Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean buries his needy whine into the sheets and tightens impossibly around the cock inside of him, only rewarded by fingers sinking deeper into the flesh of his hips.

He tries to move and hears a chuckle.

Castiel.

Always so amused by Dean’s misery.

“Not yet.”

Long fingers massage his hips, squeeze his waist, and brush up his sides as hips slowly draw circles against Dean's ass. Castiel's cock fills him in all the right places and all Dean can do is whimper as his own cock hangs, hard and heavy between his legs.

“How do you feel?”

An hour and two orgasms ago, Dean would have answered with words, but he’s way past that point now.

Instead, more pathetic sounds fall from his lips. Fingers graze in his hair, delicious shivers run up and down his spine. Castiel knows exactly how to touch him, how to have him shaking and begging for it just by the pressure of his fingers here and the sweep of his tongue there.

He knows the secrets of Dean’s body all too well, and he has the unfair advantage of being obsessed with pulling out of Dean the most extreme amounts of pleasure that the human body can endure. Which is unfair, because Dean can’t do anything about it.

He’s a courtesan of the royal court and Castiel is a prince - the son of the King himself. And Castiel might just be one offspring amongst many, and far from the first in line to inherit the throne, but he is still royalty. Dean serves him. He exists only to please him. He must yield to all of his demands, give himself over to Castiel, for him to do what he pleases with. And what Castiel likes to do is take Dean apart piece by piece, make him climb so high he can’t see his the ground, and then say jump.

Dean always jumps. Castiel always catches him.

───※ ·❆· ※───

When their parents died in the fire that took their home, Sam and Dean Winchester were brought to the royal castle and cared for as orphans of the kingdom. And when they got old enough, they started paying back their dues.

Dean has never minded the work. He’s grateful that he wasn’t left on the streets to die, he’s grateful to live in the luxurious courtesan quarters of the royal palace. He remembers how hard his parents worked just to put food on the table, how cold the nights could be in their small house, and how they all had to huddle together for warmth in the only bed. He remembers being hungry even after a meal, and their parents skipping meals just to make sure they had enough to last the dry season.

Sure, orphans have to work hard to earn their place here. But Dean and his brother are safe, they're alive, and they're always warm and well-fed. And if half the court has to rotate in Dean's bed every year for that to remain, it's a price he's very willing to pay.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Dean tries to pull at Castiel, coax him into moving faster, because this is excruciating. He knows it’s a useless attempt - Castiel only does what he wants, and what he always wants is what will be the most deliciously frustrating for Dean.

Lips press between Dean’s shoulder blades. Teeth bite. Not too hard - Castiel isn’t allowed to leave marks. He knows that, but he still does, every time; little red bites that fade by the time Dean wakes up for another night of work.

Being with Castiel is always a promise that he won’t see the morning sun, that he’ll sleep in a near comatose state for at least twelve hours, his body bitten and kissed and almost bruised, so used and exhausted and sore that his slumber is deep and dreamless, without a nightmare or a care to disturb him.

It’s also always a promise that he gets to fall asleep with Castiel’s arms around him, with his breath on his skin. Castiel is always gone when Dean wakes up, but there’s something about the way he traces Dean’s curves and edges with his fingers, and the way he kisses, endlessly, the path from his jaw to his shoulders as Dean’s eyes flutter close, that makes his heart feel settled. Like everything in the universe is in the right place at the right time, if just for a moment.

Right now, though, right now Dean’s feeling a growing amount of frustration. Castiel’s cock is thick and remarkably long - Dean has seen enough dicks to know it’s very out of the ordinary - and presses directly against his prostate every time it moves. Castiel has already coaxed two orgasms out of him with his fingers and his mouth, and he’s made it very clear that tonight his intention is to fuck Dean for a very long time. Dean’s only starting to enjoy the pleasure of being stretched open and used, and already he’s getting close to coming for a third time, especially when Castiel wraps his hand around his cock and starts stroking.

Dean’s thighs shake, uncontrollable, and he buries his face deeper in the mattress. He would fall belly down if Castiel didn’t hold him up with a steel grip.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” Castiel murmurs against his skin.

He always does.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Dean likes being a courtesan. It’s not for everyone, but it's the life he's chosen, and he has no regrets. When Sam came of age a few years after him, he took a different path and went to work in the kitchens.

Dean doesn’t regret this, though. He likes sex. Always has - he started sneaking off and going into the other servants’ rooms for orgies and parties when he was way underage. But he was curious, and certainly wasn’t going to wait for his twentieth birthday to know what sex felt like.

Dean likes fucking and getting fucked, he likes men and women and everything in between. He likes one partner or several at the same time. He’s not picky, he likes it all. He likes the pleasure, the pain, the exhaustion. He likes pleasing. He likes a job well done. He likes the praises, and watching his partners come undone from his touch.

Being a courtesan is not an unenviable position. He gets to sleep all day long, lounge in the sun, eat lazily in bed. He doesn’t have any other chore than to receive a few member of the court in his bed five nights a week. He doesn’t get to choose who he receives, but they get to choose him, and he’s good enough to be a few people’s favourite.

Most of his regulars are decent, and Dean enjoys giving them what they ask for. Not everything that is asked of him is pleasant, but Dean’s pretty open-minded, and no one is allowed to cause him physical pain that will leave permanent marks, disable him, hurt him, or leave him unable to work. He knows enough about what goes on in brothels and on the streets outside of the palace to know that he's of the lucky few.

Dean likes sex so much that most of the time he can’t get enough, and often finds himself in the very sexual gatherings the servants have between midnight and dawn, whether it’s on his days off or after a shift when someone’s left early. And most of the men and women he receives, while pleasant and leaving him nothing to complain about, don’t always satisfy him.

That is, with one exception.

Castiel.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Dean’s body arches up for the hundredth time tonight, muscles strained from the effort. His skin is covered in a fine sheen of sweat and Castiel licks a stripe up his neck, his warm stomach brushing over Dean’s aching cock.

Dean swears, barely even a word, more of a whimper lost between the sheets and Castiel’s skin. His balls tighten painfully, swollen, and for the thousand time tonight a jolt of pure and angry arousal surges through him as Castiel’s cock grinds inside of him.

A tear pearls at the corner of his eye and leaks down the side of his cheek. Precum pools in the dip of his bellybutton. Warm lips brush on his cheeks, search for his mouth.

“Are you okay?”

Dean can only answer with a whimper. His fingers pull at Castiel’s hair, press for a deeper kiss, demand for something, anything. Castiel complies. Soothes with his lips, his tongue. But it’s not enough. The piece of fabric Castiel presented to him tonight is still wrapped tightly around the base of Dean's cock, circling his balls in a vice grip and keeping his pleasure at bay, just on the edge, where it’s been for well over two hour.

It’s deliriously maddening. Every touch on his skin feels amplified tenfold. Waves of pleasures ripple through him every time he tightens around Castiel, every time their hips join in endless movements, like waves crashing but never fully reaching land.

“Dean?” Castiel insists. His tongue cleans the salt on his cheeks. “You can say it, if you need to.”

Dean’s voice is hoarse, he can barely make sounds anymore. His skin is flushed, burning, and he hides his face in his arm as more tears spill from his eyes.

“'M fine,” he manages to mumble.

They have defined a safe word that Dean can use if he feels things are being pushed too far - if he’s being pushed too far. It was one of the first things Castiel ever asked of him. And Dean only agreed to it because Castiel requested it, and because whatever he wants, he gets. This is on his terms. But Dean has never used it, nor has he any intention of doing so.

“Don’t hide,” Castiel murmurs. A new grind of his hips and Dean cries out, ashamed of the sounds he makes, of the way he’s shaking, of the tears streaming down his face.

The last time Castiel left, after a four hours and six orgasms session, Dean couldn’t walk for two days. Castiel must have made sure he was brought food because every time he managed to awake, fresh fruits, cheeses, and meat were on his bedside. Returning to work after that was not easy - his body had taken quite a strain. But it always does when Castiel visits, and Dean’s build up strength and endurance.

Castiel has a thing for testing his limits.

Tonight is a different game. Tonight Dean isn’t allowed to come at all. Castiel has already orgasmed twice, painting him white inside and out. But he's barely given Dean any respite, and his mouth and hands have not left his skin yet.

It hurts how much Dean needs.

“Look at me.”

Dean keeps his eyes tightly shut, which doesn’t keep the tears in. It’s just so much - the overwhelming feeling of it all apparently comes out of his eyes, since it can’t come out anywhere else. His cock is nudged against Cas’ stomach, where the skin is so soft, so warm. If he were to die like this, he’d have no regret.

“Don’t hide your face, Dean. You’re so beautiful. I want to see you.” Castiel’s palm slides around his jaw, forcing him to turn. Dean can feel how burning his skin is - Castiel’s fingers almost feel cold.

He takes the kiss with relief. A distraction. Kissing Castiel always feels like drinking a tall glass of cold water after being in the sun all day. Castiel isn’t moving his hips anymore, giving him a bit of rest, kissing Dean's temple, his cheek, his jaw.

“So gorgeous. You’re doing so good, Dean. Just keep breathing, like I told you to.”

The praises are almost worse than the thick cock resting on his prostate. Dean whimpers, tightens his grip in Castiel’s hair, grinds up against him. He breathes, one, two, three, four . But it’s not enough.

“Please, Cas. Please.” His voice is hoarse, rasped, like he’s been screaming for days by the side of the road. “You gotta-”

“Not yet. You can do this. Just breathe.”

Dean does. Again. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four .

 With one last kiss Castiel pulls back and sits up, running his palms between Dean’s open thighs. His touch feels so much. Dean twitches. His cock stands upright on his stomach, a long string of precum leaking all the way to the pool dipping in his bellybutton.

Castiel wraps his palm around his cock and Dean cries out. He pumps it a few times, fist tight and wet, and Dean shudders, shakes, the pleasure mounting and crumbling inside of him. He squirms, whines, grabbles at the wet sheets sticking on his skin.  The fabric tightened around his balls won’t do, not when he can fuck himself in the tight heat of Castiel’s fist and back onto that hard cock and-

Just when the explosion of pleasure is about to crash through him, it’s all gone. Emptiness. It takes Dean a moment to notice it - he’s shaking so much, the almost-pleasure has him digging his nails in his own thighs, almost drawing blood.

“Fuck,” he lets out through gritted teeth. He’s not supposed to swear or complain in front of the prince, and certainly not about this service he’s providing. But fuck . This is unfair.

“How are you doing?” Castiel asks. One of his hand has wrapped around Dean’s ankle and he caresses his skin soothingly.

I kinda wanna kill you , Dean thinks.

“'M fine.”

Castiel tells him to breathe again - slower, slow down - touching his legs, his knees, his ankles. He’s never been able to not touch Dean when they’re together.

“I promise this will be worth it.”

Dean is very close to telling him to fuck off, but he holds himself back. Once Castiel is satisfied that Dean has calmed down - once he can touch him without Dean arching off the bed and cursing - he gently moves him to his side and slides behind him.

Dean hisses as Castiel bites into the meat of his shoulder. One rule: no mark. But Castiel likes to cheat. Especially tonight, it seems. He sucks on Dean’s skin, it stings, and Dean rolls his hips back against him.

“Let’s take it a little slower,” Castiel murmurs. “Maybe you’ll find it easier.”

Dean groans at the easy slide of Castiel’s cock inside of him, at the way his body tightens greedily, instinctively. He knows very well it isn’t going to be easier, not with the way Castiel’s fingers have already found their way to his nipples, and the way he presses his whole body flush against Dean’s back, his mouth determined to leave prohibited marks on the skin of his neck.

There’s nothing about this man that is easy. Yet Dean cannot find himself to ask for it any other way.

Chapter Text

Dean blinks awake through a fog. He can feel something shifting against him. Warmth. Warmth moving. Where his nose was buried into soft, lavender honey scented skin a moment ago, it’s now buried in the pillow, and the body held tight in his arms is slowly slipping away.

“Don’t go,” Dean mumbles. His mouth is doughy, stodgy. Castiel made him drink plenty of water before he passed out, but truth is he shouldn’t be awake right now. It’s still dark out.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Castiel murmurs. He kisses Dean’s temple, softly, but his warmth still keeps moving away - it’s his thighs now that slip away from where they were safely tucked between Dean’s own.

“Stay.”

“I can’t.”

Dean grabs him by the wrist just before he moves out of the bed completely. His eyes are open now and he can see the naked shape of Castiel in the darkness.

“C’mon. Don’t go. You already broke the rules anyway. ‘M covered in marks.”

“Yes, and if anyone finds me here tomorrow, they’ll know who they’re from,” Cas grins. He runs his hand through Dean’s hair, thumb stroking his cheek.

“They already know,” Dean murmurs, closing his eyes again and stirring himself closer. “Your name was on my board. An’ you’re the only one who makes me scream like that. Everyone knows it.”

“Really?” Castiel asks, and he almost sounds surprised. But he knows. They all know. Even Dean knows, and he doesn’t know why Castiel likes to do the things he does to him, or why he chooses him to do them to, but he knows it’s - it’s different between them. It just is.

“Weren’t you there last night? Think that’s ever happened to me before?”

Dean feels the smile when Castiel dips down to kiss him. He’s too tired to open his eyes, but he doesn’t let go of his wrist. He doesn’t want him to go. Not tonight. Not yet.

Castiel was right, as always. It was worth it. When he finally guided Dean to orgasm - guided being the only word, it felt like being led, little by little, excruciatingly slow up a steep mountainside - it was the most intense sexual experience Dean has ever had. The pleasure was both singular and multiple, and once it started, from the first, initial burst, it lasted longer than any other orgasm, and with such intensity that Dean nearly lost his mind, and he’s pretty sure the whole palace heard his screams. Once the first wave started wearing off, a second one hit, and a third, and a fourth - all the while Castiel kept touching him, kissing him, fucking him, bringing the pleasure well beyond the edges of what Dean would call bearable.

He’s not entirely sure how he survived. The last thing he remembers is waking up in the bath, to hot water and gentle hands cleansing him, and then Castiel making him drink very cold water before he collapsed back onto the mattress. He'd curled up in Castiel’s arms and fallen asleep, and he vaguely remembers murmuring thank you a few times against Castiel’s neck. He remembers soft kisses, Castiel saying things, but it was too late. Dean was unconscious.

Dean can’t can’t complain about his life, really, but when Castiel leaves, it feels - something hurts, inside. When he’s there, for the few hours a week Dean gets to be pressed against him, to fall asleep to the sound of his breathing, to exist with nothing but his scent, his warmth, his voice - Dean touches something, something close to things that shouldn’t be spoken of or thought about, but that he can’t help yearning for when it’s ripped away from him.

Things he yearns for when he wakes up alone in his bed, with only the lingering scent of lavender honey left on his sheets, and fainting red marks on his skin.

Tonight, Dean is too weak; Castiel broke him down to something he doesn’t understand, and he doesn’t have the strength to let him go yet.

He pulls until Castiel yields and moves back under the covers. Until he wraps his warmth around Dean again, until their bodies are tangled and tucked so closely Dean can’t tell where his skin ends and Castiel’s begins. He can feel the weight of Castiel against him, can feel his heat all along the length of his body. He buries his face in Castiel’s neck and inhales, deeply, one hand gripped in Castiel’s hair, tugging maybe a little too hard. Castiel doesn’t seem to mind though, and the hand that isn’t crushed under Dean’s weight runs over his skin, drawing patterns on his side and shoulder. He kisses his jaw, his chin, his lips.

Dean probably hurts him, holding him so tight, but then again, Castiel seems unbreakable sometimes.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Castiel says, softly. “I have to leave so early tomorrow.”

“No. Stay. Sleep all day.”

“I can’t,” Cas chuckles. His laughter shakes through Dean. “I’m not allowed.”

“Just put your dick inside me. As long as your dick’s inside me, we’re following the rules.”

He feels Castiel laughing again. It’s warm. “I’m not sure how that would work.”

“Just put it in.”

He really likes making Castiel laugh. He likes the fluttering kisses that come with it. He likes Castiel’s smile - it’s rare, and fleeting, and breathtaking.

“Go to sleep. I’ll stay until you wake up.”

“Good,” Dean sighs.

It’s all he needed to hear.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Dean fucked himself. Not in the fun way. In the metaphorical one.

He fucked himself because he’s lying here in his bed, fingers on his lip, thinking about the man who kissed him ten hours ago. Who kissed him goodbye. The man with eyes so blue, so blue the sea constantly throws fits about it. All those storms, it’s the ocean being angry that Castiel’s eyes stole its essence.

Dean is fucked, because he's alone, missing the man who kissed him and left him with nothing but the promise of coming back.

He always comes back. And Dean should be used to it. It’s been five years. Five years of Castiel tearing him apart and building him back up twice a week - if he's lucky. And maybe it’s been increasingly intense, maybe Castiel keeps finding new ways of turning Dean into - into whatever it is that he becomes in Castiel’s hands - but Dean should be used to this. This feeling. This emptiness when he leaves. The excitement when he knows that this is the day he’ll see him again.

It’s always been part of him, part of his life, part of how things are. Castiel is how things are, his existence is what it is. It doesn’t change anything. And Dean accepts it as a simple truth, as a fact of life. Being with Castiel feels - it feels like that . Knowing that he, Dean, is maybe, possibly, the only one to receive such attentions from him, feels like that. It's not a feeling he can put words on, or even begin to understand, it's not something he's ever felt before. But it also doesn’t change anything. Dean is a courtesan who likes fucking and getting fucked, with a preference for some individuals. Castiel is a prince who likes to fuck and get fucked, with a preference for Dean, and possibly others.

It doesn’t change the world.

Except that Dean is turning twenty-five years old in a few months. And on that day, he won’t have a choice. But they will. The court. A kind of fuck, marry, kill. Either they keep him, they free him, or one member of the court chooses him and weds him. And he becomes theirs.

Exclusively. Forever.

And Dean fucked himself. Because he shouldn’t want anything more than to be kept, which he has no doubt is what will happen. He’s a favourite amongst many, both men and women, and has no doubt that they’ll request for him to remain at the palace. Sam has secured himself a job and a wife here, and Dean doesn’t want to leave. He likes being a courtesan. It’s the perfect lifestyle for him, and he enjoys it, and it’s all he wants, and it’s all he’ll get, and it’s good.

It’s good. Except…

Except that there’s this thing inside of him. This - this want . This pull, that he feels, when Castiel slips out of his bed, when he kisses him one last time. The way his heart beats too hard, too fast, when they pass each other in the halls and Castiel smiles at him. Dean doesn’t understand how the walls keep standing up, how the buildings don’t collapse, every time Castiel smiles. He sure does. 

Castiel. Castiel, and the way he bites Dean's lip when they kiss sometimes. The way he frowns when they pull apart. The way his nails leave traces down his back even when they shouldn’t, the way he says his name, Dean, just before he -

That softness in his eyes when he looks at Dean. The way his mouth tugs a little bit on the side, just the hint of a smile, and he cocks his head, and it’s just - it’s so soft. The way he kisses him. A lot of people kiss Dean. Every day he gets kissed. But not like that. Not by those lips. Not - no one else tastes like him, no one else does what he does. They don’t kiss every inch of him, they don’t map his body with their lips for hours, they don't make him beg. That man knows Dean’s body better than any other living creature, better than Dean does, better than the Gods themselves.

They don’t touch him like he does. They don’t fuck him like he does.

Dean wants. He touches his lips that still taste a little bit like he did, and his skin where the marks are fading. The sheets that still smell like his soap.

Dean wants. More. More than he has any right to want, any right to hope for.

And he fucked himself, because it’s his damn fault if he feels this way.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Dean first met Castiel when they were both eighteen. Dean was starting to work for the court - not as a courtesan yet, but as a personal servant - and Castiel was beginning his introduction to society.

Dean thought Castiel was cute. That’s all it was, at first, just a thought. But the more Dean saw of him, the more curious he got.

Castiel was shy, but Dean didn’t miss the way the prince looked at him. The way his eyes always followed him around the room, the way his cheeks got so pink when Dean stepped close and spoke to him. The little gasps when Dean would part his legs to step over Castiel’s, making his way between his masters to serve wine or food. He didn’t miss the way Castiel licked and nipped at his plush lips when he gazed at Dean with eyes so blue Dean could’ve drowned in them.

Dean wanted him, and he wasn’t subtle about it. It wasn’t allowed, technically, as he wasn’t a courtesan and neither of them was of age, but he still flirted shamelessly with Castiel, whenever and wherever he could without attracting attention from their elders.

Their first kiss was in a broom closet. Dean dragged Castiel inside and kissed his protests silent. He’s not sure if Castiel had ever kissed anyone before. He was a quick and enthusiastic learner, though.

“We’re not supposed to do this,” he’d whisper every time Dean would managed to drag him somewhere hidden to press burning kisses to his lips. “You’re not of age yet, and not a courtesan-”

“Won’t tell if you won’t,” Dean would always say before claiming his mouth again. And Castiel would make beautiful little sounds of want, and every time he’d kiss Dean back more eagerly, until the day he slammed Dean against the wall of the closet so hard it shook. Dean's interest only increased tenfold.

“When can we get this to a real bed?” Dean asked when they emerged for air thirty minutes later.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate. You’re underage. If word came out that I defiled a-”

“Dude, believe me. That ship has sailed.”

Castiel frowned. Dean caught his lips between his teeth. “I really wanna defile you, though.”

Dean knew already he shouldn’t be insisting. It’s not like he didn’t get everything he needed from the other servants. He’d been attending the orgies and the parties for years now, ended most of his nights with a cock up his ass and his face buried in someone, or the other way around. And he loved it. He didn’t need this. He didn’t need to be running after this blue-eyed angel who he had no business bothering. Especially not just for a few stolen kisses in utility closets.

He didn’t need it. But he wanted it.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Cas hasn’t shown up. He was supposed to come, last night, and he didn’t show. Dean isn’t sure why. Maybe Dean shouldn’t have insisted that Cas stayed and slept with him. He shouldn’t have pushed, shouldn’t have asked more of Castiel. He already gives Dean so much more than he deserves.

But it felt so good to wake up with him. To see him in the light of day. To watch him sleep, for a little bit, undisturbed, at peace.

Castiel’s back had been covered in red tracks from Dean’s nails, his shoulders wore marks of bites. Dean didn’t look any better. Castiel smiled into their last kiss, and moved under the warmth of the covers, sucked a mark on the inside of his thigh.

“Not supposed to,” Dean said, but he was grinning.

“Just say you fell and hit something.”

Castiel’s last kiss before he left felt possessive. He kissed the marks on Dean’s skin, all the ones that weren’t supposed to be there but were left by accident, and finally the one he made on purpose.

“Be good. Rest up. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Not if I see you first.”

