got out immediately, and was again greeted by the press of a gun against his back. Dean guided him towards an elevator, which they took up too many floors for Castiel to be able to ascertain. Finally, he heard Dean unlock a door and stepped inside. He reached for the blindfold, thinking “finally,” but Dean hissed a cold “no” into his ear, guiding him forward to what Castiel figured was another room.
“Strip,” Dean ordered. It was the strangest thing Castiel had ever done. Pro as he was at taking off his clothes, it’s not something he’d ever done blindfolded. He fumbled slightly at the buttons before dropping everything on the floor, which, now that he was barefoot, he could tell was made of a plush carpet.
“On the bed, it’s in front of you,” Dean ordered.
Castiel walked forward until he hit the bed, climbing onto it gingerly. It was wide and soft and he lay back against the fluffy pillows in satisfaction, waiting and wondering.
He heard the soft sound of fabric as Dean disrobed, and then came what he’d been waiting for.
He felt the cold barrel of a gun as Dean trailed it against the inside of his thigh. His arousal hit him like a tidal wave as Dean ran the gun over his balls and growing erection, then trailed it up the length of his chest, making sure to play with a nipple before he trailed it all the way to his neck.
“Open,” Dean ordered, the barrel of the gun against Castiel’s lips, and he obeyed.
The barrel of this gun was wider than the one Dean had used before, and Castiel gasped slightly in surprise. He ran his tongue over the cold metal, and, though he would never admit it in a thousand years, he liked the taste, metallic and lethal as it was. He heard Dean hum appreciatively. He had no doubt that Dean liked the look of him, his wide lips closed over the barrel of the gun, the flush he could feel creeping up his face, and the willingness he knew Dean could see in every inch of the body spread on the bed.
The next thing he knew, the gun was out of his mouth (he let out a small sound of protest) and pressing against his entrance. Dean was unceremonious, and he moaned as the sharp end up the barrel dug into him.
“Like that, Cas?” Dean muttered, fucking him open slowly, too slowly.
Castiel moaned in reply.
“Do you?” Dean asked, his tone allowing no protests.
“Y-yes,” Castiel murmured weakly as Dean thrust brusquely, each thrust hitting just the right spot and yet so frustrating, just on the side of painful and not enough. And then, after too short a time, the gun was removed, causing Castiel to whimper. He felt empty and unfulfilled and yet unprepared as he felt Dean press against him. Dean thrust in as unceremoniously as he’d been with the gun, which he trailed up Castiel’s skin to press against his side. Castiel moaned as his body protested the intrustion it still felt so unprepared for.
“How about this? You like this, Cas?”
Castiel moaned in reply, losing himself in the protests of his body, stretched and claimed by Dean, and yet feeling so frustratingly unfulfilled by his slow thrusts.
“Hmm? What was that, Cas?” Dean asked, finally, thankfully, speeding up, burying himself inside Castiel with each thrust as he dug the barrel of a gun even further into Castiel’s flesh.
“Yes,” he confessed brokenly as Dean began to split him apart.
“You don’t get to come until I tell you to, you got that, Cas?” Dean asked, jabbing the gun into his side and playing with the trigger.
It was all Cas could do to murmur “yes.” Dean was overwhelming him already, each thrust filling him up and hitting him just right. And still Dean kept up a steady stream of talk, and Castiel hadn’t the least idea how he managed to sound so calm and composed while fucking him open.
“You like that, Cas?” he asked, and receiving only Castiel’s desperate moans in reply, ordered “say it. Say what you like.”
“I like..” Castiel broke off with a moan as Dean thrust in just right. “I like you fucking me open. Fucking me senseless. As if – as if you own me,” he confessed, his voice breaking the whole way through.
“As if? As if?” Dean refused to back down. “You’re mine, Cas.”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours, I want to be yours, I want you to claim me and use me and – “ he broke off as Dean’s speed increased even more, as if that were possible. He fisted his hands in the sheets with a sob, holding back his orgasm with all his might. He swore he could feel Dean in every inch of his body, forceful and uncompromising, taking what he wanted as he took Castiel apart in the process. He felt the gun, still pressing against his side, but even with that threat, he wasn’t sure he could hold himself back, not when Dean was owning him like that, in every way.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please, let me –“
“No,” Dean interrupted and Castiel swore the man was torturing him. “Do you know why?”