Of course people had suspected that the marks were no accidents. Combined with the screams they’d heard, Dean’s singularly lowered physical capacity in the following days and the fact that every single person in the castle knew that Castiel always fucked him the night before his days off... Two of Dean’s regulars were a bit pissed off. But it didn’t matter. And Dean made it up to them anyway.

Castiel should’ve showed up.

Chapter Text

It’s the end of the afternoon and Dean is on his way back from visiting Sam in the farming area. He’s just walked back into the castle when someone grabs his wrist.

He has time to recognize Castiel, which is why he lets himself be dragged into a supply closet at a moment’s notice. They find themselves face to face, inches away in the half-light.

“They’ve forbidden me to see you,” Castiel offers as an explanation.

“Why?”

“Because I overslept. And… the marks. On my back. And on you.”

Dean tries not to smile. It’s not good news - but it explains why Castiel wasn’t there last night. And Dean really, really liked those marks. It felt a little bit like Castiel was still with him, even after he was gone. Like Dean could touch him, reach him, even if he was not there.

“Some, uh. Some clients complained. ‘Cause you marked me. And wore me out.”

Cas probably shouldn’t be smiling either.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Dean isn’t sure how he finds himself crowding Castiel against the wall and kissing him senseless, but there he is, and Castiel isn’t complaining. The fist gripped in Dean’s tunic and the other one knotted in his hair seem to indicate he’s very happy about the turn of event.

“This broom closet suddenly feels very familiar,” Castiel pants between their mouths.

“Pretty sure we’ve been here before,” Dean grins.

There aren’t many supply closets in the castle they haven’t visited together. It’s been a few years, though. He likes that Castiel remembers.

“Lube,” Castiel murmurs the moment Dean pulls back to breathe.

“What?”

“Lubricant. This is a supply closet, there must be lubricant somewhere.”

Dean has learned a long time ago never to question him, so they quickly search for lubricant, which they find in a jar of unidentified oil.

“Not sure that’s safe for human cavities,” Dean frowns.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s not for you.”

Castiel puts it in Dean’s hand and then pulls him against the wall again.

“It’s for me.”

Dean pants against Castiel’s mouth, arousal rising so fast he's dizzy. It’s not the first time Castiel has asked Dean to do this - in five years, they’ve explored pretty much all the possibilities of each other - but it doesn’t happen too often, and Dean always gets the thrill, the honor, to be asked this. To be given this role, freely, by that man.

They have no time to waste today. He can’t tease Castiel for hours, can’t repay him for the endless torture he’s endured by his hand. He won’t be able to reproduce anything close to the kind (or the amount) of orgasms Castiel has given him. Not that Castiel seems to be in any kind of pain, or lack of pleasure, during their sessions - but this needs to be quick.

Castiel is just as frantic as Dean is, pulling him up and growling enough when Dean knows that cannot possibly be enough preparation, but he doesn’t protest. Dean wraps Castiel’s legs around his own waist and hoists him up against the wall.

Castiel is infinitely tight around him and he makes sounds that are unfair for a human to make. Dean has to tell him to shush, please, shush and put a hand over his mouth even though he’s not doing much better, burying his moans in Castiel’s neck with every short, quick thrust inside of him. The wall bangs, the brooms fall around them.

Dean wishes he could tell him things. Things like this is so much and this isn’t enough and sometimes I want to die while I’m with you because what’s the point to keep on living when you go away, but he doesn’t. Neither of them last very long, which should be surprising, giving their sexual habits, but then again this wasn’t supposed to be.

Dean holds him for a moment after, pressing a kiss behind his ear, and then releases him.

“We should probably leave separately,” Cas says. His voice is a bit shaky. His cheeks are red. Dean wipes a tear from the corner of his eyes.

“Yeah. Good idea. D’you know how long you’ll have to, um, stay away?”

“At least a week.”

Dean nods. He kisses him, because Castiel looks kind of lost, and a bit shaky, and maybe it’s because he doesn’t get fucked a lot, or maybe it’s because he felt it, too. And Dean wants him to know that he isn’t alone.

“Will you be visiting Sam on all your days off?” Castiel asks, his hand on the door.

“Yeah. Yeah, for a while. I’ll be, uh. Walking ‘round here on all my days off at 4:30 for the foreseeable future.”

“Good to know.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

The first time they ever had sex, they were nineteen. Dean sneaked into the prince's royal suite. It was thrilling; if he had been found, he could’ve been expelled from the castle.

He still isn’t sure why he did it. Castiel didn’t ask him to come. He kept telling him not to, actually - and Dean definitely did not need that risk, or the reward. He just… He was curious. He liked the thrill he felt when Castiel touched him. It was exciting. He put it on the count of the fact that it was forbidden - royals weren’t allowed to touch servants, and servants weren’t allowed to be courtesans before turning twenty.

He silently slid through Castiel’s window, stark naked, after climbing all the way up the rock wall. Dean put his hand on Castiel’s mouth to keep him from screaming when his eyes shot open and he saw Dean on top of him.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel whispered once his mouth was free and Dean was busy removing the blankets and kissing down his neck.

“What d’you think?”

Castiel slept naked, and Dean had him in his mouth and growing stiff in seconds. He was so big Dean could barely fit half, lips obscenely stretched out around the thick shaft.

“Dean,” Cas hissed under his breath. His fingers knotted in Dean’s hair and pulled. “We can’t. They’ll hear us-”

“Not if you’re real quiet.”

Cas whined as Dean took him as far down his throat as he could.

“Gotta be more quiet than that,” he laughed, letting him go with a wet pop. He climbed back up, swallowing Castiel’s sounds in his mouth.

“I’ve never-”

“S’okay. I have.” Castiel’s hands were everywhere, touching, wandering, questioning. He touched Dean’s face when he kissed him.

“Tell me what to do.”

“M’already ready for you. Figured we wouldn’t have time.”

Dean had spent almost an hour stretching and slicking himself up in bed before coming over. It still felt overwhelming when he began sinking down on Castiel - the prince was bigger than anything Dean had ever taken before.

“Slow,” he kept murmuring against Castiel’s trembling lips. “Shit. Slow. Fuck.”

He was allowed to swear back then. He was a servant, yes, but not a courtesan, and in that moment he wasn’t servicing Castiel, wasn’t his inferior. Cas was a nineteen year old boy with shaky hands and twitching hips, who let out soft little sounds buried in Dean’s shoulders, who moved slow inside of him despite of how fucking overwhelmed he looked every time Dean took him deeper.

Dean dug his fingers into Cas’ skin. So big. He knew it would be incredible, but he wasn’t prepared for this, for how he felt, how this felt - not just for how long and thick Castiel was, splitting him open in ways he’d never been before, but also the way Dean was pressed flush against his chest, muffling his whimpers against the soft skin of Cas’ neck. He wasn’t prepared for Cas’ sounds in his ears, for his nails raking down his back, for his desperate little trusts and his cheeks so warm against Dean’s ear. He wasn’t prepared for how close he felt, so close, and soft, and right there against Dean. He could feel Castiel’s heart hammering right against his the whole time.

A whole time that didn’t last very long, in the end, because Cas had never done this before, and Dean kept tightening around his cock and moaning and biting and grinding, and it was so very good, and he put his hand on Cas’ mouth to stifle his scream when he came. He looked so beautiful losing himself inside of Dean.

Dean let him breathe, laying a path of kisses down his neck. His skin was so soft, and smelled of lavender honey, and he couldn’t get enough.

“What can I - I want to -” Cas fumbled with his hands, reaching down between them.

But before Dean could answer, sounds came - banging and footsteps. Dean jumped on his feet, his cock still hard between his legs.

“Wait,” Castiel whispered, crawling on the bed. “You’re not-”

“Can’t risk getting caught,” Dean told him, pecking him on the lips. “Don’t worry, it was fun.”

And with that he was out the window again, gloriously naked.

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

Dean didn’t really think about it. He went back to his room, still kinda hard. He really wanted that orgasm. He touched himself a bit, thinking about Cas, thinking about his cock. Fuck, it’d been so big, felt so fucking good - mind-blowing in fact. He thought about his lips, so soft, and the way they only stopped shaking when Dean kissed him. About the way his eyes shined after he’d…

But Dean didn’t really like doing this alone. Nor did he like doing this while thinking about how he wouldn’t mind never seeing the sky again if he could be allowed one more look into Castiel's eyes. These were not thoughts he could afford to have. He could think about how good Cas’ dick felt, because that’s the only reason he had risked his life tonight. And he got it. He got what he needed.

He couldn’t lay in that bed thinking about Castiel’s eyes, about how much they reminded him of the ocean, how much his smile was like the sunrise over the bay, how much he wanted to spend his life looking into them - no, that just wouldn’t do.

Thirty minutes later, Dean was coming hard, with rough hands around his hips and another set pulling at his hair. He moaned between the legs of the woman splayed in front of him, and it wasn’t Castiel’s cock inside of him but it still felt damn good.

“Dean?”

A voice. Blue eyes, dark eyebrows frowned. Castiel was standing in his doorway. He’d sneaked out of his room and all the way down down to the servants’ quarters - risking everything, just like Dean had.

Dean sat up, as best he could.

“Hey, um-”

Dean’s come stained the sheets. The man slipped out of him with a pop.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Castiel stuttered. “I’m sorry.”

And just like that, he disappeared.

Dean tried to climb back to Castiel’s window the next night, but it was locked.

Chapter Text

The wood laths of the closet door are cold against Dean’s cheek, under his hands. Castiel hums and nips on the back of his neck, fingers slipping under his toga, parting his cheeks. Dean shivers in anticipation.

It circles, almost slips in, and then-

“Dean.”

Dean hums, trying to push back against the digit stubbornly not inside of his ass yet. Castiel shifts behind him. 

“You’re wet.”

Dean’s eyes fly open. He feels Castiel’s fingers caressing him, circling, plunging ever so slightly, and then he feels it too - hears it. A wet sound.

He’s so used to this, so used to - he didn’t even notice. He forgot.

“Uh. Yeah.”

Dean’s heart pounds against his ribs.

“Is it from your client last night, is it - one of my brother’s…?”

“No,” Dean says immediately. “No. I washed after. It’s-”

He closes his eyes. Castiel’s other hand is still possessively wrapped around his hip, nails digging maybe a little harder than they need to into his skin.

Dean didn’t break any rule, technically.

Right now, this is breaking the rules. Sneaking off with Castiel during the day, outside of the courtesan suites. This is not allowed. And if this was their usual meeting, during Dean’s shift, in his room, then yes - Dean’s hole being filled with someone else’s come would be breaking the rules. Definitely. He should always be clean for a client.

But this isn’t an official meeting and he’s not technically breaking any rule.

Doesn’t mean Castiel doesn’t have a right to get pissed about it.

“It’s what?”

Dean whines when two of Castiel’s fingers suddenly force their way inside of him, stretching him a little too easily.

“Answer me.”

“Went to the servant’s common after. Forgot to wash before I went to bed. ‘M sorry,” Dean mumbles.

Castiel is keeping him pinned against the wall, breathing down his neck.

His fingers move, slipping in and out easily - it’s a fucking sloppy mess inside of him, how did he not notice when he got up this morning? He shouldn’t be so fucking used to this.

“Who did this?”

Dean's cheeks heats up, and he bites back a whimper when Castiel adds a third finger and fucks into him, spreading the mess. Shouldn’t feel this good, to be this powerless.

“I - I don’t know. Couple people. Not sure, didn’t - was distracted.”

“You don’t know who fucked you? Or how many?”

Dean shouldn’t be hard, shouldn’t tighten around Castiel’s fingers. His voice is so fucking arousing when he’s - angry, or turned on, or both, possibly. Dean braces himself against the wall and shakes his head.

“By all Gods, Dean.” Cas crooks his fingers and presses against his prostate, hard. Dean keens, arches his back. “You really love this, don’t you? You just can’t get enough.”

Drool wets Dean’s arm as he stifles his moans, rocks his hips back against Castiel’s hand.

“Is that why you chose this? This job? Because you love this so much? Love getting filled, getting fucked, getting used by people who don’t give a fuck about you?”

Dean’s whole body tingles and heats up, and he should feel ashamed, ashamed that he’s so fucking hard at those words murmured harshly in his ears.

The blunt head of Castiel’s cock presses against his hole. Dean’s not stretched enough, and no other cock he’s taken last night even comes close to the size of Castiel’s.

“Tell me,” Castiel says, his words spoken directly into Dean’s ear, his breath hot on his skin. His weight almost crushes Dean against the wall. “Tell me why you’re doing this.”

“‘Cause I want to.”

His words are hushed, stifled.

Castiel’s fingers part his cheeks. His cock pushes, more insistent, but not quite there - Dean huffs.

“Do you want me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, fuck. I want you. Always want you, Cas. Please. Just-”

Dean lets out a loud groan when Castiel’s cock breaches into him. It’s too wide, too big, too hard - and fuck, it feels so good. He loves the pain, he loves that Castiel goes a little too fast, a little too deep, growls against his shoulder once he’s seated. He loves the heat of Castiel’s body against his back, loves the way he’s pushed uncomfortably against the wall. He loves the way his forehead bangs against the wood when Castiel starts to move, the way Castiel’s fingers dig bruises in his hips to keep him up, to keep his hips tilted just the right angle to use him, to fuck into the sloppy wetness others have left before him.

“It’s a mess,” Castiel says, after he’s done inside of him. It filled him and spilled over, leaking down Dean’s legs, warm. Castiel’s cheeks are red, his eyes are dark. He kisses him, once, fingers tugging at his hair, tongue licking possessively into his mouth. He jerks him off quickly, roughly, until Dean comes with a stifled shout.

“You’re filthy. Go get yourself washed up. And be clean the next time we meet, or I won’t be as nice.”

He leaves Dean in the dark, a little stunned, a little bit ashamed, and possibly a little too pleased with himself.

───※ ·❆· ※───

After their first time, Castiel stopped looking at Dean. He didn’t meet him in the hallways anymore. No heated kisses in supply closets. He avoided him in every possible way. Dean tried to climb the wall up to his bedroom window again, several times, but it was always locked, so he eventually gave up.

A few months later Dean turned twenty, and decided to become a courtesan.

It wasn’t because of Castiel. It wasn’t because there was a chance that Castiel might one day come to him. Dean liked sex. He didn’t like to clean, or serve, or work in the hot kitchens or spend his days in the fields. He much preferred giving himself up for a few hours every night for the luxury of private quarters and the best meals delivered to his door.

It wasn’t because of the silly hope to be touched by Castiel again.

Castiel did not visit him for the first several months. It seemed he had lost all interest in Dean after seeing him with others.

He did visit other courtesans, though. As soon as he became of age. Dean saw his names on his colleagues’ boards. Every night, Castiel was down in the courtesan quarters, with someone who wasn’t Dean.

Dean didn’t allow himself to think about it much. He did feel a bit guilty about what had happened - Castiel had obviously sneaked out to finish what he had started, and had found Dean... well. Finishing up with others. But Dean’s not sure what Castiel expected. Dean hadn’t done anything wrong.

Dean didn’t become a courtesan just for the remote, crazy, near impossible chance that Castiel might want him again one day.

But Castiel did. One night, Dean checked the board in front of his room to see the name written on it and he smiled. His heart fluttered. It had been over a year. Fifteen months and twenty-six days, to be exact, not that it mattered. Not that he counted.

Castiel seemed older. His eyes were darker.

Things were different. Dean wasn't the rebellious servant trying to corrupt the young prince anymore. Castiel was royalty. Dean was a courtesan, on a work shift. He existed only for Castiel’s pleasure, for his desire. He had no say, no voice. Obedience only.

He liked it.

“Been a while,” Dean couldn’t help but say, with a tentative smile.

Castiel didn’t answer. He removed his clothes.

“How do you want me?”

“Naked. On your back.”

Dean obeyed. There was something thrilling about the way Castiel gave orders, about his voice that had gotten rougher, lower. He’d changed. He was confident now. He stood taller, his gaze was calm, his jaw set. But suddenly a tiny part of Dean missed the fumbling, flustered boy he had stolen kisses from in the closets. He wondered if that boy still existed.

Castiel towered over him. Touched him. Kissed him. He seemed so sure of himself. It was slow, methodical. Warm. He moved down Dean's body like every inch was worth being worshipped. Dean wasn’t supposed to take, not supposed to demand, not unless he’d been asked to. They told him what they wanted. Where they wanted his mouth, his hands. How they wanted to fuck him, or how they wanted to be fucked. It was simple, it was easy.

But Castiel laid him on the bed and kissed him - his face, first, his forehead, his temple, his nose, his cheeks, his jaw, his chin. His lips, a barely press of his mouth that left Dean yearning.

Then Cas went down his neck, shoulders, chest. Fingers played with his nipples, grazed over them, until Dean huffed a little, bit his lower lip to keep silent. Castiel moved down. A tongue followed the path down Dean's stomach, his navel. Teeth bit at the bone of his hip. Licks, nips, kisses. Dean stayed silent. Until he couldn’t anymore.

“You know this isn’t - that’s not how this works, right?” Dean blurted out.

He didn’t have permission to speak, but he did anyway. Because this was not how this worked, and he’d seen Castiel’s name on the boards of almost everyone else besides him, so he should  have known that by now.

“It works how I say it works,” Castiel replied, his lips barely leaving Dean’s skin.

He was not wrong. He moved up, mouthed at Dean’s neck again.

“If you’re uncomfortable, or if there’s anything I do or ask of you that you do not like, just say broom, and I’ll stop. Immediately.”

“Broom?” Dean breathed out.

“Yes.” His thumb brushed on Dean’s lower lip. He seemed to soften, just for an instant. “It’s our safe word. So that I don’t do anything you don’t enjoy.”

“You can do anything you want,” Dean chuckled. “I ain’t got a say.”

Castiel looked him in the eyes. Dean felt like he missed a step down the stairs. Their noses brushed.

“I say you do. Promise me.”

Dean nodded. He didn’t have a choice but to agree.

Castiel worked his way down his body again, pulling at his skin with his teeth, making Dean’s toes curl. “Where are you most sensitive?”

“What?”

Castiel looked up. His thumb stroked the inside of Dean’s arm. It tickled. It was pleasant.

“Where do you like to be touched? Besides the more obvious places?”

Dean opened his mouth. He didn’t know what to answer. Or if he should answer at all. Castiel’s fingers dug deeper in his skin, on the edge of painful. “Answer me.”

“I - I don’t know. Nipples. Neck. Thighs. Anywhere’s good. I don’t-”

“Be vocal. Tell me what you enjoy.”

Castiel spent the next hours mapping his body with his lips, kissing, nipping, touching. He found sensitive spots behind Dean’s ears, in his elbows and behind his knees, on the inside of his thighs. He found that Dean liked to gripped tight, bitten, but that his nipples were so sensitive barely a brush with the pad of Castiel’s fingers had him trashing.

Dean gasped when Castiel’s mouth wrapped around him. He was not the first, but it was usually other servants who did this. Some of his clients enjoyed it, but they usually enjoyed being on the receiving end even more, especially with a courtesan. Dean got his fair amount of pleasure from other servants but this was - it was different. Castiel’s mouth had qualities no one else had.

“Think I should be the one doing this,” Dean hissed.

“Do you enjoy it?” Castiel asked, coming off with an obscene pop. His lips were slick and red. “Giving oral pleasure?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“You can ask for what you want. And I’ll give it to you.”

“I’m not allowed to.”

“You are if I say so.”

Dean threw his head back.

Castiel lasted a long time that night - much longer than he had the first time. He made Dean come twice, once on his cock alone, leaving him breathless and dizzy, not sure of what had happened. Dean’s nipples were red and abused, his skin was raw from being kissed so much, his lips swollen and bitten. His thighs shook around Castiel’s hips, who slammed into him at an unforgiving pace. Dean came again, so hard he saw stars in the night sky of Castiel’s eyes.

“What the fuck was that?” Dean managed to ask as Castiel prepared to leave, after gently cleaning him with a warm cloth.

Castiel leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“The beginning,” he answered.

Chapter Text

It’s been almost three weeks. Every night, before his day off, Dean lays in bed waiting for Castiel. He doesn’t come. Dean has no idea how much longer this ban will go on, and it's driving him crazy. They’ve been meeting in supply closets around the castle whenever they could, but it’s been eight days since he's known Castiel's touch and Dean’s getting restless.

He can’t spend another night waiting for him, hoping he’ll show.

All he can think about is his birthday coming up. He worries about Castiel’s jealousy, about being filthy in front of him. What if he decides he doesn’t want Dean anymore? And there are his regulars, too, complaining of his exhaustion, of the marks.

His fate feels less and less certain.

Dean can’t just lie there and think. So he does what he does when he needs to stop thinking.

He ends up at the servants’ orgy, with a cock up his ass and another down his throat, with his own length buried in someone who’s name he doesn’t want to learn. There’s a lot happening, honestly, hands pulling at his skin and his hair, people moaning, pounding, praising. It’s perfect. He’s not thinking right now and it’s exactly what he needs.

Dean’s been toying with the idea of pushing his own limits for a while - after all, he doesn’t need Castiel for that - and tonight seems to be the night he’s going to do it. They change positions. Someone slides under him, a second cock aligns with the first, a blunt head pushes against his already stretched hole. Dean groans, moans around the cock down his throat. He loves this, being so full he can’t think, so fucked it’ll hurt to walk, hurt to keep his eyes open for at least two days. This is exactly what he needs.

The sounds around him fade but it takes him a moment to catch up, and he wonders why he can’t feel his ass being stretched way more than it should. The man's cock slips out of his mouth. Dean turns around, looking for the source of the disruption.

“What the-”

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Castiel is standing in the door frame, arms crossed on his chest. His eyes are dark, blown up as they gaze over the scene in front of him - Dean on all four, about to take two men while a third fucks his mouth, and all the others servants fucking each other senseless around them. Only Cas' very pink cheeks betray his calm demeanour.

“Dean. Why aren’t you in your room?”

Dean awkwardly gets back up. He would’ve expected Castiel to have left immediately upon seeing the scene. Maybe because it’s happened before, and that’s what he did. Maybe because the last time he fucked Dean he called him filthy, and then he didn’t show up for a week.

But here he is. Standing. Staring. Waiting for an answer.

“‘Cause I’m here?” Dean dares.

“Why are you here?” Castiel’s flush deepens and his eyes throw lightning. He moves forward, stepping into the room, indifferent to the fact that he’s breaking the rules by entering servants’ quarters. “My name is on your board. You’re on the clock. You should not be here.”

“You weren’t there. You haven’t been-”

“Whether I’m there or not doesn’t give you the right to leave your working quarters and come pleasure yourself in the servants' orgies.” Castiel’s voice thunders in the silence of the small room, and Dean's hair stands on its ends. “Your time is mine and I have not allowed this. Now gather yourself, get washed up, and get back to your room.”

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

Dean’s hair is still a little wet as he stands in the middle of his bedroom, waiting for Castiel. He washed himself thoroughly, but he fears what punishment might come from what he did tonight. He broke a huge rule, and it’s up to his client to punish him in the way he sees fit. He still isn’t allowed to really… maim him, but… Castiel has a very colorful imagination.

Dean isn’t sure if it’s fear of excitement that makes his stomach flutter as a shadow appears in the doorframe. Maybe a little bit of both.

Castiel walks around him and doesn’t look at him until he’s sitting on the bed, his back against the frame.

“Come here."

The mattress yields under Dean’s knees. Castiel leans over until he can touch Dean, his hands wrapping around his ass and nudging him forward.

“On your stomach.”

Dean understands. He lays with his stomach on Castiel’s lap, crosses his arms and hides his face in his elbow.

“Have you ever been spanked, Dean?”

Heat prickles on Dean’s skin. “A little.”

“Not extensively?”

“No.”

“Was it for discipline?”

“No, sir.”

Dean has only called Castiel sir a handful of times, and usually as a joke. But he knows Castiel secretly likes it, and today feels different. He feels the need to appease him, somehow. Submit back to his rightful place after his transgression.

Castiel’s palm is warm and dry as it strokes over his skin. He pinches his cheek, once, and Dean can’t help the way he grinds down on Cas' lap to seek friction for his stirring cock.

“I told you that I’d have to punish you if you misbehaved again, did I not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you remember your safe word?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean isn’t sure if it’s on purpose - it probably is, knowing who’s touching him - but Castiel seems to be teasing Dean, delaying what’s to come. No matter how much it might hurt, Dean still wants it, and not knowing is way worse than whatever it’s going to be. The waiting, the building up to it. Castiel’s nails raking on his skin, raising goosebumps in their wake.

Castiel’s voice drops so low it comes out as a growl.

“I can’t believe you were going to take two of them.”

Dean yelps as Castiel spanks him with an open palm, rigid and curt, twice on each cheek. It hurts more than Dean expected, pain biting into his skin, but fades away as quickly as it came, leaving him a little dizzy with his heartbeat through the roof.

“Is nothing ever enough for you, Dean?”

Breathless pain. Dean can hear the sharp sound of Castiel's hand hitting him, again and again. Searing in the most exquisite way.

“You should have been here.”

Castiel hits him in sets, five times on each side. It feels interminable, and Dean bites his lips to avoid begging for it to stop.

“I’m sorry,” Dean chokes, tears sliding down his cheeks. He can’t even move to wipe them, his arms are numb and shaking, he can’t feel anything except his ass and Castiel’s hand, hitting him over and over, hard and sharp like a whip.

“I didn’t hear that.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Cas, I’m-”

Castiel stops and Dean’s skin is on fire, twitching under every brush of Castiel's fingers. He’s going to bear bruises of this for days, if not weeks, and he should not love it this much. He’s not the only one who thinks so.

“This is supposed to be a punishment,” Castiel hisses, his fist twisting into Dean’s hair and craning his neck back.

Dean’s cock is a little too hard between Castiel’s thighs. His hips bounce and grind as Castiel hits him again, with what must be all of his very impressive strength. Dean’s surprised that skin doesn’t break, that he doesn’t feel blood dripping down his thighs. The sheer power displayed makes him feel weak in the best of ways.

Fingers rub up and down between his cheeks and he pushes back, desperate, insistent. Castiel spanks him again. Then he shoves him off and Dean almost falls off the bed, scrambling in the sheets to remain on.

“You deserve to be punished,” Castiel growls. His eyes are darker than Dean’s ever seen them, angry, devoid of the warmth they usually carry when they look at him.

That hurts more than the bruises on his ass, more than his skin screaming and burning.

“‘M sorry. I’m so sorry, Cas-”

For a second Dean thinks Castiel is going to hit him in the face, or kick him in the stomach. His jaw is set tight and his eyes are dark and pained and suddenly filled with tears. 

“Maybe I should just go.”

Dean's heart hammers against his ribs, his chest feels like it's caving in on itself. No, no, Cas cannot leave him right now. He crawls up to Cas again but Cas moves out of the way. The skin of his ass screams raw.

“Please-”

“I should let you go back to them. I’m not sure why I even bothered to come.”

Dean’s stomach sinks, his heart pounds, loud, heavy.

“Please, don’t go, please-”

He makes a grab for Castiel’s hand but it slips between his fingers as Castiel gets off the bed.

“Why not? Wouldn’t you rather go back to your friends than go through another round of getting beaten senseless by me?” 

“No, sir,” Dean answers honestly. His voice breaks as he tries to catch Castiel's gaze. “I’d rather have you. Always.”

“Always?” Cas sits back down on the bed, his hand sneaks up Dean’s thigh, squeezes hard around his ass. It hurts and Dean bites the inside of his cheek.

“Yes.”

Castiel moves. He pushes Dean to lay on his stomach again and straddles the back of his thighs. His skin is burning against Dean’s bruised one.

“Even when I’m hurting you?”

“Yes.” Dean voice is muffled into the sheets.

Castiel leans over, nuzzling until his mouth is against Dean’s jaw. “Do you really enjoy pain this much?”

“No, sir. I don’t.”

Castiel waits, breathing heavily into Dean’s ear.

“But I always want you. Any way I can get you.”

It’s whispered, because maybe he shouldn’t say it. But he was asked, and he isn’t allowed to lie.

Castiel lets out a shuddery breath.

“Why did you go to them, then?”

“Thought you wouldn’t come. Couldn’t - couldn’t stand being alone. Not again. I’m sorry.”

Castiel’s mouth presses on his skin. “You thought I wasn’t coming.”

Dean shudders. The whole length of Castiel’s body is moulded against his back now, his fingers around Dean’s wrists, pining them down. His lips brush against Dean’s skin every time he speaks, and his breath is burning hot against his ears.

“Hurts when you’re not here,” Dean murmurs.

There’s a beat. Castiel doesn’t move.

“I hate seeing you with others. I know I have no right to feel that way, but I do.”

It’s whispered so low Dean wouldn’t have heard it, had Castiel’s lips not been directly against the shell of his ear.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

His warmth is gone. Another tear slides down Dean’s cheek. This time Castiel’s finger catches it. He’s back, and he’s slowly, gently presses his hands into Dean’s skin, kneading into his shoulders and back, not putting too much pressure. Dean can feel he’s rubbing something cold and smooth on his ass and he bites back a moan of relief.

“I’m putting some lotion on your skin. It will help with the bruising.”

Dean lets out a little whimper, mix of pleasure and pain. Castiel’s fingers rub over his hole as he works, almost like an afterthought. Dean grinds back but doesn’t get more.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says, his other hand grazing in Dean’s hair and petting through it. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry. I had no right.”

“‘s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Didn’t hear me complain.”

Dean tries to shoot Castiel a smile, and finds him frowning. His eyes are still dark, but now they’re just cloudy and concerned. Sad, and shameful.

“I’ve hurt you. I’ve left marks-”

“I like it.”

Dean reaches out, touches him. His thigh is warm. Dean wishes he’d lay over him again. Kiss him. He turns on his back, displaying his half hard cock. He winces a little when his ass rubs against the bedsheets, catching the way Castiel’s worried glance roams over his face.

“You’re hot when you’re angry,” Dean winks, shooting him a grin.

“It was misplaced and unjustified-”

“No. I should’ve been here. You were right.”

Dean tugs at him a little and Castiel gets the hint. He parts his legs over Dean’s thighs and straddles his waist. Dean smiles.

“I’ve missed you,” Castiel says, touching his face like he does sometimes, like he's afraid he's gonna break him.

Dean feels warms all over. His heart flutters. Cas kisses him, soft, warm, and he can’t feel any pain anymore.

“I’m glad you didn’t run away this time. I’m glad you’re here.”

“This time?”

Castiel pulls back to frown at him .

“I’d pick a spanking over you running away any day of the week.”

A spark of understanding flashes in Castiel’s eyes. His expression darkens and he stares down at Dean's chest.

“You remember that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Dean runs his hands up and down Castiel’s arms, cupping his cheeks to lift his gaze up until their eyes meet. He feels braver tonight, especially recalling a time when they were equals.

“It was a long time ago.”

“It was our first time. 'Course I remember.”

Castiel looks a little bit awed. And ashamed.

“You’ve had a lot of first times. I’m surprised you remember them all.”

“I don’t,” Dean answers honestly.

In fact, it might be the only one he truly remembers. Even his own first time having sex is blurry in his mind, but he remembers every minute of being with Castiel.

“Was it that bad?”

A delicious blush has spread on Castiel’s cheeks and he’s avoiding Dean’s eyes again.

“No. Cas - it was…”

It’s difficult to find the right words. It was so much. Cas was so soft, held him so tight. His sounds were so...

“It was sweet. And-”

“Sweet.” Cas rolls his eyes, huffs. “I see.”

“Sweet is good.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” Dean says, defiantly. “It is. It was sweet, Cas, and you were - it felt - it felt really fucking good. So good that-”

“So good that I couldn’t make you finish? So good that you left, and went to someone else to achieve orgasm?”

Cas is hurt. The same pained expression he had when he found Dean tonight paints on his features. Betrayal, and shame, and… pain.

Dean stares at him, gaping.

“You think I did that because it was bad?”

“Why else would you?”

“Because I didn’t want to be killed, Cas. Or thrown out. I had to leave. And I was horny, and I’d just had you, so it’s not like my hand was gonna be any good after that.”

“I came down for you.”

Cas’ voice is so small Dean barely hears it. He looks young again, young and vulnerable and sad. Dean’s heart clenches at the memory of Cas, standing in the doorframe of his room all those years ago. He strokes his hand on Cas’ thighs.

“I didn’t know that. I couldn’t know you would. I never thought - you didn’t even want me to come up in the first place. I basically forced you to- I never thought you’d take the risk to come down to see me. And I didn’t want to be alone, not after… not after you.”

Understanding slowly paints itself on Cas’ face.

“You really hate being alone, don't you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?”

Cas' thumb strokes Dean's cheek. Curves around his lips.

“If you could’ve stayed…”

“You would’ve been covered in come in five minutes, Cas. Swear to god. You would have had it up to your chin.”

Cas smiles a little too bright. He looks so relieved, and he laughs, and Dean wants to kiss him and maybe cry because holy shit, all this time, the poor dude thought he’d failed him.

Dean mirrors his grin. Things make a lot more sense now.

“Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time? Revenge fucking me? To prove that you can make me finish? ‘Cause I gotta say, you’ve really made your point.”

Cas turns so red it’s adorable. Dean touches his cheeks, completely seized by it.

“D’you regret all the hours you spent trying to prove a point to me now?” Dean asks, half joking. He suddenly wonders if Castiel is simply the most stubborn man on the planet.

“No. I don’t regret a moment with you,” Cas says with a soft, soft smile. “And I’m not even halfway done proving my point.”

“For your information,” Dean pants a minute later, as Castiel’s cock rubs hard and wet against his own, “I was only gonna take those two cocks because you have gotten me used to having something huge in my ass, and a normal sized cock just doesn’t feel enough. So it’s your fault.”

There’s definitely a grin pressed against his skin.

“So you wouldn’t take me twice at the same time?”

“Pretty sure that would kill me.”

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

Castiel was right. He wasn’t halfway done.

Two hours later Dean is panting into the sheets, coming down from his third orgasm, thanks to Castiel’s cock ramming directly at his prostate with dangerous precision.

This time the white fabric is wrapped around Castiel's balls, allowing him to come and remain hard enough to stay inside, fucking Dean relentlessly.

Dean has been reducing to a babbling, drooling mess. Castiel’s skin feels so good pressing against the rawness of his ass. He showers Dean with praises and affection, a never ending flow of words murmured into Dean's skin.

Dean is lost and never wants to be found. This is what he wants, forever, Castiel, Castiel and his hands and his mouth and his cock, Castiel and the sounds he makes as he moves inside of Dean.

Castiel.

Dean replies as best he can, mumbling and babbling about how he always wants him, only him, his words muffled in the sheets or into Castiel’s neck. Always want you, always want you, only want you, Cas.

He barely registers it when Castiel’s praises turn into statements, and then into questions.

“Do you really? Always want me?”

“Yes, yes, Cas, fuck, please, fuck-”

This shouldn’t feel this good, Castiel’s teeth biting into his shoulders shouldn’t feel like this, his skin, slick with sweat and burning against Dean’s, his cock so big and so good, so fucking good, so-

“If you had a choice, if freedom was-”

“I don’t got a choice, Cas - ah -”

Castiel’s sinful hand has wrapped around his cock, slick with the cum still warm on Dean's stomach. His finger flicks over Dean’s slit and he shudders, arches, trembles.

“I say you do,” Castiel whispers in his ear.

“Fuck, I-”

Dean arches up, chest pressed against Cas', fingers pulling at the sheets.

“Answer me. If you could choose, between freedom and-”

“‘Course I’d - Jesus, if I could have - freedom, of course, Cas, fuck-”

It’s almost impossible to speak with what Castiel’s hand is doing, with his lips hovering above Dean's own, just out of reach. He whines, pulls, grinds, desperate for a fourth orgasm that shouldn't even be possible.

Cas stops moving, pulls back, and looks deep into Dean’s eyes, from one to the other, like he wants to read the answer in them to be sure. If Dean wasn’t out of breath before…

“I will make sure you get your wish, then,” Cas murmurs, before sealing his promise with a kiss.

Dean comes for the fourth time without a sound. He has none left in him.

 ───※ ·❆· ※───

Cas stays with him until the morning light streaming bright through the curtains. Dean wakes up to soft kisses on his cheek, neck, shoulders.

“I have to go now,” Castiel murmurs. His eyes are soft. Kind. He takes Dean’s hand and kisses each of his fingers.

“You'll be coming back?”

“Yes, of course. If you want me to.”

“I do. Always want you, Cas. You know that.”

There’s a sadness in Castiel’s eyes that Dean can’t interpret.

“I’ll see you in three days, then. Be good.”

“You too,” Dean teases as Castiel slips out of his bed.

It feels cold, and it hurts, but Castiel said that he’d make Dean's wish come true. And Dean trusts him. His heart soars with a new feeling - hope. Happiness. Soon, he’ll have to watch Castiel leave his arms every morning. And he’ll get to welcome him home every night. That’s a pretty good deal.

Chapter Text

Castiel’s kiss lingers. It always does, these days. He kisses Dean’s lips like he can’t find it in himself to let go. His forehead rests against Dean’s a little longer every time he has to leave.

Sometimes, Dean thinks he almost looks sad, especially when he thinks Dean isn’t looking. When he turns away after they’re done, to grab something to clean them, and his features fall a little, his shoulders sag, he pauses for an instant.

But then Dean touches his shoulder and he’s back, and he looks at Dean with the kind of smile that lights up the whole room, and he kisses him soft and and chuckles against his throat as Dean’s skin twitches under his touch.

Dean presses his palm on the back of Cas’ neck, runs his fingers through the hair that curls there, brings Cas down for another kiss, and another, and another. And Cas looks happy then.

Dean isn’t worried about his birthday anymore, because Cas said Dean would get what he wants. And Dean wants Castiel, always. He tells him every time they meet now. Always want you, Cas. Only want you. That seems to make Cas happy too.

He’s even more attentive than he used to be, if such a thing is possible. He comes in earlier, stays until the very last moment allowed, until the sun is way up in the sky and dances in the blue of his eyes. He’s careful about leaving marks but his fingers dig hard into Dean’s skin, always seeking to hold him tighter. It hurts, sometimes, but Dean doesn’t complain, because there’s nothing he loves more than feeling Cas’ touch when he’s not there.

Cas holds him close afterwards, strokes his skin endlessly, kisses every part he can reach while being tucked so close to each other. He smiles between their mouths and looks at Dean like he’s created the world.

He fucks Dean like he loves him.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Cas stares a lot. That’s always been a thing — Cas’ eyes spying on each of Dean’s movements, detailing his face and body, followed by the path of his lips or fingers. That’s just how Cas is, he likes to observe, to admire. Dean’s not sure what there is to admire about him, but he’s not in a place to question the actions or motivations of a prince.

He’s about to fall asleep, his hand on Cas’ thigh, their foreheads bumping on the pillow. He can feel Cas’ slow breath against his cheeks. He can feel his eyes, too.

“Go to sleep,” Dean mumbles.

“I will.”

“Stop staring at me. It’s creepy.”

Dean isn’t sure when he started to feel comfortable enough with Castiel to say things like this — things he shouldn’t be allowed to say. He used to be, before he became a courtesan. He’d say the most inappropriate things, and it made Castiel laugh. He tried to be better after that, when Castiel came back to him, grown and changed, not smiling so much anymore. But Dean’s never been able to stop himself from chasing Cas’ smile, a rare, fleeting, and beautiful thing that always steals his breath away.

Cas has never treated him like others did, but there’s also always been lines they couldn’t cross.

Cas’ fingers trace the curve of his cheek, no doubt followed by his eyes. Dean can feel it, the phantom touch of blue sky, down his neck, his chest. Cas’ fingers slip under the sheet, push them down to caress Dean’s soft stomach. He’s on his side with his knee pulled up and he can feel the way the softness of it curves, fitting into Cas’ palm.

Dean groans, turns on his back and away from Cas’ touch. He's always known he wasn't much aside from his looks, and it never bothered him. He doesn’t have his brother’s brain or Castiel’s cleverness, but he’s always been pretty, and that was enough. Or at least people said so. After all, the only thing Dean needs from life is for people to want to fuck him.

He always figured that’s what Castiel saw in him. A pretty pair of eyes and a good time in bed. Dean was the one to pursue him, at first, despite Castiel's own protests. And then, then Cas came back to him to prove something, because he's a stubborn son of a bitch. Why he's still here, five years later, why he's agreed to pick Dean over all others to be his husband, Dean doesn't quite understand. Dean’s pretty, but not prettier than the other courtesans. Maybe Castiel likes his foul mouth, or the way he always threads the fine line between what is allowed and what isn’t. Maybe Cas is just that stubborn and not only wants to prove he can bring Dean pleasure, but also be the only one allowed to do so. Maybe Cas just wants to own him.

Dean's very fine with that. He'll be a lucky bastard to be owned by someone like Cas.

Dean is well acquainted with quite a few members of the court — both from the royal family and their political entourage. He’s been visited by several members of Castiel’s family over the years. They’re beautiful people, most of them, but none of them come anything close to Castiel. He seems unreal, sometimes, ethereal in his beauty. Way above Dean in every area.

Dean still doesn’t know what Cas finds when he spends hours mapping every inch of Dean’s body with his fingers and lips. Dean was pretty, once, enthusiastic and energetic and exciting in his novelty. But he’s getting older now, he's losing the shine of youth. He’s been both used too much and has let himself go, enjoying the luxurious meals and idleness that comes with his position. His body has gone soft, especially around the middle, and he suddenly feels ill at the thought of Castiel touching him there — especially when Castiel is all hard lines and lean strength.

“Dean?”

“‘M sorry,” Dean mumbles.

“About what?”

Dean avoids Castiel’s eyes, but he can feel them detailing him, searching, worrying.

“Letting myself go.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dean finally turns to cast a look at him. Cas’ brows are drawn together with confusion. Dean rolls his eyes and puts his hand on his stomach.

Cas’ frown deepens as he looks down. He reaches out to touch again and Dean tries not to flinch away.

“I don’t understand, Dean. What are you so worried about?”

Cas’ hand presses into the softness of his belly and Dean scowls.

“This?” Cas murmurs, bringing his body closer. His lips curl up in the most gentle smile and for a moment Dean forgets what they were talking about, lost in the dark blue of his eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Why? What is wrong about you being healthy, well-fed, and happy?”

“I’m not supposed to be happy, Cas, I’m supposed to be pretty. I’m supposed to be wanted. I—”

“You are wanted.”

“Not anymore, not like... not like I used to be.”

“What does that mean?” Cas frowns, a dangerous look spreading on his face.

“Nothing.”

“You didn’t feel that way last week.”

Cas is right. He’d spent at least an hour worshipping Dean’s body, biting his nipples red and leaving red marks all over his stomach. Dean came deep down Cas’ throat and certainly hadn’t worried about where Castiel was touching him.

“What happened?”

“Nothing, just—”

“Dean.”

When Cas’ voice gets like that, a low growl of anger that sends chills down his spine, Dean knows there’s no denying him. 

“Last night’s client wasn’t happy. About… this. And this.” Dean touches his hips, rounder and softer than they used to be. “And he was right. My body’s not for me. It’s for them, and—”

“No.” Cas eyes are brewing with dark thunder and lightning. “No, he was very wrong.”

Cas moves on top of Dean, parts his legs and settles between them. He towers over him, exuding rightful anger, and speaks low against his mouth.

“You are not for anyone else but yourself, Dean Winchester. You are gorgeous in ways I can’t even begin to describe, in ways no words can ever do justice. You are also kind, and clever, honest and generous. You like to bring joy to anyone that crosses your path. You are an extraordinary person, Dean, and your body is beautiful and strong, just like you.”

Dean stares at the wrist pinned next to his face. He blinks to chase away the tears threatening to pour out. His chest feels too tight, painful. This is so wrong.

“Dean. Whoever that was, what they think does not matter. If they are too blind to see what’s in front of them, they can go fuck themselves.” Dean scoffs a little at that — Castiel was never one to bite back his words. “And it does not matter. In a few weeks you’ll be free of them. You will never have to see them again.”

Dean breathes a little better then, at the reminder of what’s to come. Cas is right, he doesn’t matter. Dean doesn’t belong to them, he belongs to Cas. And soon Cas will be the only one who’ll touch him, the only one who’s opinion will matter at all. Truthfully, it’s already the case — maybe it always has been. Cas has always been the only one that mattered.

He smiles at Cas and accepts his kiss, moans a little in the heat of it. All thoughts of last night’s shame are soon forgotten when Cas’ mouth trails down his body. Every part of him is given a long, careful look before it’s kissed, licked, and celebrated.

“Who was it?” Cas asks the next morning, right before he leaves.

“Cas, you were right. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter.”

Cas stares at Dean for a moment, fingers threading through his hair.

“You can’t do anything about it anyway.”

“I could punch him in the face.”

Dean laughs, and Cas smiles softly, bending down to kiss his forehead.

“He doesn’t deserve that honour, Cas. Believe me.”

“You’re right,” Cas smiles. He kisses Dean’s lips, his throat, his chest, then moves down to put his mouth on each of his hips, and finally his bellybutton. “You are most perfect, Dean Winchester.”

Truth is, Dean thinks as he watches Castiel walk away in the cold morning light, he doesn’t mind that much that he’s getting a little softer and rounder. Because as proven by last night’s activities, it gives Cas a better grip when he fucks him, fingers digging in the tender flesh, leaving behind bruises that will get tenderly kissed when he’s done.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Most of Dean’s clients, men or women, are married. Most of them were wedded for political alliances and strengthening of the empire. But some of them married for love, and still visit courtesans to satisfy their urges. Dean wonders, often, how come Cas is still unwed. His younger siblings were married off years ago, a year or two after they became of age. Sometimes even before.