“Because I don’t get to decide,” Castiel whispered.
He felt Dean still and come inside him and wondered if it was those words that pushed him over the edge. The feel of Dean inside him, climaxing inside his body, all but threw him over the edge, and he sobbed in frustration, hands clenching even more tightly in the sheets, his breathing labored.
Dean leaned over him, body against body, the heat between them stifling, his motions so slowly they put slow-motion to shame, and whispered “come” against his ear.
His orgasm ripped out of him, leaving him mindless and wrecked on Dean’s bed. He sank into the impossibly soft pillows, praying he wouldn’t have to move for another several hours. He wasn’t sure his body would respond if he attempted to move.
Dean, however, seemed, still, completely in control as he rose and dressed. Not that Castiel expected them to cuddle or something, but he had to admit, he felt hurt that Dean seemed to so quickly move on past what he must see as nothing but a quick fuck. Or perhaps a business transaction, as Dean saw it, one that ensured that Castiel was his.
Slowly, he sat up, his body protesting all the way, and took off the blindfold. He glanced up at Dean, who was sitting back in a comfortable chair, gun on the table next to him.
“Bathroom’s over there if you want to clean up,” he said, looking utterly unruffled. He most certainly did not look like he’d just had sex. Castiel padded slowly over to the bathroom, wondering what he’d see in the mirror. Probably a horrible case of sex hair, because his hair made him look like he’d just gotten fucked every minute of the day, and Dean’s ministrations would probably be of no help. He wondered how the hell Dean managed to look so pristine every minute of every day. The man was utterly unreal. He looked like he’d stepped out of a mafia movie. Then again, Castiel thought, that may very well be what Dean did on a daily basis.
The bathroom, like everything else about Dean, was luxurious and yet pristinely anonymous. Sparkling tiles, wide mirrors, soft towels, but nothing whatsoever that revealed who Dean was. Castiel didn’t even bother looking around too much. He cleaned himself off before donning his clothes. When he walked out of the bathroom, Dean was still sitting in the same spot, hand next to the gun on the table and a blindfold lying next to him.
“Put this on and I’ll drive you home,” he said, pointing with the gun.
Castiel walked over, picking up his blindfold.
“You know, these precautions are highly unnecessary,” he pointed out.
Dean shrugged. “Can’t be too careful, Cas.”
“You don’t trust me in the least, do you?”
Dean looked at him carefully.
“Why would I?”
“That’s the difference between us, I suppose. Funny, since you’re the one with the gun.”
“You trust me?” Dean asked, and Castiel could swear he was shocked.
Castiel shrugged, donning the blindfold silently.
He heard Dean get up and walk over to him; savored the feel of the man’s body pressed against his as Dean guided him through the rooms of his home and to the elevator.
The drive home was uneventful; Castiel gave Dean his address, fuming at how much more Dean knew about him, and Dean dropped him off in front of his door. He got out, waiting for Dean to untie the fabric around his eyes. He forced himself not to look back as Dean drove away.
…
Dean still came to him as a client after that; he seemed to need those dances every time, and Castiel was happy to oblige, though what he looked forward to was what came after.
He waited for Dean in the dressing room, knowing the man would come once he was alone. “Hello, Dean,” he said quietly when he heard the man’s footsteps.
“Cas,” Dean greeted him. Castiel noticed a gun in one hand and a blindfold in the other. He held his hand out quietly.
Dean looked at him, surprised, as he held out the fabric. Castiel took it calmly, tying it around his eyes, and waited. Sure enough, he felt the familiar press of gun and body against him, and allowed Dean to guide him.
The whole journey was much like the last one, equally silent though more familiar this time. And this time, when Dean guided him into the bedroom, he took the blindfold off right away and looked up at Dean.