It feels like a miracle that Castiel is not only still free, but has chosen him. Dean. Who will bring him nothing at all, no rank or alliances, just a warm body in his bed. Just Dean, who cannot possibly be enough for someone like Castiel.

So Dean wonders if Cas will keep doing what he does with Dean right now, but with others, once they're married. It would make sense. He has so much care and tenderness to share. Dean hasn’t seen Cas’ name on anyone else’s board in years, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t visit them. They’ve never discussed it, and no one has ever mentioned to Dean having the privilege of Castiel’s visits, but still.

“Can I ask you something?”

Cas nods, rubbing his nose on the back of Dean’s neck. Sweat is slowly drying on their bodies, but even the heat can't keep Castiel from wrapping Dean in his arms and curling around his back.

“Are you going to keep seeing courtesans? After.”

Dean knows he has no right to ask. Even as Castiel’s husband, he’ll always be a whore, just an exclusive one. He’s not even sure if their wedding will be… real. Maybe Castiel will still be allowed to marry others, or bring them in their home. It’s been seen before. Castiel’s older brother, Balthazar, has several wives and husbands.

And Dean has no right to ask about this, no right to feel any kind of jealousy thinking of Castiel with others. Not when Castiel has seen Dean giving himself to strangers so many times. Not when Dean’s getting fucked by a different person every night, not when Dean is touched by so many people every single day. Still, deep down, he hopes Castiel will say no, and he hates himself a little bit for it.

“I haven’t met with any other courtesan besides you in years, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I’ve had no desire to. I don’t see that changing.”

“Why not? You used to.”

Cas is silent behind him for a while. Dean doesn’t dare turning around to see the look on his face. Cas would have every right to be very angry with him right now.

“I only went to others then because I felt inadequate. I had not been good enough to please you, and I — despite my shame, I wanted nothing more than to be with you again, even if you weren’t mine. But I wanted to be better, so I went to others to learn.”

Dean can’t help the smile that fights to spread on his lips. He tightens his hold on Castiel’s arms, where his hands rest protectively on Dean’s stomach. Cas hums and moulds himself tighter against his back.

“I never meant to make you feel like that,” Dean tells him. "Inadequate, I mean."

“I know.”

“But you were wrong.”

Dean feels Cas frowning against the nape of his neck. He turns around and knocks their foreheads together, catching the wild blue of Cas’ eyes with his own.

“I was always yours, Cas. Even when I was with them, clients or servants or… whoever. I was always yours. And I’m always gonna be.”

Cas doesn’t answer. He’s frowning, and Dean can see the emotions battling in his eyes. The smile curling up his lips, despite the crease between his eyebrows. His eyes are filled with tears when they find Dean’s gaze again.

He kisses Dean’s forehead, brings him close until Dean’s face is tucked between his shoulder and neck. Dean breathes in deep, lavender honey, the familiar scent that will soon permeate his whole life. That will drench the sheets he’s going to sleep in every night, the home that will be his. The man he belongs to.

Cas runs his hands up and down his back for a long time.

───※ ·❆· ※───

“What about marriage?” Dean asks three nights later.

Cas is draped over his body, thighs firmly tucked between Dean’s own, his ear pressed on Dean’s chest and listening to the beat of his heart. His fingers are stroking Dean’s sides, on the edge of tickling. The castle is silent at this hour. Most courtesans have finished their shift, and the room only lit by the bright, silver moon high in the sky.

“Marriage?” Cas frowns.

“Yeah. Won’t you need to get married to other people? Like, a rival kingdom’s princess or a rich guy’s prominent son… Haven’t all of your siblings been married for political gain?”

“Yes, most of them have.”

Dean runs his fingers through Cas’ wild mop of hair. He pulled at it hard earlier tonight, as Cas fucked him frustratingly slow into the mattress. Dean kept asking for more, faster, deeper, and Cas would not oblige, choosing to instead delay both of their orgasms until their muscles burned with effort and their skins drenched the sheets in sweat.

Cas’ hair is now even more of a mess than usual, sticking out in dark tufts where Dean’s chin lays on top of Cas’ head. It tickles his mouth when he speaks.

“Won’t you have to?”

“I’ve already made it very clear to my father that I will not be a pawn for his political games, nor will I marry a stranger to appease the aristocrats who truly run this empire.”

Dean meditates a moment on Castiel’s words, spoken coldly into his skin. Cas shifts, curling his body tighter around Dean.

“Already? So they tried to marry you off before?”

“Yes.”

Cas doesn’t explain further. His eyes are closed and he seems perfectly content to just lay there in Dean’s arms, but Dean’s curiosity has been poked, and he wants to know more.

“When?”

“A while ago.”

Cas lifts his head just enough to place a kiss on Dean’s collarbone.

“Was it when you… when we didn’t see each other?”

“No. It was after. I was twenty-two.”

Dean frowns. He had no idea. Cas never spoke a word of it, never even missed one of his scheduled meetings in Dean's bed.

“Who was it?”

“Her name was Daphne. She was the daughter of some… important man, who owns a lot of land, and controls many markets. My father wanted to appease his claims for less taxes and more land by suggesting his daughter join the royal family.”

“And you said no?”

“Of course." He’s a little tensed against Dean now.

“Why?”

“I will not be swayed into marriage by anything besides the most profound kind of love and the deepest affection.”

Dean blinks, tears dwelling into his eyes. Cas basically said — he basically just said he loves him. The most profound kind of love and the deepest affection. Warmth tingles under Dean's skin, spreads to his chest, and he closes his eyes to keep the tears in. He tightens his arms around Cas, digs his fingers in his flesh and buries his nose in his hair.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Me neither.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

Dean feels free for the first time in a long time. He feels like there’s a real chance, a real chance of all of his wildest dreams coming true. It's a strange feeling. He’s happy. He’s hopeful in a way he hasn’t been since his first days in the castle, leaving behind weeks of famine and loneliness in the ruins of their parents’ home.

Dean will tell Cas, one day, about why he hates being alone so much. About how time stands still when you’ve lost everything. When standing in the ashes of what once was your life, clutching at the only thing you have left, a baby brother who doesn’t understand that his whole word went up in flames.

One day he’ll tell Castiel how dark the night is when there’s not a single light to be seen for miles. When the clouds swallow the moon and the stars, when you can hear the wolves howling closer and closer. He’ll tell Cas about hunger devouring through his body, about eating things that shouldn’t be eaten, about cold that seeps into the bones and hurts like a knife.

For now though, he just holds Cas in his arms and breathes in his past, present, and future, lavender honey and the most beautiful man on Earth. Dean was given a second chance at life when he was brought to the royal palace, and Castiel is now giving him a third. A chance to be a husband, a friend, a lover, a man. And he’s infinitely grateful for it.

───※ ·❆· ※─── 

Cas tells him how beautiful he is all the time. How precious he is, how important, how wonderful. Not a an encounter goes by without Castiel touching his stomach and hips, leaving a thousand kisses there, each of them a reminder that in Castiel’s eyes he is perfect, and always will be.

Sometimes he tells Dean he’s going to miss him. It’s shy and murmured when he thinks Dean is asleep. So Dean tucks himself further into his embrace. Gets his mouth on Castiel’s skin. Murmurs that he’s going to miss him, too. Always misses him when they’re not together. The weeks still separating them from their union feel interminable, and every moment spent in Cas’ absence is a cold void waiting to be filled.

On top of their regular nights they meet whenever they can, in the closets, in the hallways, stealing kisses from each other in secret places. It reminds Dean of their first year, the first few times he dragged Castiel into a closet to kiss his protests silent. It’s the best kind of walk down memory lane.

Dean likes the closets. It feels like they‘re theirs, and theirs alone. In that space there are no rules, Castiel isn’t a prince and Dean isn’t a whore. They’re just them again, barely more than children, breaking the rules and leaving each other dizzy with need. It’s fleeting moments, a teaser of what’s to come, of a lifetime together. Although Dean fully intends to surprise Cas with secret closet make-outs even when they’re old and boring and tired of each other. The thought makes him smile — as if he could ever get tired of Cas.

───※ ·❆· ※─── 

Most of Dean’s old regulars seem pretty happy to know Dean’s fate — they don’t talk much, never have, but a few of them congratulate him on his future passing, wishing him happiness, luck, and love. Dean appreciates the goodbyes, a finality of the time he’s spent with them, of what they shared, however light and meaningless in the end.

He has more free days now, and no one contests the fact that Cas’ name is on his board three or four nights a week, despite it being against the rules. They all seem to respect the bond that will soon unite them, and Dean guesses that now that they know, they’d rather not risk facing the wrath of Castiel for taking what is his.

Dean appreciates the transition. He’s not sure if he could have just gone from two limited encounters a week with Castiel to being married to him. Not because he’s scared, exactly, although he does wonder how he’s ever going to be good enough to be Castiel’s husband, his chosen one, his only. His partner, his supporter, his lover. There’s a lot of responsibility. Cas has a role to play that will impact the whole empire, the whole world, and he needs someone strong by his side. Someone to rely on. Dean wants to be that more than anything, but he worries about being enough.

But when he’s with Cas — when Cas is here, in his bed, in his arms — he forgets all that. Castiel always makes Dean feel like everything is going to be okay.

They spend hours laying face to face, detailing every inch of each other. Staring, endlessly, as fingers touch skin. Dean once had the thought that he’d be happy to never see the sky again, if he could look once more in Castiel’s eyes, and five years later he stands by that. Castiel’s eyes are the most beautiful thing Dean’s seen in all his years on Earth, and he never tires of staring into them, seeing reflected in them the love he carries in his own heart.

It should be overwhelming. Dean is cherished in a way he never thought he’d be. Castiel loves him, he feels it in every brush on his fingers, in every press of his heated body against his own, in every careful, slow kiss. When he should be sleeping, Cas spends hours just touching Dean’s face, tracing every curve and slope with his hands before he lays slow, reverent kisses on his skin.

Dean could spend hours just slowly brushing Cas’ rebellious hair out of his eyes. Stroking his temple with his thumb, placing a soft kiss on his lips. Rubbing the nape of Cas’ neck, smiling, smiling and watching Cas smile back. Watching the stars in his eyes, really, he has stars in his eyes, whole galaxies and universes. His hair is silky soft and smells of home, and Dean threads his fingers through it, over and over again. He places a kiss between Cas’ eyebrows, lets his lips run down the bridge of his nose. Kisses his chin, just to tease, when Cas leans forward. He watches an amused smile curl on Cas’ lips before he captures them with his own. They breathe together.

It should feel surreal. Impossible, because it is — Dean is nobody, the orphaned son of unimportant people living ordinary lives. Just a lost forgotten child who carved himself a tiny place into the world. He’s a cog in the machine of this palace, in the circle of life, and he has always been fine with that. But somehow he managed to make a prince, an heir to the empire's throne, fall in love with him. A prince who is going to wed him, and it should feel impossible, but it doesn’t. Castiel is real. Castiel is the way things are, and has been since Dean was an eighteen years old rebellious servant hooked on an angel.

“I never thought I’d ever feel like this,” he tells him one night, as Cas traces endless paths on his ribs with his fingers.

“Feel like what?”

“Happy.”

Cas frowns a little.

“Like, not just content, you know, not just fine, but… like, shit, like I can’t fucking breathe kind of happy.”

Cas’ mouth quirks up in a little smile.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“Although, I’ve always thought you were a very happy person.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You’ve always smiled easily, and laughed loudly. You’re always full of energy and warmth, always try to make others smile.”

“I just make dumb jokes all the time.”

“I like your jokes.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Cas studies him.

“You have always brought me more happiness than I’ve deserved.”

“That’s dumb. You deserve a lot better than my stupid jokes.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Dean Winchester. You’ve brightened my life since the day we met.”

Dean can’t reply, cheeks heated, throat suddenly very tight.

“I’m infinitely glad that you are so happy, Dean. You deserve it,” Cas murmurs. “You deserve it, and everything more.”

Chapter Text

“Why the long face, handsome?” Dean asks, cornering Cas in a familiar hallway one late afternoon.

The castle is huge but if Dean has learned one thing in the past seven years, it’s that Castiel is a man of habits. The empire’s fate is decided in a handful of rooms in the east wing, and every morning and night Cas can be found wandering the same hallways, a pensive, often concerned look on his face.

Today Dean has caught him staring grimly into space, his eyes limpid and sad. He doesn’t seem concerned, or worried — he just looks heartbroken.

But Castiel smiles when Dean touches him, when he presses him slightly against the wall. It’s not an effortless smile, quite the opposite, but he’s trying, and Dean doesn’t understand why.

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

Except it does, to Dean. Because he’s deliriously happy and he thought Cas would be too.

“Something’s bothering you.”

Cas’ features softens and he touches Dean’s face. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“You always say that. But I want to know, Cas. I want to help.”

Cas smiles again and this time he seems to mean it.

“You can’t. Just focus on what’s going to happen very soon.”

Dean grins back and kisses him, even though he’s not supposed to. He can feel Cas relaxing, letting out a soft noise of pleasure against his lips.

“Dean—” Cas lets out a breathless sound when Dean nibbles at his throat, his hands wandering down to slip under the silky fabric of Cas’ robes. “Someone could—”

He yelps when Dean grabs his hand and drags him across the hallway, to a closet they know all too well.

“Dean—”

Dean kneels in front of him as soon as the door closes behind them.

“Dean, you don’t need to do this,” Cas protests. His hands find Dean’s shoulder anyway, stroking the back of his neck.

“You said I was allowed to ask for what I wanted,” Dean murmurs. “This is what I want.”

He wastes no time in lifting Cas’ robes to reveal the treasure hidden underneath. Dean will never, ever get over how gorgeous Cas’ body is. He runs his hands up muscular thighs and already salivates at the sight above him, sharp hip bones and a thick, soft cock just waiting to be awoken.

As much as he loves finding Cas hard and begging for his touch, Dean also loves being able to bring Cas there with careful touches of his lips and tongue. He loves to hear Cas lose control, feel his legs shake, his hips twitch, his resolve crumbling. He hears Cas’ head thud against the door, his breath coming out sharp and fast. He strokes his fingers through Dean’s hair and pulls, never too hard.

Dean nuzzles and wets Cas’ balls until they’re a drooly mess, running his tongue up the shaft to lick at the beads of clear liquid gathered at the tip. A proof of what he does to Castiel.

His favourite thing, though, is to take Cas as deep down his throat as he can manage. Cas’ cock is big. Really big. In the ten years he's been sexually active, Dean never saw a cock quite like his, in length or thickness. And that’s not even close to his favourite thing about Cas — he would take him with a small cock or none at all, he’d take Cas any way he can get him — but he’ll admit that it’s a nice fucking perk, especially since he knows so well how to use it.

Dean loves being stretched to his limits, whether it be his ass or his mouth, and Cas’ cock does that every single time. Dean has been training for six years to be able to get Cas further, deeper down his throat. Every cock he’s taken since they’ve met has been with the thought of getting better for Cas. He’s finally reached a point where he can almost take all of him, feel him stretch his throat wide open, fill his mouth, and fit his nose close to the curls.

It becomes hard to breathe, and he can’t help swallowing around Cas’ length a few times, struggling not to choke. But he wants to be good, fuck, he wants to be so good. That thrilling feeling of being good for Cas is the best, most addictive kind of buzz. It sends an undercurrent of rippling pleasures under his skin that has his own cock rock hard and dripping along the length, bobbing as he moves on Cas’ cock. Dean has become kind of an expert on bringing Castiel pleasure with his mouth, alternating between deepthroating him, stroking his shaft with tight lips, and running his tongue around the swollen head.

Cas always stays still, never pulls or pushes or asks for more. He takes what Dean gives like a gift he doesn’t deserve. But today, Dean wants Cas to move. To demand. He grabs his hips and nudges him forward, opens his mouth wide and looks up with pleading eyes. Cas doesn’t budge, at first, just strokes fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Are you—?”

Dean makes a sound deep in his throat, a clear plead, and urges him to move again. Cas gazes down at him for a few seconds and finally nods.

He starts slow, shallow, but it’s enough for Dean’s eyes to flutter close at the feeling. Spit drools down Cas’ shaft and to his balls, which Dean has cupped in his hand. The skin is soft, still a little loose but getting tighter. It’s wet and he rolls the round shapes inside, teases the skin between his fingers, slides his index on Cas’ taint before pulling on the sack a little harder.

Cas’ thrusts turn more sharp, his fingers tighten in Dean’s hair. He starts taking, really taking, his head thrown back, letting out the most beautiful sounds Dean’s ever heard. Dean focuses on relaxing his throat, on accepting the onslaught hits of Cas’ cock deeper and deeper. He knows it’ll hurt tomorrow, his throat will be sore, he might not be able to speak, but it’ll be worth it. It already is, as he can’t help but whine low in his throat — which makes Cas’ hips buck wildly — his hard cock begging for attention.

Dean gathers some of his own spit rolling down his chin and strokes himself a couple of times, surprised and gasping at how close he already is. Just from the way Cas is fucking his mouth with more and more abandon, moaning his name, forgetting all about the fact that they’re a door away from the hallway and that anyone could hear them.

Dean feels the ache in his jaw grow, feels both their pleasures mounting as his throat is assaulted over and over again. His whole mouth tastes of Cas’ pleasure, of bittersweet precum. Spit rolls down his chest now, his eyes are watery and half closed, his scalp hurts from how hard Cas is pulling now that he’s so close to the edge.

“Dean, I—”

He comes down Dean’s throat with a shout, with one last deep thrust and clutching the back of Dean’s head. Dean chokes a little, struggles to swallow the bitter warm liquid with Cas’ cock still stretching him open. He spits some out, gurgles, and comes with barely two strokes into his own fist.

Finally Cas releases him and Dean falls forward, forehead on Cas’ hip,  breathing harshly as come dribbles down his face, his lips, his mouth.

It takes them both a few minutes to come back to their senses. Cas slides down against the door, his legs giving out. He pets his hand through Dean’s hair, very softly this time, soothing the pain.

His voice is shaking when he finally speaks.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I—”

Dean is still dazed out with the strength of his orgasm. His cock is softening in his hand, his own release painted all over the floor.

“Fuck, that was amazing.”

He rocks back on his heel, pulls the foreskin back on his soft cock and shows Cas his come-stained hand. He grins wide, and Cas smiles back, breathing in deep, the last of his tension rolling off his shoulders.

The kiss that follows is disgusting, tasting like filthy rule-breaking sex, Dean’s chin still sticky wet. But Cas kisses him anyway, and wipes away the tears still streaking down his cheeks. He kisses each of Dean’s eyelids, his nose, his mouth, and then rests their foreheads together. Dean’s jaw still aches, but he suspects it’s more from how wide he’s smiling now.

Cas holds him close before they leave, his nose in Dean’s neck, breathing for a long time.

“Thank you. That was…”

“Yeah, I agree.”

Cas smiles, bright and shiny and true, and Dean could not be happier.

───※ ·❆· ※───

There’s an indoor garden in the middle of the castle. It’s basically an inside courtyard, with an open ceiling letting in the warm sunshine. It’s big, with multiple paths weaving between bushes and trees, bursting with ripe fruits and vegetables. There’s a large fountain in the middle of it all, surrounded by lush plants and vines falling like a waterfall from the roof. A few benches are scattered around to allow the castle’s residents to enjoy a break in nature. It’s kind of a magical place, the calming sound of the running water, the leaves shuffling in a bit of wind, the sun. Always the sun.

Dean doesn’t come in these parts often, except on his day off, when he and Sam sometimes sit here to enjoy lunch together. The kitchen is just down the hall, but not close enough that the sounds and smells of the busy canteen disturb the calm, flowery atmosphere. Today isn’t a special day by any means, but Dean woke up early and has some time to kill, so he decided to go spend the afternoon with Benny.

Benny was born in the castle and was a few years older than Dean. He was the one to show Dean around when he and Sam first arrived, to help him find his footing in the gigantic palace. He’d sneak food out of the kitchen, where he worked, for Dean and Sam, always keeping for them the best bits before they were served the rest of the staff. He introduced Dean to the other servants and their late night activities, and was one of Dean’s favourite partners before he married Andrea. They’ve always been friends, but both their hearts have always belonged to someone else.

Dean’s lost in the thoughts of introducing Cas and Benny after the wedding, of maybe having dinner all four of them, or with Sam and Eileen — when he notices that the indoor garden isn’t empty. There’s a familiar figure sitting on a bench, right on the other side of the fountain.

Dean can’t help the smile on his lips and the excited bounce in his steps — only when he gets close enough does he realize that Cas is crying.

He’s sitting on the bench with his head in his hands, his shoulders shaken by silent sobs.

Dean rushes to him, almost tripping on a vine that has grown through the pebbles. He kneels before Cas, who whips his head up and lets out a surprised sound when he sees Dean in front of him. He quickly wipes his tears with the back of his hand, looking to the side, attempting deep, choked up breaths.

“Cas, what—”

“I’m fine,” Cas cuts, but his voice breaks on the last word.

Dean touches his cheek, still wet, tries to catch his evasive gaze. A million scenarios run through his mind. Is Cas hurt? Is Cas being forced to do something he doesn’t want to do? Is someone in his family hurt or injured?

“Cas, what happened?”

Cas shakes his head.

“Nothing, Dean, it’s—”

“Dude, it’s obviously something.”

Cas just looks to the side, his lips tightened into a thin line.

“Cas. Talk to me, please.”

Castiel takes a deep breath and seems to finally relax. At last, he looks at Dean. His eyes are red and a little puffy, bluer than they’ve ever been, but they’re tender. Soft.

“It’s okay, Dean.”

He attempts to smile but it fails, and Dean strokes his hair back, rubs his neck, seeking out any touch for comfort.

“It’s okay,” Cas repeats, as if he’s trying to convince himself too. “Everything is fine. I’ve just had a difficult and frustrating day. I’m sorry you had to see this.”

Dean frames Cas’ face in his hands and leans forward to press a soft, slow kiss to his lips. Castiel sighs into it, grabbing Dean’s wrist, leaning forward when Dean moves away. Dean smiles, and Cas smiles back.

“You’re okay?”

“Yes, I am. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Dean nods and kisses him again. He doesn’t believe that for a second, but he knows he can’t force Cas to tell him anything, not right now. Not yet.

“Dean,” Cas murmurs between their lips, and Dean can hear the regret in his voice. “We can’t do this. Not here.”

“I know,” Dean says but he keeps kissing him, just a little while longer. He runs his fingers through Cas’ hair again. It’s so soft, and he likes the way Cas always sighs, always closes his eyes when Dean combs his hair. He likes the shivers he can feel running under his skin. After all this time, Dean’s touch still does things to Cas, and it’s something Dean will never tire of witnessing. He places another kiss on Cas’ cheek, his jaw, his chin. His lips again.

“Dean—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

They’re not supposed to be here. Not supposed to do this, interact in the bright light of day, outside of the courtesan quarters. Especially in a public place like this — anyone could walk in on them, and report them, and have Cas be forbidden to see Dean until the wedding. This is the last thing they need right now, but letting go isn’t easy, especially when Cas’ hands are still shaking a little.

“No one’s put their names on my board for tonight yet.”

“Really?”

Dean’s heart breaks all over again at the hope in Cas’ voice. They’ve already seen each other three times this week, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. Dean nods, still wiping Cas’ cheeks, even though the tears are long gone.

“Yeah. Most people have said their goodbyes already. Got a lot more free time.”

Cas lets out a huge sigh and grins a little, his cheek round and chubby against Dean’s palm. His eyes finally regain some of their shine.

“Yes. I’d like that.”

“Okay,” Dean grins. “Be good, alright?”

Cas nods, smiles sweetly at Dean, and kisses him again.

“Yes. You too.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

Dean is relaxing the best way he knows how — floating on his back in the large bath adjoint to his room. It’s more of a pool, really, a smaller version of the large communal baths that can be found all around the city. Only the courtesans and the royal family have private baths in their suites, everyone else has to use one of the three communal baths in the castle, which might have influenced Dean’s decision all those years ago.

He likes being alone when he bathes. Cleaning is something he finds strangely intimate, despite the fact that his job is literally to sell himself. But this is the only time he gets to really take care of his body. To be tender with himself, to enjoy something for himself and not for others. Dean likes to stretch out in the warm water, let his chest puff up and keep him afloat. He likes to light scented candles and place them all around the edges, and allow himself to reach that state of relaxation where he isn’t asleep but not quite conscious either, floating between worlds in the shimmering light.

It’s what he’s busy doing when he hears the front door of his room being shoved open and then slammed close. He startles and scrambles in the water to stand up, accidentally sloshing the edges of the bath and extinguishing a few candles, plunging the room in a half darkness.

He’s wondering if he should be getting out to grab a towel — or a weapon —  when Castiel emerges through the bathroom door. He’s out of breath, cheeks pink, eyes red and glistening.

He’s early. Dean didn’t expect him for several more hours. This time of year, courtesans’ work shifts don’t start before sundown.

Dean doesn’t have time to say his name that Castiel has ripped off his work robes, throwing the white fabric over his head and stepping down the stairs leading to the bottom of the pool. In one leap he disappears into the water and emerges an inch away from Dean. The water drips down his face and chest, and he looks almost comical with his hair flattened on his head. Dean can’t tell if he’s crying or not, but his trembling lips betray a troubled state of mind.

“You okay? You’re early— ”

“I couldn’t wait anymore.”

Suddenly Cas is crowding Dean against the border of the bath, both hands gripping the tiles on each side of Dean’s hips. He kisses him fiercely, his lips hot and demanding, unrelenting as he presses his body tighter against Dean’s. Cas is panting, not even stopping to catch his breath. His fingers slip on Dean’s wet skin, he tightens his grip of the back of his neck.

Dean groans against Cas’ lips, against the onslaught of bites and tongue and need, but he’s never been able to deny Castiel anything. He loops his arms around Cas’ middle and holds him tight, lets Cas assault his mouth and gives as good as he gets.

He’s not sure how long it lasts, with the tiled edge digging painfully in his spine and Cas’ hard length pressed against his stomach, before he finally manages to make Castiel slow down.

He cups his hands around Cas’ cheeks and brushes the wet hair out of his troubled eyes. Then he moves to rub the back of his neck, slowly, bracing their foreheads together as Cas attempts to catch his breath.

“Hey,” Dean murmurs as softly as possible.

Cas doesn’t answer and instead crowds closer again, trying to catch Dean’s mouth with his lips.

“Cas, not that I’m complaining here,” Dean pants as Cas’ teeth graze his throat, biting shoulder and ear, “but what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Cas growls.

“ Cas ,” Dean hisses, because this will definitely leave marks, and Cas’ fingers are digging painful bruises in his hips. “You’re obviously upset— ”

“Dean, I’m not talking about this. So either tell me to go or stop asking.”

Dean touches his face, catches the water dripping down his stubbled cheek. He stopped shaving a few weeks ago and Dean isn’t complaining, it’s a good look on him. Dean kisses his lips, soft, water droplets dangling between their noses. Cas responds eagerly, muffling a groan deep in his throat. The rough hair catches on Dean’s lips, sending shivers down his spine. He laps at the water pooling in the dip of Cas’ throat and Cas makes an impatient sound, slamming Dean against the edge of the bath again.

“Cas—”

“No.”

“But—”

“ No .”

Dean lets out a whimper as Cas kisses him again, fingers twisting almost painfully in his hair. Cas pulls and gropes at him, scrambling in the water to wrap Dean’s thighs around his waist so he can haul him up and attack his neck with kisses and bites.

Dean yelps when Cas shoves him around, still holding him by the thighs, and then gets them across the pool and towards the stairs. He climbs out of the water with Dean in his arms, ignoring the “shit, be careful” that Dean lets out as Cas carries his entire weight out of the bath.

Dean’s definitely going to have nail marks in his thighs and waist tomorrow, but that thought is quickly stifled by the surprise of being thrown on his back on the bed. Cas is on top of him immediately, and Dean gets lost in the deep kiss, in the press of Cas' warm, wet body on top of him.

He’s just as hard as Cas and enjoying this a lot , but worry is still nagging in the back of his mind, because Cas is very obviously not okay. His arms shake around Dean and he can feel his erratic heartbeat against his chest. But every time he tries to talk, Cas just cuts him off with either a kiss or another “no”, and Dean isn’t technically allowed to insist, to push.

Not yet.

Still, as he lets Cas lick the droplets on his skin, map his entire body with his tongue, Dean can’t help but try again.

“Cas, you need to — need to talk to me. Please.”

Cas stops. His forehead rests on Dean’s stomach, where it’s a little soft. Cas’ favourite place to touch and devour. His fingers dig deep in the round flesh of Dean’s waist before they loosen again, like he’s bracing himself. Dean cradles the back of his neck, slowly tries to rub the tension out of his shoulders.

“What happened?”

“Dean, I can’t.” Cas’ voice trembles, breaks. He shakes his head. “Please. I can’t.”

“Okay,” Dean murmurs, trying to tame down the cold dread filling up his chest. He knows it probably has nothing to do with him — obviously something has been going on with Cas for a while, something way bigger than Dean. It’s none of Dean’s business, but seeing Cas in so much pain is kind of killing him.

“Please,” Cas repeats.

“Okay. It’s okay, Cas. I got you.”

Cas climbs back and this time his kiss is softer, somehow, even if still fierce and bruising. He breathes against Dean for a moment before reaching for the oil on the bedside table.

Dean parts his legs wider without being asked, grinding his hips to show his willingness. Cas shoots him an almost smile, but his eyes are still red and he blinks quickly, like to hold back tears.

He opens Dean up at a slow pace. Dean would’ve thought he’d be in a hurry, like he’s been since he arrived, frantic and rough and needy. But he’s not. He’s pushing and stretching his fingers slowly, savouring it, hooded eyes never leaving Dean’s face.

Three fingers and Dean tightens around them with a groan. Cas lets out a pained noise and buries his face in Dean’s neck. He barely moves then, just hiccups a little, like completely overwhelmed by this action he’s done a thousand times. Dean gently cups the back of his head, rubbing his fingers in the still damp curls of his hair. He can feel how tense Cas is, can feel the shaking of his arm and the way he’s drying tears against Dean’s skin.

“Cas.”

Cas shakes his head but can’t seem to be able to talk.

“It’s okay,” Dean repeats. “You’re okay. I got you now, alright? I got you. ‘m right here.”

Cas doesn’t immediately move, but his body sags, relaxing on top of Dean’s. He finally gains enough strength to press a long kiss on Dean's sternum, before he pulls back in a sitting position and resumes his ministrations.

Dean gets lost in the feelings, his hands running up and down Cas’ arms and shoulders. He knows Cas is watching him, but he can’t keep his eyes open. The barely concealed pain in Castiel’s eyes a little too much to handle right now.

Cas’ fingers slip out and Dean spreads his legs wider, heart racing in anticipation. They’ve done this a thousand times, he knows how Cas’ cock feels inside him the same way he knows how to breathe. Yet every time, when the moment comes around, he feels the same thrill, a mix of anticipation and excitement. The very same feeling he was chasing when he was seeking out Castiel to make out in a closet all those years ago.

He grins when he feels the blunt head of Cas’ cock press against his hole. Cas’ hands are bracketed on each side of his chest, and when Dean opens his eyes he finds himself staring at the side of Cas’ face, hanging low just above his own.

“After your birthday,” Cas begins, and then he stops, like his throat is too tight for the words to come out.

“Yeah?” Dean says encouragingly, petting a hand through Cas’ damp hair. It’s going to dry and stick out in crazy disarray, which is Cas’ best look in Dean’s opinion.

“There’s this house. By the Green river, the one that runs around the city. It’s small, and — almost abandoned, but — it’s two hours from here on horse, in this clearing on a provincial property, and it’s — it’s mine.”

“Okay,” Dean smiles, not sure what he’s agreeing to, but wanting Cas to keep talking. Cas has lowered himself down on his elbows, still not inside of Dean but teasingly pressed close. Dean turns a little so he can press a kiss on the fingers now clutching the sheets next to his face. “If you want, maybe, if you think that — if you’d like, we could—” Cas takes a deep breath, like he’s about to ask the impossible. He rests his forehead on Dean's clavicule, speaking against his heart. “We could go there, together, sometimes. After.”

Dean grins. The idea of spending time alone in a cute little house by the river with his new husband makes his chest expand with a warm and gooey feeling. “Yeah, that sounds— ”

“Just us, no work and no status and no — nothing. Just us. Just us and the river and the sun and, and a bed, and I could cook for you and there’s a garden and— ”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean murmurs, kissing a path along Cas’ spectacular jawline, because the poor guy seems to somehow believe Dean is on the fence about this and needs convincing. “Of course. I’d love that.”

“Really?” 

“Yes, really. Just us. You n’ me.”

Cas smiles then.

It makes Dean ache for what’s to come. Several weeks until he can officially belong to Cas. He hopes Cas will talk to him then. Will let Dean help in more ways than this one — not that Dean minds helping this way. He can’t wait for Cas to come home all furious and tired and take Dean to their bed, request wordlessly and use Dean to let out steam. Dean wants be a good husband and fulfill his duties, and he can’t wait to make them a home, cook a nice meal, and please his husband in every way possible. But he also hopes that maybe once the knot is tied, Cas will open up about all the things weighing on his shoulders.

Dean knows that being the last of a long line of offsprings of a semi-cruel king isn’t easy. Especially an unmarried one. Cas doesn’t talk a lot about what he does when he’s not with Dean, but Dean’s gotten to know his moods — rough sex when he’s angry, tender sex when he’s sad, fucking Dean hard and quick when he’s annoyed, spending hours worshipping him when he needs to get out of his own head… Cas sinking down on Dean’s cock quick and dirty when he feels out of sorts, and slamming Dean against a wall and stroking them both in his hands until they come when he’s impatient.

It’s always different, and sometimes Dean asks about it after, but usually Cas says he can’t talk about it, especially not to a courtesan in whose bed the entire court rotates every day. He always apologizes when he lets his emotions take over their encounters, and Dean always tells him it’s fine. Because it is. 

Dean gathers that Cas has no choice, no voice. And that he fights for good things, but is always overpowered by his more eminent, more important brother and sisters. His voice is basically meaningless, yet he’s still a prince, and ruling is still his duty.

Dean wishes Cas would talk to him, but he gets it. Cas can’t, not yet. Hopefully he’ll want to talk about it with his husband, but right now, what Cas has just asked, what Cas wants — Dean, and nothing else, away from all of it — is more than enough.

Cas seems to be breathing better. His eyes are still glistening but they’re not red anymore, they’re pure blue and shining with something close to happiness. He looks right into Dean’s soul with a grin as he slowly pushes in, and Dean feels heat prickling all over as they stare into each other’s eyes. It’s intimate, to be gazing at each other like this while sharing the most profound kind of bond.

Finally Cas is seated all the way and their eyes flutter close. He makes a beautiful sound, a mix of deep growl and soft whimper, his forehead warm against Dean’s. This is everything, Dean thinks for the hundredth time. This is everything he’s ever wanted. Cas doesn’t move and Dean doesn’t ask him to, just savouring the moment, this instant, that feels so fragile yet infinite. This moment they’ve had a thousand times, and will have every day for the rest of their lives, if they’re lucky.

Cas nuzzles in Dean’s neck, starts moving slow and deep. Dean lets his legs fall open, loosely hooks his ankles around Cas’ thick, muscular thighs. His hands find their place on Cas’ hips, following their fluid movement, their slow grind against his ass. His other arm is thrown around Cas’ shoulder to keep him close. They both smile against each other’s mouth, swallowing the little punched out moans that the relentless movement of their bodies creates.

It’s good. It’s good and it’s endless and it’s perfect.

Dean comes a little while later, after a slow build-up of Cas’ warm and sweaty stomach rubbing over his hard dick, of Cas’ cock brushing against his sweet spot at every thrust. Cas watches him with darkened eyes, calls him beautiful, strong, kind, perfect. Dean comes hard and unashamedly loud.

Cas fits Dean’s bowed legs around his waist like they were meant to be there. There’s a perfection in the way their bodies fit together that Dean’s never found with anyone else.

When Cas comes, less than a minute later, Dean’s hand founds its way back to the back of his neck. He murmurs “I’ve got you,” over and over until Cas is loose and spent and heavy on top of him.

Dean runs his fingers through Cas’ hair, where the wet mop of it rests against his shoulder.

There’s a million questions on the tip of his tongue. So many things he wants to ask, but he knows already what the answer will be. Cas can’t talk about it. So he settles for just enjoying this, this moment of their bodies slowly drying off as the sun sets in the west. Dean’s room is in a corner, with large windows on two sides, filling the room in sunlight almost all day long. Right now the last rays are caressing their shapes on the bed and Dean breathes in deep, a smile curling on his lips as he focuses on Cas' slow breaths and the path of his fingers on Dean’s skin.

He should have known that just lying here in each other’s arms wouldn’t be enough for Cas. Not that he’s ever satisfied with either of them having only one orgasm, but when he’s upset, he barely lets them have a breather. Tonight, it’s obvious that he doesn’t want to stop long enough to think.

His thighs part above Dean’s waist, the rough hair on his jaw catches against the softer skin of Dean’s neck.

“Fuck me,” he says, voice rough and laced with an urge Dean can feel running under his skin.

It’s an order, a plea, one Dean has no desire to refuse.

And it’s not exactly a difficult task when he gets to watch Castiel with his legs spread on top of him, gloriously hard, head thrown back in ecstasy and exposing the gorgeous expanse if his throat.

Dean watches Cas’ long fingers work around his cock, slick with precum, watches the way Cas’ strong body rolls and grinds on top of him.

He fights to remain in control, to let Cas take his pleasure, use him the way he needs to. It’s no easy, but Dean manages — he’s had a lot of practice, and he’s found that he can almost forget about himself if he focuses on Cas instead. He gets into the mindset of admiring, of just watching Cas, getting his fill of his body and voice and sounds, of the way the moonlight defines him and sculpts him into something truly otherworldly. Dean focuses on touching, gripping tight on Cas’ jutting hip bones, digging his nails in the sheer strength of his thighs. He plays with Cas’ nipples, aching to kiss the little mole just above it. He strokes the soft hair travelling down from his bellybutton to his cock. There’s another mole there, right above his hip.

Dean watches Cas’ parted lips, mesmerized, basks in the sounds falling from his mouth. He wipes the sweat that gathers in Cas’ collarbone. He grabs Cas’ gorgeous ass with both hands and meets him thrust for thrust as Cas gets closer and closer, letting out a continuous flow of whines and moans and praises. He bites his lip hard to keep himself in check as Cas’ hands dig tight in the meat of his shoulder and he comes, painting Dean’s chest white.

Cas keeps grinding, slowly, coming down from his high. Dean is so close to orgasm that he can feel it, feel it tightening around his spine, spurring deliciously through his blood. But he doesn’t let the feeling overcome him yet. Only when Cas finally shifts his focus to him, when he scoops the mess on Dean’s chest with his sinfully long fingers and brings it to Dean’s mouth. Dean comes then, basked in the warmth of Cas’ eyes,  with his mouth wrapped tight around Cas’ fingers and the taste of Cas’ come on his tongue.

Cas is still tense as they clean up. Obviously sex wasn’t quite enough to distract him, but Dean knows there’s at least a few things he loves almost as much as he loves sex. The bird feeder he’s hooked next to his window is one of them. Cas has spent hours telling Dean about all the birds that come visit, about each specie, each individual, their quirks and habits and surprising behaviors. Dean has fallen asleep to the sound of Cas’ voice more times than he can count, but Cas never took offense to it, and through the years Dean has been following the story of those birds and their dramatic lives.

A huge weight seems to have lifted from Cas’ shoulder, but he still fidgets with the comforter, is still wide awake despite the vigorous exercise they’ve just shared. So Dean asks about the birds and Cas smiles, and starts speaking. He becomes animated again, laughs as he recounts the fight a couple of turtledoves that have been together for years had a few days ago. Apparently, it was about a worm that had been poking out of the ground, and ended up being eaten by a clever magpie in passing. Dean listens and hums and groans at the right moments, and he’s not sure when they finally fall asleep, lulled by Cas’ voice and Dean’s fingers threading through Cas’ hair.

It’s still dark when Dean awakes. He feels the tingles of pleasure before he really comes to his senses, and then realizes that Cas has moved. He’s still laying next to Dean, but his head is propped up on his hand, and he’s watching him. He’s slowly cupping, stroking Dean’s flaccid cock. The moon is large and bright in the sky and Dean’s breath hitches a little.

Cas rolling his ballsack in his palm, warm and dry, watches Dean as he slowly emerges from slumber.

Cas kisses him before he can talk. His free hand strokes Dean’s temple, his forehead, runs through his hair. His lips are soft, gentle against Dean’s. There’s no rush, no urge, just the velvet soft skin of his palm on Dean’s cock, and the pleasure of it sends soft ripples under Dean’s skin.

“Cas—”

“No,” Cas says, but he’s smiling, and he doesn’t push things, doesn’t force things. Dean can feel him asking permission through every touch, so he nods, and lets himself go.

It feels intimate. More so than a lot of things they’ve done. Cas has spent years perfecting his way to touch Dean, and though Dean never dares requesting it — because it’s completely and entirely selfish — this is one of his favourite things. Laying there and letting Cas bring him pleasure with nothing but his hand. It feels decadent. He loves the way Cas looks at him in these moments, like there’s nothing more beautiful than Dean slowly drowning in selfish pleasure. He loves the way Cas looks down at his hands around Dean’s cock and seems to get lost in the simple, repetitive motion.

It’s an expert touch, methodical. It’s in a moment like this that Dean realizes just how well Cas knows him. How he’s never forgotten a single moment of them together, registered every single thing that makes Dean tick. Knows every flick of finger of wrist that makes him shudder, knows just how tight to squeeze his cock, where to apply pressure and when to tease and drag it out. Cas knows him. Cas loves him.

Oil and precum slick down his shaft. Cas uses his fingers to carefully cup and roll his balls in the palm of his hand. He teases Dean’s hole, never pushing in. He smiles and laughs softly as Dean rolls his hips, makes a needy sound. Cas kisses Dean’s temple, hums, and gives in to what Dean asks for. A little faster, a little tighter. He thumbs at his slit, swipes the drop of precum, wraps wet fingers around the crown of his cockhead.

It’s so good, and so slow. Cas’ eyes roam over Dean’s body, lingering on the slip and slide of his hard cock inside his fist. He details every inch of him, eating him up with hungry eyes before landing on his face again. Sometimes he leans over and presses a very soft, very slow kiss to Dean’s lips. He always leaves Dean wanting just a little bit more.

He murmurs praises and approval, presses them into Dean’s skin and seals their truth with a kiss. As the warmth in Dean’s belly rises Castiel moves, sits between his open legs to allow for a better grip. He kisses the inside of Dean’s thighs for a long time, where the skin has started to curve, soft and yielding in his hands.

It builds and builds and builds, seamless, endless. Cas touches him with infinite patience, in no hurry to make it to the finish line. He doesn’t tell Dean he needs to wait, doesn’t slow down as Dean finally tenses, twists his fists into the sheets, arches his back with a breathless cry. Dean comes with a shout, shaken by the strength of it, feels the hot splash of come landing on his chest and chin.

Cas slowly wipes it off and brings it to Dean’s lips again. Dean obediently sucks his fingers into his mouth, and the way Cas looks at him then, sitting between Dean’s spread legs, punches another breath out of him. Cas strokes himself a few times and comes all over Dean’s open thighs. Come drips on the curve of his flesh, on the slope of his belly and the softness of his thighs, marking him entirely as Castiel’s.

Cas licks it all off, and then curls against Dean and purrs like a satisfied cat.

Dean must be dreaming. He has to be, because the light of the early morning is strong through his windows, and he’s somehow hard again. Hard and throbbing in a moist, wet heat. He groans, shifts, gasps as he feels Cas’ lips tighten around him. His tongue, flat and wet, runs on the underside of his shaft with each upstroke and downstroke. It’s slow, lazy, unrushed. Dean’s fingers curl in Cas’ hair, and he blindly thinks that this is the best and only way to wake up in this world.

He comes when the tip of Cas’ finger slips into his hole, and his spent body still manages to fill Cas’ mouth with pleasure. Exhaustion drapes over him and he tries to fight through it, wants to reciprocate, but Cas kisses his forehead and strokes his cheek, tells him to go back to sleep.

“What was that?” Dean mumbles as Cas slips out of his bed.

“I wanted to still be tasting you when I get home tonight,” is the only answer Cas gives him.

Dean catches him smiling before he leaves — a real, sincere smile, the first one in a long time. He drifts back to sleep feeling happy, light, and hopeful.

───※ ·❆· ※───

“You didn’t put your name on my board.”

Cas looks up from where he’s tucked against Dean’s neck. His heart beats against Dean’s, slow and steady now. Sweat is drying on their skin, cooled by the wind softly blowing through the window. Dean’s birthday is the day after tomorrow, and Cas has been unusually silent tonight.

“I thought you’d like to have that night off. Enjoy your last day with… Sam, or with your friends. Be with the ones you love.”

You’re the one I love , Dean thinks. He doesn’t say it, not yet. It kills him to be so close, so close to being able to tell Cas all the things he feels, all the things he wants and dream of. Better not, though. In two days he’ll be able to say it all.

“I want to be with you.”