“What?” he asked innocently, before Dean could protest. “I want you to look me in the eyes as you fuck me,” he said. That seemed to win Dean over, since he nodded, but Castiel noticed that it was with a certain reluctance that he began to undress. He slipped out of his own clothes quickly, taking his former place on the bed as he watched Dean disrobe. This was, Castiel realized, almost a reversal of their usual positions, and though Dean wasn’t putting on a show, Castiel savored every moment that revealed a new bit of skin.
Dean was every inch the athletic god that he’d expected, and Castiel allowed his eyes to move freely over perfect skin. Too bad Dean already seemed to have a well-paying job, or Castiel just might have tried to convince him to share in his profession. Anything for an excuse to see that body on a regular basis.
His eyes wandered over every inch of pristine skin, settling finally on the one imperfection- what looked like a deep cut from shoulder to chest, partially healed. Before Castiel could take a longer look, however, Dean climbed onto the bed above him, and Castiel could tell that there would be no questions, no discussion.
Dean did as Castiel asked and stared into his eyes, and Castiel almost wished he hadn’t asked for it. Dean’s stare was steady and uncompromising. The man simply refused to look away as he took Castiel to pieces. There was no gun this time, simply Dean’s stare, but Castiel felt it was a fitting replacement. There was silence, too, instead of Dean’s talk, punctuated by Castiel’s moans as Dean thrust in just right every time. Dean held his gaze even as he came inside Castiel, his gaze almost petrifying, pinning him to the bed, and Castiel all but fell apart there, on that bed.
“Please,” he whispered finally, feeling like he was drowning in green eyes as he said it.
Dean looked down, realization dawning quickly.
“Come for me,” he said, and watched carefully as Castiel threw his head back and let his release consume him.
Castiel was quicker at regaining his senses this time, and he sat up quickly on the bed as Dean pulled away.
“Dean,” he said quietly, and the man turned towards him.
“Wait,” he said, running a hand up Dean’s chest and holding his gaze gingerly.
Dean stared at him, surprised.
Castiel caressed Dean’s body, his touch light as he trailed his hands over tanned skin. He knew that this might very well be the only chance he’d have to run his hands over this body, and he took advantage of it, savoring every moment. Finally, he moved a hand to Dean’s shoulder, tracing the healing cut delicately. He felt Dean stiffen in response, eyes still riveted to Castiel.
“You must be very brave,” Castiel commented, and Dean looked down at him in confusion and surprise.
“I don’t know what it is that you do,” he continued. “Whether it’s good or bad. But I know that whatever it is, it’s dangerous. I know that you put your life at risk, and whatever the reason, it requires courage.”
Dean looked, for the first time since Castiel had met him, at a loss for words, and Castiel didn’t press. He removed his hands, getting up slowly and going into the bathroom, leaving Dean standing behind him. He dressed quickly. Back in the bedroom, he was met with the familiar sight of Dean, perfectly composed again and lounging on a chair as if it were a throne.
He walked over to Dean and, before the man could order him to, picked up the blindfold off the table. He looked at Dean carefully. Dean met his eyes, and though his features were self-assured, Castiel read lingering confusion in his eyes. He drank in the sight of Dean, his slender, well-dressed figure and fine features, before tying the blindfold.
The way back was as familiar as the way here. The elevator was empty, as usual, and Castiel wondered how Dean managed that. He wondered what would happen if somebody else walked in. What would they see? Two boyfriends, perhaps, cozy against each other and playing some kinky game? It wasn’t too far from the truth, Castiel thought as he leaned back against Dean, pressing himself against the man’s body and the gun in his hand. Dean slipped an arm around his waist, and for a blissful few moments Castiel savored something that he liked to think of as intimacy.
The drive back was almost too quick for Castiel’s liking, and Dean’s touches all too brief as he removed the blindfold.
“Good night, Cas,” Dean murmured in his ear before disappearing behind the wheel of his car. Castiel stood quietly on the sidewalk. He didn’t look back until Dean had driven away, and then, gazing down the empty street, he wondered if he’d ever see Dean again. Castiel wondered, and not just because Dean’s job was dangerous, whether Dean would come back to him again.