He knows he’ll get Cas for every single night after this. He’ll get Cas every single day, forever. But Dean is too impatient to wait. He wants to start already. There’s only one person he wants to spend his last night of freedom with.

“And it’s not like I won’t be able to see Sam or my friends after, right? I mean—” he frowns, suddenly unsure. They’ve never talked about this. “I’ll still be allowed?”

There’s a beat before Cas answers.

“Yes, of course. I’ll make sure you can see Sam and your friends as often as your desire.”

Dean sighs and wraps his arms tighter around Cas. “Okay. Good. Your should put your name in, then.”

“Are you sure? It’s okay if you—”

“I want you, Cas. Always. You know that. ”

Cas nods, rubbing his nose against Dean’s neck.

“I’ll prepare something special, then.”

Dean grins. He pulls Castiel closer, kisses his lips. They always taste a little better, a little sweeter at the end of the night, when they’re swollen with kisses and bites, blood red and slick with saliva. Sometimes he wonders how he ever manages to stop kissing Castiel. It feels impossible.

Chapter Text

Dean smiles as he looks up at the ivy covered wall standing tall above him. It’s been years since he last attempted to climb it. That night Castiel’s window was locked, and Dean had to climb back down with a twisted feeling in his chest, his throat tight and his hands shaking. He remembers the hollow feeling of hopelessness gaping inside of his chest, and he remembers stomping down on it until he couldn’t feel anything.

But here he stands, six years later, and everything is different.

Tonight Dean is filled with much more than hope — he’s filled with certainty. Cas is waiting up there for him. He wanted their last unwed night to be spent in his quarters — he said he had a surprise for him. Dean’s stomach growls, a reminder that Castiel also asked him not to eat dinner.

The window is half-opened when Dean reaches it, after climbing the wall easily, aided by the treillis Cas installed for his climbing plants. He smiles to himself when he spots the two bird feeders hanging from the wall on each side. They’re empty right now, not a bird in sight, but Dean can hear them chirping somewhere in the trees. He slips through the window and carefully locks it behind himself. 

When he turns back around, Castiel is standing in the middle of his candle-lit bedroom. He’s wearing a dark blue toga, silky fabric falling off his shoulders in elegant folds, and the flames are dancing in his eyes. He’s so beautiful Dean almost falters, almost fails to return his smile, all the air leaving his lungs at once.

There’s a moment when Dean isn’t sure what to do — he’s in an unknown territory, here in Castiel’s bedroom instead of his own, and he has no idea what Castiel wants or expects from him tonight.

“Hey,” he murmurs nervously.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replies, and his smile is broad and his voice is warm and suddenly Dean knows exactly what he wants to do. He crosses the few steps between them and wraps his arms around Cas’ waist, slipping between the folds of his robe to find his skin warm and waiting. Cas hooks his arms around Dean’s shoulders, smiles against his lips, and fuck, Dean could get used to coming home to this. He takes in the moment — his forehead rests against Cas’, he breathes in and out, slowly. 

Castiel’s smile widens and he strokes his fingers on the back of Dean’s neck. He lets Dean kiss him, soft and slow, and then bares his neck for Dean to nuzzle in.

Dean inhales in deep. Lavender honey, soap clean skin. Home.

It’s kind of incredible having Cas like this. Usually he’s so in control, he gives the orders, he makes the choices. He touches until Dean is falling apart at the seams. But something’s shifted tonight, in the way he stands in Dean’s arms and moans softly as Dean places kiss after kiss on the tender skin of his neck. His fingers rake through Dean’s hair, pulling him to his own lips.

 “Hey, Cas,” Dean murmurs when they finally part, lips shiny and pink and still tingling with the heat of the kiss.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replies. His eyelashes flutter down on the delicious blush of his cheeks.

 For a moment Dean thinks he needs no other sustenance than this sight. But his growling stomach reminds him that he hasn’t eaten yet today.

Dean finally looks away from Cas — no small feat — to take in his surroundings. He’s been in Cas’ bedroom once before, but it was the middle of the night, and he didn’t look for anything besides Cas’ bed (and his cock). Now he can see that Cas’ bedroom is large, more windows than walls, luscious plants stuffed on every surface available. There are piles of books on the bedside tables.

“So, what’s the surprise?” Dean asks, turning back to Cas.

“It’s nothing much. You’ll see.”

Cas takes Dean’s hand and gives him the tour of their future home. He has his own private bath downstairs, much bigger than Dean’s. If Cas wasn’t the most amazing person on Earth, Dean might marry him just for that. He also has a living quarter that looks more like a library, with wall to wall bookcases, a chimney, plush seats and a large sofa. Again, the room overflows with plants.

Then there’s a large kitchen equipped with all the latest cooking tools, a large oven, even a sink — those are new, Dean didn’t even know they’d started installing them. And on the table… Dean’s nose perks up as he smells and sees what’s waiting for him. Cas’ diner table is crumbling under meat pies, fruit pies, sugar pies… all the pies. As well as plates of roasted vegetables, meats, breads, cheeses… a feast.

“Your cook is amazing,” Dean murmurs, as he takes a seat next to Cas, reluctant to let go of his hand.

“She is, but this isn’t her work. I —” Cas’ blushes, shrugs. “I wanted to do something special for you.”

“You cooked all of this?” 

Cas nods, smiles, a little bashful. “Yes. I enjoy cooking when I have the time, and I thought — I thought this would be more special. That’s the surprise. I know it isn’t much, but—”

“It is. Cas, this is amazing. And I’m fucking starving.”

Cas grins — he always does when Dean swears. He serves them both plentiful plates and Dean dives right into it, moaning sinfully around his first mouthful. He catches Cas shooting him a heated gaze before he busies himself with his own food.

The thought hits Dean, halfway through the piece of pie he’s currently devouring, that it’s the first time they’ve ever eaten a meal together. In all the years they’ve known each other, all the encounters, endless hours spent exploring and sharing the most intimate of touches, they’ve never really just… been, together. There were the rare times Cas stayed over, laid there with Dean post-coitus and they shared quiet conversations or long stretches of silence, neither of them wanting to fall asleep. But it’s not the same. It isn’t the same as this, as the simplicity of sitting side by side and sharing food prepared for this purpose.

It makes Dean think. About what could have been.

He wonders what would have happened if they had lead different lives. If they’d just been two people whose paths had crossed outside of this castle. They might have shared more moments like this; dinners in the candlelight, endless nights with no duties to pull them apart come morning.

Dean would’ve bought Cas flowers, a different shade of rose each day. He would’ve wooed him the old fashioned way, the way his dad wooed his mom — with cheesy pick-up lines and silly presents, with badly sung songs and a guitar out of key.

With a grin Dean hides in a bite of pecan pie, he thinks that reality is pretty good too.

───※ ·❆· ※───

They clean up together, and then Dean wanders back to the bedroom, taking in the details of Castiel’s life. The paintings on the wall, of flowers and forests and dark angry seas. The abstract drawings of men tangled up together, evocative lines and curves that awaken heated memories. There are books scattered on small tables, thick blankets thrown on the back of couches. Piles of paperwork on the coffee table.

On a dresser in Castiel’s room he finds an ornate box containing a small collection of jewelry and fine objects. Dean knows that all the royals have them, to wear for ceremonies and special occasions, but he’s never seen Castiel in them, which is a shame. Dean’s always been a bit fascinated by jewelry, by the way golden and silver metals shine, by how the colourful stones reflect the light. Cas doesn’t seem to have many of those, but he has delicate rings, clipped earrings, tiaras and headbands, necklaces and bracelets… Dean picks up one of the rings, very simple weaving of golden ribbons around an emerald stone.

 “It’s a pity I’ve never seen you wear jewelry,” Dean murmurs when Cas joins him. 

“I rarely do. And only silver. Gold is too warm for my complexion.” 

“I don’t believe that,” Dean replies. There’s nothing that wouldn’t be gorgeous on Cas. Even a potato sack would be a masterpiece wrapped around his body.

“You, however… would look amazing in gold.” 

Castiel picks up a pair of beautiful, ornate golden earrings and holds them on each side of Dean’s face. His mouth quirks up into a fond smile and Dean feels his cheeks flushing with heat.

“I’m not —” I’m not worth it , Dean thinks, but the words can’t get past his throat.

“Yes. You are,” Cas smiles, like he can read Dean’s mind. “Pick your favourite. I’ll bring them to you tomorrow.”

Dean knows what Cas is implying — that he could wear this for the ceremony. For the wedding . He blushes at the thought of wearing such precious jewels in front of an audience, but if he’s going to marry a prince, he should get used to it. Cas’ voice pulls him out of his reverie.

“You should try them on right now.”

Cas takes the earrings and gently clips them onto Dean’s ears. It pinches a little and the weight feels weird, even if they’re small, but Dean doesn’t dislike it. Next, Cas slips a bracelet around Dean’s wrist and puts a tiara on top of his head. Dean feels ridiculous, the bling too much on his blemished skin, but Castiel’s eyes are shining, like jewels reflecting the light.

“I look ridiculous,” Dean mumbles. They feel so heavy, suddenly, and he makes a move to remove them.

“No,” Cas stops him. He gently grabs his wrist, then cups his cheek, stroking with his thumb. His eyes are brimming with adoration. “No, Dean. You look incredible. Such beauty could only have been made for you.”

He kisses him, much softer than Dean deserves. His tiara knocks against Cas’ forehead. Cas makes it so easy for Dean to feel like he belongs.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Cas whispers.

“Good thing I’m yours, then.”

They stay like that for a moment — forehead against forehead, Cas’ palm cupping his cheek. But then Cas moves back, and carefully removes the jewelry. He puts them in a different box, along with the golden emerald ring.

───※ ·❆· ※───

“How do you want me?” Dean asks a few minutes later. They’re closer to the bed now, and finally getting to an area he’s comfortable with.

Cas considers him for a moment, still holding him close.

“Anything you want,” he says. “It’s your birthday after all.”

Dean wants a lot of things, but right now he can’t seem able to ask for it. There’s something in Castiel’s eyes, something dark and warm and a little sad, too, and he wants to make it go away.

“I want you to be happy. ‘Cause I’m really fucking happy and — I want you to be happy, too.” 

Cas smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He can’t seem to be able to keep his hands off Dean’s face today, cupping his cheeks and jaw, thumbing over his lips, tracing the curve of his eyebrows. He kisses the edge of Dean’s mouth. 

“I’d like to hold you.”

Dean wants to say there’s a lot of way he could hold Dean — like against a wall while he fucks him, for example — but something keeps him from it. Cas looks so solemn, like there is nothing more important than this moment, right here, right now. So he just nods instead.

Castiel unclips the small metal pins holding Dean’s toga on his shoulders and watches, reverently, as the carmin fabric falls down and pools at their feet.

He kisses Dean slowly, tracing the familiar path of his fingers on his face — forehead, eyebrows, cheeks, jaw. Lips. 

His hands slide down Dean’s chest, brushing over his nipples without stopping. His knuckles roam over the slight pouch of Dean’s stomach, before his fingers settle on his hips. He pulls Dean forward and kisses him again.

“Sure you don’t wanna fuck me?” Dean teases, a little breathless from just the touch of those hands on his body and that kiss — sticky, sweet, and slow.

“I enjoy you for much more than just sex, Dean,” Cas murmurs, and okay, Dean’s heart does stutter at that. It’s about the way Castiel says it — like it’s the most important fact in the universe.

And Dean realizes that it does matters. It matters because he’d take Cas however he could get him, he’d take anything Cas would give to him, even just scraps of his attention and devotion. But to know that this isn’t just about sex — just sex , Cas said, like it was a small, unimportant part of their lives — lifts a weight off of Dean’s shoulders that he didn’t even know was there. Cas is right. As amazingly mind-blowing as just sex is with them, there’s also so, so much more that makes them what they are. That makes what they have different from what Dean’s had with everyone else.  

And if Cas needs to prove that tonight, if that’s what he wants their last night in the roles they’ve held for the past seven years to be about, then Dean isn’t going to complain. He wants Cas to hold him, and he wants to hold Cas. Just being with him is more than enough.

Cas does exactly as he said he would — he wraps his arms around Dean and holds him. He holds him for a long time, with Dean naked and pressed against his still clothed body. He holds him with his arms around Dean’s waist, his nose pressed into Dean’s neck. He breathes and breathes and breathes, they sway a little bit, Dean rubs his fingers on the back of Cas’ neck.

“You know this isn’t the last time we’re gonna see each other, right?” Dean jokes after Cas takes a painful, prolonged bite of his lips.

“I know.” 

Dean can feel the knot of his eyebrows against his own nose.

“Bed, maybe?” he finally asks, because if they’re going to do that cuddling thing, he’d like Cas to be naked too.

Cas nods and lets Dean pull him along as he walks toward the bed. Dean manages to disrobe Cas just before falling on his back and being covered by his warm body, lips requested for another hungry kiss. 

Soon Cas settles, pressed against Dean’s side, shifting his attention to Dean’s shoulder and the hundreds of freckles scattered there.

Dean keeps his lips against Cas’ forehead. He tries not to let the gentle touch of Cas’ hands heat him up too much. It’s difficult not to get ideas, not to want when Castiel’s gorgeous fucking body is all pressed up against him. When Cas is touching him, aimlessly, when the tip of his fingers graze over a nipple before moving up, or down again.

It’s impossible not to feel it deep in his belly when Cas’ strong thigh slips between his own, a smooth and taunt warmth against his cock. How is Dean supposed to not get hard when Cas’ lips run over his skin like this? 

The next kiss is slow, lascivious brushes of his tongue against Dean’s, but there’s no mistaking the way his body arches.

It’s different, though. There’s no rush tonight, and Dean marvels at the feeling of it. Truly, really, there is no rush at all. There’s no race to the end, because there’s no ending. Because this is just the beginning of the rest of their lives. This is the last day of what they were, and tomorrow they’ll be new people, together. He’s not going to miss Cas anymore — not in the same way he used to, like an empty aching hole in his chest that nothing can fill, with a hopelessness that would’ve killed him if he’d let it. But that’s over now. Tomorrow they start anew and Dean will never have to be alone again.

It’s never been like this. Cas doesn’t edge him, doesn’t stop him, doesn’t try to have control. The heat builds slowly, their cocks hard and wet between their bodies. It’s not really about that. It’s about the way Cas kisses him, like it’s both their first and last kiss they'll ever have. It’s about just being here, with each other. Much like the meal they spent in silence, just sharing an intimate moment they never had before, this is the slow lovemaking that Dean always secretly ached for. It’s not something that he could’ve had with a stranger or a client. It’s not even something he could’ve had with those he was closest to in the servants’ rooms, like Benny or Cassie. 

This is… love. Love in its rawest form, love shared, love unspoken. They may not be allowed to say it yet, but there’s not denying that it’s what’s between them now. For Dean, at least. In this instant his heart brims with a love so loud he has to bite his lips and bury his face in Cas’ neck to avoid spilling it from his lips.

Half a year ago, he would’ve been deadly scared to allow himself to feel this way. For years he stomped on any glint sparkling from the fire he felt for Cas. He stomped and stifled them until he’d make himself believe the fire was extinguished. He thought he might die, if he let those feelings run loose and overwhelm him. But now — now he thinks he might die if he has to keep them in for much longer.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Dean is the one to move to clean them up. Cas’ fingers slip on his skin, slick with sweat, scrambling to keep him close. Dean laughs a little but makes a quick work of wiping their bellies clean before he lets Cas drag him back against his chest. They stay like that for a long time, silence only broken by their evening breathings and the crickets outside.

“Tell me about the house,” Dean murmurs, his voice stifled from where his mouth is pressed against Cas’ skin. 

“The house?” 

Castiel’s speaks against his temple. His hand traces endless patterns on Dean’s sides. They’re intertwined as tightly as it is physically possible, thighs tucked and legs tangled, chest against chest, lips against skin. Dean can feel each of Cas’ breaths, can feel his heart beating underneath his fingertips.

“Yeah. The cottage you told me about.”

Cas nuzzles even closer somehow. “What do you want to know?”

Dean shrugs as much as he can without jostling Cas. He runs his fingers through Cas’ hair, making a mess of it and then combing it back.

“Everything. What it looks like. How often we can go. How did you come to own it?” 

Dean feels Castiel smile against his forehead. “It’s a magical place,” he begins, his voice warm like it gets when he speaks of something close to his heart. “There’s a small path leading to it, just large enough for a horse. I go as often as I can, but it always remains a little wild. There are vines and plants growing on the stone walls.” Dean smiles to at the images it evokes. It sounds like a place Cas would love, overrun with vegetation and nature.

“The river runs in the back, and the inside is made of wood and bricks. There’s a fireplace, for the winter, and the river is delightful to swim in during the summer. There’s a wonderful bread oven, and if I were there enough, I’d bring chickens and goats to have milk and eggs in the morning. The garden is lush but mostly gone wild now, filled with berries and aromatic plants. The windows let in the sunshine all year long, and in the morning you can hear the birds sing and the forest wake up.” Cas sighs and wraps his arms tighter around Dean. “It’s a wonderful place, and I always imagined what it’d be like to bring you there,” he adds, his voice smaller. 

Dean’s hand stops its endless movement in Cas’ hair. 

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Cas doesn’t elaborate, and Dean is too busy buzzing with the idea of always to push for details. 

“Sounds amazing,” he finally manages to say. 

“It is,” Cas agrees. “And we can go as often as you’d like. I’ll be there as often as my work allows, but you — you can go, even if I’m not there. It’s as much yours as it is mine.” 

Dean pulls back a little, just to look at Cas’ face. His eyes are cast down, the blush that was fading on his cheeks now back with a vengeance. His eyebrows are drawn together in a pensive pinch.

“I bought it for you,” he admits, his voice so low Dean isn’t sure he’s heard the words right.

“For me?”

Cas nods, closes his eyes, and turns his face to sink further into the pillow. Dean holds him close and kisses his forehead, pressing his lips against his skin until Cas starts talking again.

“I know it’s… I know it was silly, buying a home for you when — when you weren’t mine, and were never going to be. I know, and I knew then, but I — I only thought of you when I saw it. I only ever pictured you there, with me. I had just come of age, we hadn’t even — but I wanted to dream. I sold some of my possessions, things I hoped nobody would notice were gone. I bought it under a different name, so it couldn’t be traced back to me. I wanted it to be… a retreat. An escape, for us, maybe. And although I dreamed, and hoped, I never actually thought you’d agree to share it with me.”

Dean bats his eyes to chase away the tears. Years. Years ago, when Dean thought Cas didn’t want him anymore, when he didn’t even know if he’d ever see Cas again — Cas was dreaming. About him, about them, about their future — together. 

“Would’ve bought you a house when I was eighteen if I could’ve,” Dean murmurs, trying to soothe the tension in Castiel’s shoulders. “I was gone on you the moment we met.” Cas gives him a small smile at that. “I can’t wait for you to take me there.”

“Me neither.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

It’s still dark out, the moon still huge and bright through the windows, but there’s a faint yellow line between the Earth and the sky. Dean tries not to think about what it means — that morning is about to break in. The thought of leaving Cas’ bed, leaving his home, even just for a few hours before they’re reunited for good, makes Dean’s heart ball up in his throat. He doesn’t want to go yet. This night has been too perfect and he’s not ready for it to end. They have a couple of hours still, and Dean fully intends to make the most of it.

Which is why he’s straddling Castiel’s waist, hard cock standing straight above Cas’ belly button. Dean rolls his hips, enjoying the wet and loosened feeling he only gets after Cas takes his sweet time fingering him.

“Remind you of something?” Dean teases with a wink. He gestures at himself and then at their surroundings. 

Cas rolls his eyes, his fingers digging in Dean’s thighs. His wet cockhead catches against Dean’s rim, but then slips over it and smears oil on Dean’s asscheek.

“Don’t remind me,” Cas grumbles, his cheeks somehow turning even more pink. 

Dean leans over, laughing, pressing his face against said cheeks — they’re so warm against his own. He remembers an eerily similar moment seven years ago, except that back then Cas’ jaw was smooth and soft against his own. Now it’s still rough despite Cas clean-shaving for the first time in months. Back then, the skin of his neck didn’t prickle against Dean’s lips. The arms holding him weren’t as strong.

But it was still him. It was Cas, and Dean didn’t know it yet, that he'd be the best thing to ever happen to him.

“I want us to remember,” Dean murmurs, trying to catch Cas’ evasive glance, but settling on just speaking against his lips. “I don’t want to forget a moment spent with you, Cas.”

Dean could swear Castiel’s eyes fill with tears at that. He kisses him instead of asking why — he’s getting a little choked up himself. Tonight feels so much more important than he thought it would. It’s them, together, saying goodbye to something. Saying goodbye to the boys they once were, to the years of hiding and pretending to be less than they were. It’s putting the last period at the end of their prologue.

Dean sits up a little, his hand resting on the center of Cas’ chest, feeling the soft head of Cas’ cock resting against his hole again. He rises up and then down again, moaning at the familiar feeling of his body opening up to accommodate Cas. It’s overwhelming, and shouldn’t still bring tears to his eyes after all this time, but he never got quite used to Cas’ size. It still brings him to the edges of himself every single time.

“Fuck.”

Cas’ only response is the way his eyes are fluttering close and his nails are digging deeper into Dean’s thighs.

“Let’s make this right, whadd'ya think?” Dean murmurs. He winks at Cas again, sits up, and starts moving.

Dean rocks his hips in sinuous motion, focused on the full stretching feeling of Cas’ cock inside of him. One of Cas’ hands stays on his thigh, hitching a little higher up to follow the movement. The other one wraps around Dean’s wrist, then around his fingers. Their intertwined hands press against Castiel’s heart, a steady, comforting beat that Dean unconsciously follows.

He cups Cas’ cheek, strokes, leans over for a kiss that slows them down. Then he’s up again. Their first time lasted less than fifteen minutes, so tonight they take their time. 

After what feels like hours, when Dean’s thighs are burning with effort, when Cas’ skin is flushed and slick with sweat, when his hair is in a complete disarray over the pillow and his mouth has gone slack, Dean finally lets the orgasm wash over him. He’s usually more of a gusher — his come sputters and licks down his shaft, thick and warm — but today it comes out in long streaks, splattering all over Castiel’s chest. A drop lands on Cas’ right nipple, covering the brown little mole right above it. Dean leans over, hips still rocking, and licks Castiel clean. 

A moment later he feels Cas tense up, fingers clenching in the meat of Dean’s thigh, and then wet warmth fills him up as Cas lets out a shuddering grown. It leaks down Cas’ shaft and out of Dean’s hole, and it’s filthy, familiar, and perfect.

“Satisfied now?” Dean asks as he thumbs the small remnants of his pleasure into Cas’ mouth.

“Yes, my love.”

Cas’ eyes widen and he tenses under Dean — obviously it slipped, unplanned. But Dean doesn’t give him a chance to take it back. He leans forward and kisses him fiercely, groaning into his mouth, his cock stirring between their stomachs. 

“My love,” Cas repeats, and Dean’s whole body shudders. He buries his face in Castiel’s neck, his breath stuttering. “Do you like it when I say that?”

“Yeah. I do.”

Cas smiles, kisses his temple, and says it again.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Dean opens his eyes through a fog. He’s exhausted, and sore, and warm, and for a moment he isn’t sure where he is — but then his nose gets a whiff of lavender honey and he smiles, burying himself back into the body wrapped around him. 

“My love, it’s time.” 

Dean grumbles, closes his eyes against the brightness now filling the room. He must have dozed off while Cas was talking about birds again. 

“Not yet.”

Castiel chuckles, but allows Dean one more minute of basking in the thoughts that this is how he’ll get to wake up for the rest of his life. When Dean finally gathers the courage to face the day, he’s met with the sunshine dancing in Castiel’s blue eyes and a soft smile on dream-pink lips. 

“How do you feel?”

“Like I really can’t wait for the next part. You?”

“Good,” Cas simply answers. 

Dean would kiss him for a thousand more years, would kiss him until he forgets to breathe, would die kissing him if he could. But the sun is rising higher and higher in the sky, and it’s time. 

Castiel helps him put his robe back on, fingers deliberately brushing over his skin. His kiss lingers. Again, they stand there for a long time, Castiel just hugging him and breathing slowly. Dean wonders if he’ll do that every time they have to separate, every morning before he leaves for work. Dean wouldn’t mind.

“I thought you said I had to go,” Dean jokes, and Cas nods, but he kisses him again anyway. And again. And again. And again.

“Be good,” he murmurs when he finally lets Dean go. 

“You too, Cas.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

Dean’s heart is thudding hard against his chest as he steps into the ceremonial hall. He knows what’s about to happen, he knows that this day will end the way it started, in bed with his love. But it’s still intimidating to walk into this room, with a ceiling several stories high and stained-glass windows twice as tall as him. He faces the royals, all sitting side by side at the long table, with their hands crossed in front of them. They watch him solemnly as he approaches.

Dean spots Cas, on the far left side, and gives him a nervous smile. Cas doesn’t smile back.

Chapter Text

Dean smiles, and Cas doesn’t smile back.

He wants to. He wants to so badly, because Dean’s smile is the most beautiful thing in the entire world, and Cas would do anything to witness it one last time.

But he can’t. It’s taking everything he has to keep his expression neutral, to keep himself sitting upright and not show the devastating sorrow currently gnawing its way through his chest. If Cas tried to smile, he’d fail miserably, and Dean would see. And he’d know.

And if he knew what Castiel had to do to give him this, if he knew the amount of pain Castiel has been in at the thought of losing him, he might change his mind.

Cas won’t let him. Dean wants this, Dean asks for this, and more than that — he deserves this. After a lifetime of serving others, Dean deserves to be free. He deserves to have everything he wants. And Castiel promised.

So he doesn’t smile, and watches Dean’s features fall down a little. Just this small show of concern is almost too much — Cas has to look down to his clasped hands for the rest of the ceremony, as his father congratulates Dean on being granted complete freedom from his duties at the palace.

He wants to be happy for Dean, he really does. He wants to love him just a little bit less, he wants to love him in a way that would make this easier, that would allow him to just be happy, instead of this — this constant aching in his chest, the tightness in his throat, and the painful weight on is shoulders, in his limbs, crushing his heart every time it beats.

He loves Dean so much, and it hurts deep inside every time he’s reminded that the thing Dean wants most in the world, the thing that has made him endlessly happy in the past few months, is something that is going to ultimately lead him far, far away from Castiel.

He finally looks up as Dean is being given his travel bag, as well as a small sum of money to begin his journey. Cas does notice Dean’s expression — certainly not the one he expected. He’s not smiling, and he looks lost, and he only meets Castiel’s eyes for a brief second before Cas looks away again. 

If he thought he couldn’t handle Dean’s happiness, witnessing his distress is much worse.

He might just be overwhelmed. Yes, that’s probably it. However much Dean has wanted this, it’s still a scary step to take, especially alone. Either that, or Castiel has failed and Dean has noticed his pain. Maybe he’s started to question his decision, and Cas can’t let that happen. He can’t let his selfishness ruin this day, this moment for Dean.

He waits until the council parts, short after Dean has left the room, and goes back to his quarters. He doesn’t look at the bed, still reeking of their combined scent, and picks up the box of jewelry he’d promised. He tries not to think about the fact that he’ll never get to see Dean wear them. That others will instead.

Others like his spouse. Because that’s inevitable. Finding love, starting a family, finding a home — those are the reasons Dean made that choice.

Those are not things Castiel can give him. The only thing Castiel has to offer is love, but that’s not enough. He can’t promise Dean a family, and as for a home, Castiel has to live in the palace, and it will always remain the place that enslaved Dean his whole life. He’d still be locked between four walls. He’d have duties, as the husband of a royal heir. No, that’s not an enviable position for Dean. Cas understand why Dean choose freedom.

Dean is so full of love, tenderness, kindness; he has so much to give, and Cas is simply not enough.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Emptiness. That’s what Dean feels. It’s not what he would have expected to feel — to have his whole life ripped from under him, he’d have expected sorrow, grief, anger. Instead he just feels… hollow. Like someone just ran a fucking spear through his chest and left him to bleed out on the floor. He can’t breathe. He can’t think.

He looks without seeing anything, past the familiar room and out the windows. Out. Out in the world. Behind the walls that have so safely guarded his existence for fifteen years. He blinks, eyes blurry with tears. His neck is wet, his jaw is shaking, but he barely registers any of it.

Everything around him is so familiar, yet so radically different.

He has spent the better part of the past five years in this very room. He’s made it as close as it could be to a home. His things are still scattered around, clothes hanging off the back of a chair, his favourite soap next to the bath. The few books he owns are piled on a small table. The trinkets and memories, mostly gifts Sam gave him over the years, are lined on the windowsill. It were all clumsy attempts at making this place home, and now it feels so futile.

He moves instinctively. His old survival instinct, buried deep, has resurfaced.

He walks around the room, picking up his things and throwing them haphazardly into the large travel bag he’s been given. They’ll come for him soon, they’ll come for him and they’ll walk him out and he’ll have to go. There’s no time to think. And obviously, nothing to mourn. Whatever he thought he had…

No. No, Dean can’t think about that. He can’t waste time replaying every moment, every encounter, search through every kiss and every spoken and unspoken word — he can’t spend time dissecting the past seven years in the hope of finding the moment he went wrong.

Because Castiel he sat there, with an impassive face, as the King read Dean’s order of expulsion. Well, liberation was the word used — but Dean knows better. This is eviction. This is rejection.

This castle is his home, and he’s being thrown out of it. He’s going back there, back to where he came from, back to the hunger and the cold and the crippling loneliness. And Castiel didn’t even bat an eye. He watched passively as Dean’s world was ripped away from him.

He doesn’t understand how Castiel could do this to him. How he could do the things he did for seven years, whisper words of love and promises against his skin over and over, and then just sit there and watch it all be taken away from Dean. Without even the decency of fucking looking at him.

No. No, Dean can’t afford these thoughts.

Can’t allow himself to feel anything — not this, not this sharp, blinding pain in his chest, not the way his stomach twists in painful knots, not the wobble in his thighs. Not the tears streaming down his face. He angrily wipes them, puts his face in his hands and demands that this stops. The pain has to stop.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Cas doesn’t immediately notice that something is wrong when he steps through the door of Dean’s bedroom. He’s too taken by the familiar sight in front of him. It still makes his heart leap with excitement, with want. For years, this room was the only place Castiel was ever truly happy at. At peace.

Coming here was always his escape.

Stepping in, he’d always leave all of his troubles behind. Would forget about everything when Dean touched him. And what Cas did here, bringing Dean pleasure, making him shake with need and want and earth-shattering relief — still feels like the only good things he’s ever done. To lay in Dean’s arms, listening to his heartbeat, counting his breaths as he fell asleep, to watch him be at peace, eyelashes a crescent on his freckled cheeks, his beautiful lips parted with each deep breath… Cas understood why he was put on this Earth.

Loving Dean was the best thing Castiel ever did. The only good thing, maybe, to ever come out of his life. Loving Dean.

And the only thing that soothes his pain right now is to know that that is never going away. He knows, he’s known for a long time, that loving Dean is just the way things are. It’s the way things will be for the rest of his life. Loving Dean is just the state of his existence. He will be loving Dean every morning when he wakes up, in every step he takes in the hallways of this castle, through every word he’ll speak. He’ll be loving Dean through the years, loving Dean as he grows old, loving Dean no matter how many years it’s been since he’s last seen him.

Cas clutches the envelope in his hands, the map that might, one day, guide Dean back to him. To their home. He refuses to hold much hope, despite Dean’s words. Once out of this life, he wants Dean to move on, to find people, to forget about his years as a servant and a courtesan. But a small — or a very, very big — part of him hopes that he might one day visit this house that was always meant for him. Even if just once. He holds on to the thought that this isn’t the last time Cas will ever get to see him.

He watches as Dean strides across the room, opens drawers and shoves things into his travel bag. He seems tensed. Cas knows him well, too well, can tell from a twitch in his eyebrows or the stiffness of his shoulders that something is wrong. And right now, something is very wrong.

Cas frowns. He watches Dean gather the drawings he carefully keeps in a folder by his bedside. Most of them are of Sam through the years. Dean has gotten much better at drawing as time went on, and has made portraits of his friends, of other servants or courtesans. Of Cas, even, sometimes, when Cas was too lax from pleasure and exhaustion to protest.

He’d wake up to the sound of coal on the paper sometimes, always oddly comforting.

Dean’s fingers shake around the stack of paper. He carefully puts away a few of them — Cas recognizes Sam’s bright smile. The next ones, though, he can’t quite make out — naked figures in the sheets, a dark mess of hair.

Dean grabs the drawings with both hands and roughly tears them apart, again and again, until nothing is left but a snowfall of scraps.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Dean hates him. He hates so, so much. He hates him so much he can’t breathe, so much he can’t think, so much that his hands keep shaking and shaking and shaking and his chest hurts so much and—

He’s never hated anyone as much as he hates Castiel right now.

Yet, when he looks up and finds him standing in his door frame, in the exact spot he has stood in a thousand times, his hair curling on his forehead and looking so sad — Dean’s anger is stifled by how much he loves him.

Fuck, fuck, he loves him so much, he’s made the biggest mistake of his life and he’s let himself fall in love with someone who doesn’t, who never—

Castiel is on him in an instant, with a worried cry of his name. Whatever he was holding falls to the floor with a loud thunk. His palms cradle Dean’s cheeks, thumbs wiping the tears, his outwardly blue eyes anxiously searching to meet Dean’s gaze.

“Dean, Dean — what happened?”

Dean grabs his wrist, grips it until it hurts, hating the way he leans into the familiar touch even as he struggles to breathe.

“My love,” Castiel whispers, his voice breaking.

No, no, he doesn’t get to say that. He doesn’t get to look at Dean like that, he has no fucking right—

Dean grabs him and pulls him forward roughly. The kiss is hard and bruising, it's anger and pain and betrayal, and Cas lets out a whimper when Dean bites harshly into his lips.

He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to feel it, he just, he needs—

Cas chases Dean's mouth when he pulls away, fingers digging in his skin to bring him back. With a groan, Dean shoves him down on the bed and climbs on top, renewing his attack on Castiel’s mouth. His fucking gorgeous lips, sinful tongue, it feels so good, it feels so fucking right, what a fucking asshole to kiss Dean like this when he doesn’t even want him, when he never fucking wanted him, when he lied, still lies like a fucking asshole, asshole, asshole —

Castiel’s hand brushes up Dean’s thigh, daring under his robe and up the curve of his ass. It's like a slap in the face. Dean sits up, grabs Cas' wrist, and shoves it away.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Castiel looks up at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. His lips are swollen, his hair is a mess. His chest is heaving and he brings his hand up again, this time towards Dean’s face, a question on the tip of his tongue.

Dean slaps it away again.

Fuck. Fuck, he can’t breathe.

“Fuck you,” he spits, pinning Castiel down on the bed with both hands pressing down his muscular chest. He wants to crush it, wants to fucking rip out his heart like he’s ripped out Dean’s. “Fuck you, fuck you, Cas. You don’t get to—" Dean can hear his voice breaking, can hear his own weakness and he fights against it. "I’m not your fucking whore anymore, you don’t get to touch me like that, you don’t get me like that.”

“Dean, I don’t — I don’t understand—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Dean's burning forehead rests against Cas’ clavicle. Tender hands cradle the back of his neck, stroking softly through his hair. Dean closes his eyes tightly and tries not to sob. No, no, Castiel doesn’t get to see that. He doesn’t get to see Dean break down like this.

“Dean, please. Please tell me what happened.”

Dean doesn’t answer. If he opens his mouth, he’ll cry. He can’t cry. He cannot fucking cry. He’s going to gather himself, he’s going to pull away from Castiel’s stupid, meaningless embrace. He’s going to tell him to leave, that he’s fine, that he doesn’t care. He’s going to stop pressing his nose into Castiel’s skin and breathe in the familiar scent as if it’s going to bring him back to when he still had hope. When he still believed.

Dean’s going to do all of that very soon, he just needs to be able to fucking breathe first. A mouth presses against his temple.

“Dean, I’m begging you, please talk to me.”

One last time — for real, this time, for the actual last time of his life — Dean breathes in the scent of lavender honey. Leans into the touch that’s been his anchor for seven years. Slowly, he grabs Castiel’s wrist and pries his hands away. He sits up, then unseats himself from atop Castiel’s waist. The last sight he gets is of Castiel slowly sitting up, reaching out, his eyes troubled, his lips shaking.

Dean moves out of reach and sits on the edge of the bed. He just wants Castiel to go. He needs Castiel to leave because he needs to fucking break and scream and cry and he needs him to not be here when he does so.

“I think you should go,” he manages to croak.

“Dean, whatever it is — whatever happened, I can fix it.”

There’s an urgency in Castiel’s voice, a demand , and if Dean wasn’t so fucking — angry, pissed off, broken — he’d want nothing more than to yield to that request.

“There’s nothing to fix,” he scoffs instead, bitterness spurring a sour taste in his throat.

“Something is clearly wrong,” Castiel replies, because he's a stubborn asshole. “This morning you were happy. Excited. And now—” Dean jerks away when a hand presses on his shoulder. “Something has happened, Dean, and I need you to tell me what so that I can fix—”

“It’s not broken !” Dean exclaims, and he hates the way his voice shakes. He wants his words to come out firm, easy, he wants to sound indifferent — but he’s so angry he can barely breathe. “There’s nothing to fix , you just don’t fucking want me."

The silence is deafening. Dean can hear everything — Castiel’s fast breathing, his own pounding heart. The wind through the windows and the distant sounds of the hallway.

"Just leave. Please.”

“No.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dean doesn't dare turning around, but he can feel Castiel shuffling closer, the mattress dipping under his weight. Thankfully, he stops just short of touching Dean.

“You are being freed. You’re getting everything you’ve ever wanted, and you have no idea the things I’ve had to do to get you this privilege—”

This time Dean can't help it— he whips his head around and glares at Castiel with all the anger he can muser.

“Privilege ? Are you fucking kidding me? I didn’t want this. I didn’t ask for this—”

“Yes you did!”

Castiel is much closer than Dean expected, just a few inches away, and there's something incredibly frightening about the way his eyes are full of thunder and lightning. He blindly grabs at the front of Dean’s tunic and this time Dean is to stunned to push him away.

“I gave you a choice, I asked you what you wanted, and—”

“And I said I wanted you!”

Dean’s chest is caving in on itself and it feels like he's drowning. He can’t help but grab onto Castiel's robe too, wrap his fingers around soft fabric and holding on for dear life. Their noses brush, their chests heave as if they’d just ran for miles and miles.

“No,” Cas shakes his head vehemently. “No, you said— freedom, Dean. You asked me for freedom.”

“Yes, freedom to choose you !”

Everything stands still as they stare, out of breath, at each other. The moment seems to last forever, as they both realize what this means. Dean replays the moment in his mind, that night in this very bed when Cas fucked him so good and so long and said—

“You asked what I’d choose, if I was free, and—”

“No, I said—”

“Cas ,” Dean hisses, struggling to get air into his lungs. He can’t feel anything except for his heart, pounding like a hammer underneath Castiel’s fist, his lungs aching and begging for him to breathe.

“Dean.” Cas’ voice breaks on the one word. He tips his head forward, his lips are shaking, his blue eyes drowned in red. “I— I don’t understand.”

“I wanted you,” Dean repeats. He presses his forehead against Castiel’s, pulls aimlessly at his robe. “I wanted you, Cas.”

“I’m so sorry,” Cas whispers, and Dean takes the hit, rolls with it.

“It’s okay,” he lies. “I can — I can come back to visit, right? Sometimes. Like, like Sam, and — maybe you, too, if you want. Right?”

Dean pulls back a little bit as Castiel nods, and then takes his palm and presses a kiss onto his knuckles. The gesture is so tender that Dean aches, aches for that man, who doesn’t want him, not enough, but it’s okay. It has to be okay.

“You don’t have to leave the castle if you don’t want to,” Cas tells him, like it’s that easy. “You can have any job you want. Or not. You can have the house, the one I told you about — or, or stay here, live near your brother.”

“What do you want?” Dean asks, because in all of this, he still doesn’t know — not really — what Castiel wants from him. If he wants something at all.

“I want you to be happy.”

“That’s not — what do you want from me, Cas?”

Castiel looks down on the hands he’s still holding. “What I want doesn’t matter. This is about you.”

“No. No.” Dean’s voice trembles and he fights to keep it strong. “Forget about me for a second, alright? Forget what you think I want. Think about you. If you could have anything, if there was no rule and no consequences and just us, you’n’me, what would you most want in the entire world?”

Cas’ eyes shine with a distinct sadness. They seem lost as he stares back at Dean. Then he blinks, looks down, and shakes his head a little, tightening his grip on Dean’s hand. He seems like he’s bracing himself, until finally—

“If all I cared about in the world was myself, then I would ask you to marry me.”

Dean tilts his head back, shuddering with relief. He fights to keep the tears in — enough for one day, for fuck’s sake — but can’t help the smile fighting to spread on his lips.

He wants me. He wants me. He wants me.

Cas is looking at him, frowning slightly. Dean brings him in for a kiss, a complete opposite of the last one. This time it's slow, warm, and Dean smiles all the way through it.

“Then do it.”

“Dean—”

“Cas, I don’t care about any of the bullshit reasons why you think — just fucking ask me. Please.”

Cas swallows tightly, Dean can feel it, hear it, and he brushes their lips together again briefly.

“You deserve to have everything you want. Anyone you want. You deserve complete freedom from any kind of—”

“There ain’t no freedom without you. Not for me,” Dean whispers.

Cas’ eyelashes flutter against Dean’s cheek. His fingers are wrapped around Dean's wrist, not punching him away, keeping him grounded. Like he wants to let go, but can’t.

“There is. Dean, you can have everything you want—”

“And I want you , how many times do I gotta say it? Damn it, Cas. I want you . I love you. I—”

“You love me?”

“Yeah.” Dean’s eyes prickle with tears when he realizes he’s never said it. Never thought it was allowed, never dared. He’s thought those words so many times, just waiting for the day he would be free to say them out loud — until today, he didn’t think that day would never come. And Cas — Cas, Cas who is hearing them, now, for the very first time.

The most beautiful smile breaks on his face, and he’s so beautiful, and fuck, fuck— Dean loves him.

“I love you so damn much.” He pulls and grabs at Cas’ warm body until he gets the idea and shuffles on to Dean’s lap, the full heavy weight of him atop his thighs, thick arms wrapped around his shoulders. Their noses bump, Dean catches his smile with his mouth. “Been in love with you since I was fucking 18 years old, Cas. Everything else — everyone else — it’s just been… distractions.”

Dean definitely feels a tear slip down between their cheeks when Castiel kisses him again. He closes his eyes and moans at the softness, the tenderness of Cas’ palms cradling his face, of this kiss that is everything but hard, smooth and tender and relieved, a kiss of disbelief, a kiss of new beginnings.

“Cas,” Dean murmurs between two filthy slides of Castiel’s tongue.

Castiel only hums in response, and then proceeds to lay a path of wet, warm kisses along Dean’s jaw, neck.

“Ask me.”

Cas stop moving. Dean slides his hands up, up, up, from Castiel’s ankles to his thighs, slipping under his robes to curve around his taunt flesh.

“If you want to.”

Cas’ finger brushes on Dean’s lips. He moves back just enough so he can look at him, eyes lidded.

“Marry me.”

Dean grins stupidly wide.

“Fine. If you insist.”

Cas scoffs but he still leans over to kiss Dean again, and again, and again.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Cas’ skin is burning. Dean thumbs at his hip bones, digs his nails into his meaty thighs. Fuck, he really thought he’d never get to touch him again. Never get to feel those lips against his own, taste their eternal sweetness, feel their plumpness, their slight give, the way they always part when Dean asks them to.

He thought he’d never feel those ridiculously strong fingers pull at his hair, would never hear Cas make those sweet, sweet, filthy moans again like he’s doing right now —

They both jump when they hear a knock at the door. Dean reluctantly slips his hand down from where they had reached far up under Castiel’s robes.

He quickly glances over Cas’ shoulder to find a guard, in full body armor, standing in the door frame.

“Winchester? It’s time to go.”

Dean doesn’t even look away, just drinking in the sight of Cas’ swollen, kissed-red lips before diving in again.

“Dean Winchester, I’ve come to guide you to your carriage—”

“Dean isn’t going anywhere,” Cas pants, not even bothering to turn around, only pulling away from Dean’s lips long enough to speak. Dean gathers him closer against his body, diving tongue first back into the kiss.

“Sir, I have orders—”

Cas pulls away and rolls his eyes to the ceiling. Dean uses the opportunity to nip at his exposed throat. Cas is still ridiculously heavy and Dean can’t feel his legs, but he couldn’t care less.

“And I’m telling you to stand down, soldier.”

“Sir, my orders are to get Dean Winchester out of the castle—”

Cas presses a last kiss to Dean’s lips and then turns around, sliding off the bed and onto his feet to face the man. Dean mourns the loss of his heat, of his touch, but his stomach lurches pleasantly at the sight of Cas taking a stand like this — shoulders squared, legs parted, arms crossed. Fiercely protective.

The soldier’s at least a foot taller than Cas and twice as large, and wears a dagger in his belt. Cas doesn’t look scared one bit, and the sheer power emanating from him causes goosebumps to raise all over Dean’s body.

“And I’m giving you new one. Stand down , boy.”

Cas’ low, rough voice sends shivers down Dean’s spine. He can’t see Cas’ face, but according to the look on the soldier’s face, it’s a scary one. The fact that he’s calling a 7-foot tall man boy makes Dean weak in the knees.

That’s his future fucking husband.

The soldier steps forward, a hand going to his weapon. Dean is suddenly terrified — what if it’s too late? What if Cas can’t stop this, what if he’s truly taken away before they can—

“Believe me, you don’t want to do that,” Cas taunts, and Dean can hear what almost sounds like amusement in his voice.

The soldier stops. Blinks. He seems to consider it, and then looks at Cas one last time — no doubt wearing what Dean would call his smiting expression, with the dangerous curve of his eyebrows and lightning shooting through the sky blue of his eyes — and then steps back.

“I will notify the court that my orders were changed.”

“Yes, you do that.”

Dean doesn’t wait to see the soldier’s reaction. He spins Cas around and kisses him soundly.

Several minutes later they come up for air, and the smile on Castiel’s gorgeous face is brighter than a thousand suns.

It kills Dean to have to damp it down with the harsh reality.

“Cas, are you sure — what if it’s too late?”

Cas frowns against Dean’s forehead. “I’m not losing you again, I won’t allow it."

Dean knows, with absolute certainty, that it's the truth.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Dean holds on to Castiel’s hand like his life depends on it. They get a few strange looks as they wander the corridors towards the east wing, where the court will have gathered to work through the afternoon, but Castiel ignores them in favor of smiling at Dean whenever their gazes meet.

They stop before reaching the lacked oak doors of the council room.

Cas looks grim, all of the sudden, as he faces Dean and gathers his hands in his.

“Before we go in, I — there are things I should tell you.”

Dean’s heart sinks low in his stomach, and for a split second he thinks he’s about to lose everything all over again.

“It wasn’t easy to convince the rest of the court to let you go. To free you.”

“Convince?” Dean frowns, a little confused.

Cas looks down, and Dean brings him closer. Squeezes their intertwined fingers. It seems to give Cas the courage to go on.

“Yes. As you know, the fate of a courtesan is voted on by the whole court, and it needs to be a unanimous decision. That is, unless there’s a marriage request. When I didn’t make one, everyone expected you to stay at as a courtesan, not to be freed. Many were against the idea.”

“Why?”

Cas tilts his head and gives Dean a look that says it all — a repressed, cold jealousy Dean’s only seen in his eyes a handful of memorable times.

“Because you’re very talented and appreciated by this court, Dean.”

“Oh. Right.”

“And some of my… colleagues ,” — Cas seems to find it a tough word to pronounce — “ were of the opinion that if I wasn’t to ‘take’ you for myself, they should have the right to do it themselves.”

“Wait, some of them wanted to marry me?”

Dean can figure that a couple of folks would want to keep him around, to fuck him when they feel like it. But marriage ? Who the fuck would want to marry him? Besides Cas, but Cas — Cas is different. He’s always been different.

Cas’ jaw is clenched tight. “Yes.”

Dean runs a soothing hand up his arm, squeezes his shoulder, nudges at his chin until their gazes meet again. Then he leans over and presses a soft, quick kiss to his lips.

“Who?”

Cas takes a deep breath.

“Crowley. Abaddon. Amara… and Alastair, to name a few.”

Dean is still surprised by the idea of any of his clients wanting to wed him, but come to think of it, he’s not that surprised by those names. Abaddon is a gorgeous woman and a great lay, although not unlike Cas, she has a thing for leaving marks. But Dean didn’t appreciate them as much as Cas’ — he was the only one Dean ever wanted to remember. Amara was fine, another very beautiful woman and passionate lover, but she liked Dean a little bit too much. He’s always been a bit creeped out by her, without being able to say exactly why.

Same for Crowley, who seemed to want a friend more than a lover, and would spend hours just talking to Dean about his tumultuous relationship with his mother and son. Of those four, he has to be the one Dean dislikes the least.

Alastair, though… Dean doesn’t understand, but the idea of having life forever bonded to him makes him shiver. He’s always been a bit obsessed with Dean. Got in trouble — banned, actually, for months — a few times for getting too rough with the courtesans, including Dean. He was one of the the few clients that made Dean reconsider all of his life choices. Sometimes, Dean thinks that without the rules and the laws protecting him, he would’ve ended up dead at Alastair’s hand.

“Alastair, really?”

“Yes. You sound surprised.”

“Just… wouldn’t have thought he still wanted me. Wasn’t exactly happy with me last time he came.”

Cas’ eyebrows meet above his nose in the cutest gesture of confusion. And then— a spark of understanding. His jaw clenches dangerously.

“It was him? I’m going to kill— ”

“Cas. Stop. It’s fine.”

Castiel is stupidly attractive when he gets mad, and Dean bites his lower lip — this isn’t the time nor the place to shove Cas into a closet and have his way with him.

Later.

For now he brushes his knuckles on Cas’ stubbly cheek and leans over, breathing against his lips.

“It’s not,” Cas growls, but his voice has gone softer, and he almost smiles when their eyes meet again.

“It is. He didn’t get me. You did. And whatever happens, he’ll never touch me again.”

That seems to work. Cas closes his eyes, traces the curve of Dean’s cheek with his thumb. He brings their bodies together, sighs into their embrace.

“There’s more.”

“More?”

“They wanted you. If not as a spouse, then at least as — available to them. And you had asked me for freedom, so I had to — I had to make deals with them so they’d side with me and let you go.”

“Deals?”

“Decisions that have deeply affected this kingdom. Bills, and projects, and ideas, that I never would’ve agreed with otherwise. I helped them push their agenda, I signed off on things I never wanted to see become a reality.”

Dean’s stomach sinks. He never thought — never imagined, that Cas would’ve gone to such length, compromising his integrity, just to give Dean what he asked for.

He kisses Cas' temple, his cheek, his neck.

“Cas. I’m so sorry.”

Castiel sighs, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders, returning his hug.

“I might have to do it again.”

Dean wants to say Cas doesn’t have to. That it’s okay, even if it’s not. But Cas doesn’t allow him time to reply, he simply pulls away and pushes the doors open.

For the second time today Dean stands in front of the royal court. Only this time, he isn’t alone.

Chapter Text

Cas doesn’t even have time to open his mouth to ask the court to reconsider. Thirty pairs of curious eyes turn towards them, Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand, and then —

“ Please tell me that you two dumbasses have gotten your heads out of your plump bottoms!”

Dean stares at Cas, who gapes at the man who’s just spoken, merrily, a smirk on his face.

“Excuse me?” 

The man stands up, obviously at ease in front of the audience of royals. Dean vaguely recognizes him as one of Castiel’s brothers; there are so many of them and he always mixes them up. This one is hard to forget, though. Short, with brown hair and a kind of twisted mouth that gives an expression of mischief; he’s never visited Dean, and Dean didn’t even know he knew of his existence.

“Cas, if you are not here to ask your pretty boy’s hand in marriage, then you’re dumber than a donkey.”

Next to him, Cas seems just as confused as Dean feels. They exchange a look, Dean shrugs, a tentative smile on his lips. This is a much better reaction than either of them expected, so he’s fully willing to take it.

“Yes,” Cas says as he turns back to the court, all awaiting his answer. “That’s exactly why I’m here.”

An explosion of cheers erupts into the large counsel room, the “about time” and “fucking finally ” being thrown from all sides. Dean’s legs feel like pudding, and he clutches Castiel’s hand, dizzy with relief.

“ Not so fast,” Fergus Crowley dramatically exclaims, rising from his seat. He’s not much taller standing than he was sitting, but he speaks loud enough to command attention. “You can’t just claim the whore for yourself, Castiel.”

Dean was expecting it, so he manages to grab Castiel’s waist and hold him back, as Cas takes a step forward and growls like a lion. 

“Don’t you dare —”

“It’s what he is, Castiel,” a nasal voice calls from the side — Alastair. Castiel’s head  snaps towards him, shooting him a truly frightening look that sends chills down Dean’s spine, yet Alastair holds it with his usual smirk and keeps talking. “No matter what you liked to make yourself believe, a whore is a whore is a—”

Dean steps in front of Cas, palm flat on his chest, feeling the erratic beating of his heart underneath. Castiel’s eyes are pinned on Alastair, his lip curled up in a snarl, and he struggles against Dean, who uses all of his strength to keep him from jumping over the table and possibly, probably, ripping Alastair’s head off. Not that Dean would mind, exactly, but…

“Cas, look at me.”

Thunder and lighting flash in Castiel’s eyes, his fists grip in Dean’s tunic, and another growl vibrates in his chest. Dean holds his gaze and nods, slowly. Cas’ eyes finally focus on him and he blinks, breathes out, anger draining from his features. 

“You’re right,” Cas says, still starting at Dean, his expression turned soft but determined. “Until a few hours ago, Dean Winchester was a courtesan, tied to this court. But he is now a free man, and his fate is his own.”

He doesn’t even spare a glance to their audience, the most powerful men and women in the kingdom, having eyes only for Dean as he speaks, as if they’re alone in the world. 

“Therefore I am not asking for his hand in marriage, as he’s already given it to me freely. I am merely here to announce our union, and that I will be taking a month of leave for our honeymoon, starting today. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a wedding to get to.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply from their stunned audience and pulls Dean out of the room. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

The heavy doors slam shut behind them and Dean shoves Castiel against the wall, capturing his mouth in a heated kiss. He’s a little delirious with relief, and Cas makes a sweet noise in the back of his throat, and in that instant, everything is perfect.

Behind them, the room fills with clamor and rakes of chairs, voices raising and muffled arguments that neither of them pay attention to. Dean’s mind is buzzing with the way Castiel claimed him, finally , as his own; and he’d like to do a lot more than kiss him breathless against the wall, but for now it’ll have to do. 

“Hey,” Dean murmurs, pulling back from their kiss to gently stroke Cas’ cheek, finding a stray years there. “That was freaking amazing — are you okay?” 

“I thought I’d lost you,” Cas says, his voice choked up, lower lip trembling. 

“I’m here, Cas." Dean wishes he had better words to ease Castiel's heart, but he doesn't. "I’m here, I'm—” and Dean leans in to kiss him again, to remind himself, too, that he’s here, that this is real . Cas' fingers dig bruises in his shoulders, behind his neck, he pants against his mouth like he's ran a hundred miles.

The doors of the council room swing open, startling them both. The same man who spoke before — Castiel’s brother — walks out, closing the heavy doors behind himself and once again muffling the clamor.

“This is adorable,” he says, cocking his head to the side and eyeing the way they’re still wrapped around each other. Dean slightly hides behind Cas’ profile, not wanting the moment to end just yet. “But we’re kind of on a schedule here.”

Cas clears his throat, quickly wiping his cheeks and placing a soft kiss on Dean’s jaw before straightening up and pushing on his chest. “Dean, this is my brother Gabe. Gabe, this is—”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know who the golden boy is, Cas, you haven’t shut up about him in years.”

Cas blushes at that, but Dean finds it adorable — to know that Cas has told people about him, talked about him often enough that it became annoying — it reminds him that they weren’t just something between the four walls of his bedchambers. They weren’t just something in Dean’s head; Castiel talked about him to his loved ones — annoyingly often, apparently. It’s cute. He nudges Castiel’s shoulder with his own, unable to refrain a teasing grin, but Cas is sporting a frown.

“You’re not my boy toy,” Castiel whispers, eyebrows pinched, leaning over to speak against the shell of his ear.

“I know,” Dean replies, because he does. He knows how Castiel feels about him. He even wonders why he ever doubted it.

“I never said such things.”

He’s staring at Dean earnestly, lips parted, pleading. The light from the window reflect pools of gold on the sea of blue that are his eyes. 

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“Yeah, I—”

And then it hits Dean, watching the mix of fear and adoration in those blue eyes, that it’s the first time Castiel’s ever said those words to him. The I know dies in his throat. He thought he knew, but he didn’t know , not really, not until now. 

Gabriel keeps on ranting about the wedding, asking about inconsequential things like flowers and cakes and lighting, while Dean’s entire world is looking back at him, his blue eyes swimming with tears and the most gorgeous smile in the world on his lips.

Gabriel snaps his fingers between them, effectively ruining the moment.

“Focus, guys! You can’t just ask me to plan a wedding in a day and leave me hanging.”

“We haven’t asked you to plan anything,” Cas growls, tearing his eyes away from Dean’s. 

“You’d think I’d endure years of your sad pining and whining about Sunshine here and let someone else reap the rewards? Now, are we set on this afternoon? ‘cause if I could just—”

“Gabriel, Dean and I need a minute.”

There’s a beat, during which Castiel and his brother exchange a long stare down.

“Fine,” Gabriel concedes, looking as if it’s not fine at all. “I’m going to go get a notebook and a quill, and I will be back in a five minutes to go over the details. Do not go anywhere before we’ve discussed venues and menu.”

Dean, in truth, couldn’t care less about either of those things. He’s never been to a royal’s wedding, so he doesn’t actually know what they’re like. He knows what servants weddings are like — Sam’s wedding was lovely; it was spring, the plum trees were in bloom, a butterfly landed on Dean’s fruit pie and he wasn’t even mad. The only people in attendance were loved ones and friends, and they danced under the moonlight until the sun rose high.

Dean never thought he’d get anything like that. Royal weddings turn the castle upside down for days, if not weeks, the whole town busy with preparations of the gowns and the foods and the decorations. Of what they’re actually like, Dean’s heard wildly varying accounts, from cold and silent receptions to feasts that lasted for days. He doesn’t want either for his and Castiel’s union, but assumed he’d have to endure a lavish, luxurious, very official ceremony in which he’d have no say; but it never mattered.

All that mattered, the only thing that still matters, is Cas.

Who loves him. They’re alone now, but not for long, so there’s no time to waste — Dean grabs his hand, kisses each of his fingers, his cheek, his neck, feel his pulse quicken under his lips. If only they were alone, Dean could slip his hands under the infuriatingly taunting folds of his robes and— 

“I need to ask you again, Dean. Are you sure about this?”

“Marrying you?”

They speak low, words only for each other, whispered against the shell of an ear.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Today? Because if you want to think about it, I'm sure Gabriel would be more than happy to have—”

“Do you need to think about it?”

“No, Dean—” Castiel’s hands come up to cup Dean’s face, in that familiar way he has done a million times. His palms just fit around Dean’s cheeks, warm and grounding, like they were always meant to be there. “I just — we can take a few weeks to prepare, if you’d prefer.”

Just the idea of it makes Dean’s heart ache, and it must show, because Cas’ expression softens, mouth quirking up in a gentle smile.

"Do we have to?"

“No, of course not. We can do whatever you want.”

“Whatever we want.”

That gets him a real smile, then, blinding in the thin ray of light falling from a nearby window. “Yes. Whatever we want.”

The sunshine dancing in Castiel’s eyes gives Dean an idea.

“The indoor garden. We should get married in the garden.”

Before Cas can reply, Gabriel rematerializes by their side. Dean could swear it has not even been close to the five minutes they were promised.

"So?

“Today. We're getting married today, in the garden," Dean says.

This time, Cas’ grin is warm, all encompassing, sunshine if it were a smile, sunrise if it were a face, and in that moment all Dean can think about is kissing him. He wants to kiss the pastel pink of sunrise on his lips, lose himself in the deep blue of a cloudless day that are his eyes, he wants to feel Castiel’s touch on his skin like the sun warming the grass. 

“Ugh, fine,” Gabriel sighs, completely impervious to the moment, yet again. He’s equipped with a quill and a stack of paper, and has started taking note, a professional pinch in his brows. 

“So, first things first — guest list. I’m guessing there are some undesirables ...?”

Cas looks at Dean with a questioning expression, but he doesn’t answer, nudging Dean to.

“Oh. Um. I mean. Can we do that?”

“We can do whatever we want,” Cas reminds him.

“Okay. Small, then. A small wedding, would that be okay?”

“Boring, but fine," Gabriel cuts before Cas can reply. But Castiel's small nod, his smile, the gentle press of his fingers, tell Dean all he needs to know. "Any special guests apart from our three beautiful selves?”

“My brother Sam,” Dean answers, finally managing to look away from Castiel, even if it’s only for a fleeting moment. “His wife Eileen, and their kid. And um, Benny, my best friend, and maybe — maybe Jo, and Ellen, they work in the kitchen too, and—”

“Any of Dean’s friends and family who wish to attend,” Cas says, gently cutting off Dean’s rambling.

Dean briefly wonders if Castiel knows who those friends are. Does he knows how many of them have been in his bed, too? But he must, because he gives Dean a small nod, before turning his attention back to Gabriel, who’s scribbling furiously on his notepad.

“I would like my friend Charlie to be there too, please, as well as those of our family who wish to attend.”

Dean shoots Cas a surprised glance. He knows Charlie, of course, everyone does, she’s the castle’s librarian and a very hard to miss storm of energy. Dean likes her — she might be the only friend he has who’s never known his bed — but he now realizes that he’s never heard Castiel talk about having friends at all. He wonders if Castiel told Charlie about him in confidence — it would explain why she always talked to him like she knew him.

“Alright, either of you have special demands for the gowns, cake, menu, music?”

Again, Castiel turns towards Dean with raised eyebrows and a shrug, awaiting his opinion.

“Um, I didn’t think — kinda figured I wouldn’t get a say in that stuff.”

“I never thought about it either,” Castiel admits, looking bashful. “I didn’t know I could,” he adds, when he sees the grin fall from Dean’s face. “I didn’t think I should.” 

There it is again, his blue eyes shining with tears. And again, Dean wants to kiss him. He always does, it’s all he think about when he looks at Cas. Most of the time, it’s hard to focus on anything else, and right now, it’s overwhelming. For a few hours he thought he’d never get to again, and now, with the way the light makes Cas’ lips seem shiny, bright pink, with the gold glint in his eyes, with the blush dusting his cheeks — he wants to kiss him so badly it hurts.

So he does, because for the first time in his life, he can . 

He pulls Cas by the waist and cups his face, like they have all the time in the world. Somehow, they do. He kisses him slow, and soft, like he should have kissed him a long time ago, like he dreamed of kissing him every single day. Of all their kisses, very few were as simple as sweet as this one, too afraid that it might be their last, that he might lose him, so he didn’t allow himself to miss him. 

Castiel melts into him like snow in the spring. His eyelashes tremble on Dean’s cheeks, his lips part in a soft sigh. He curls his arms around Dean’s neck, and the kiss deepens, naturally, because it’s all there is now. Dean's heart is thudding at the almost lost familiarity of it, of sliding his fingers on the curl of hair on the nape of Castiel’s neck, the taste of Castiel's tongue.

Dean lets his hands slide down, fingers trailing down Cas’ neck, his arm, his stomach, curling around his hip to press him closer, to feel all of him, as consumed by the feeling of Castiel’s lips against his own as he was the very first time they touched. Something about Castiel always feels eternal, inevitable. 

Cas, in his arms, Cas, and his smile against Dean’s lips, Cas and the scent of lavender honey. Cas and the way he fits against Dean’s body, Cas and his mouth and his hands holding Dean, Cas . 

Dean thought he’d lost him, and his world split open underneath his feet. And Cas felt the same, he knows, it's why Castiel’s fingers shake as he tries to bring Dean even closer, why he’s just a little out of breath, but refusing to even part his mouth away from Dean’s lips. 

“Ah- em .” 

They’re startled by Gabriel’s loudly clearing his throat, and reality sets back in. Right, they're in a busy hallway with Castiel’s annoying brother, who seems peculiarly unimpressed by a moment that felt, for Dean at least, world-shifting. 

Cas keeps him close, his hand possessively on Dean’s back, dropping kiss behind his ear. He’s never touched Dean like this in front of anyone before, so publicly. Fleeting moments were all they add, hidden, secret, Castiel always hurrying away, slipping out of his arms, out of his reach. No more.

“This is your wedding, guys, so at least pretend that you’ve thought about it.”

“S’far as I’m concerned, I’d marry him right here right now,” Dean shrugs, running his fingers through Cas’ hair and ending, as always, with his fingers threading through the soft curl on the back of his neck. 

“Can we do that?” Cas asks, only quickly glancing at Gabriel before landing back on Dean.

“Can you — not, are you kidding me? After seven years of oh his freckles look like stars  in the sky and oh his smile could cure small pox and gangrene and—”

Cas hides his blushing face against Dean’s cheek.

“And all those stupid, mind-blowingly dumb deals you made with those jackasses just so your pretty boy could—”

“ Gabriel— ”

“ I deserve to see you two idiots tie the knot and I deserve to throw the fucking reception of a lifetime , and get so mind-blowingly drunk that I forget about your endless pining forever .”

Cas deflates a little, cheeks burning red. Sheepish is a good look on him, so Dean kisses his neck, lips lingering on his skin, just because.

Cas shivers almost imperceptibly. “He has a point.”

“ Thank you . Now, at least give me a theme.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes at both of their lack of opinions on flowers, decorations, and even the ceremony itself. Neither him or Cas really know the answers to all of his questions — what kind of cake they want, what should be on the feast menu, what kind of music their first dance should be to, the color of their wedding gowns, and so on.

Soon enough, more people begin to filter out of the room — mostly Castiel’s family, who came to congratulate them. Sisters, brothers, some faces familiar and others completely unknown to Dean.

It’s strange, and new, to be standing amongst those people as if their equal, but Castiel keeps Dean grounded, not leaving his side, not once letting go of his hand.

They’re a unit, instead of two separates entities, tied together by an invisible string. They gravitate around each other, never truly leaving each other’s orbit, it’s them against the world. Dean is floating a little, and Cas tethers him to the ground, his touch firm, warm, reminder that this is real.

Balthazar, who Dean saw in the courtesan’s headquarters numerous times (although thankfully never visited him), insists on officiating. Castiel agrees, on the condition that he wears a robe that is not entirely sheer for the ceremony, which feels like a fair request considering that he’s supposed to be in his work clothes and Dean can see both of his nipples.

“Small, Gabriel,” Cas reminds his brother as they’re about to finally part. Dean is very, very eager to be alone with Cas again, and he’s more than ready to leave the royals behind.

“Yeah, sure Cassie.”

“No, I mean small —”

“I’m not deaf, I heard you!” Gabe exclaims, scribbling furiously on his pad.

“Less than fifty people.”

“Sure, okay, just — let me. It’s going to be just fine, Cassie. Just go and worry about tying the knot to your boy—”

“Gods help me, if you say boy toy one more time—”

Dean laughs and drags Castiel away.

As soon as they’ve turned the corner, Dean twirls his husband-to-be and gently presses him against the wall again. Cas sighs into the softness of Dean’s lips, all of his indignation seemingly forgotten in their kiss. 

“So. What now?" Dean asks as he presses kisses down his neck and shoulders. "We have a few hours to kill.”

Cas curls his fingers on the back of Dean’s neck, kissing the bolt of his jaw. 

“Let’s start by get your things from the room and bring them to my — our quarters.”

“Right.” Dean says. 

Just the thought of going back to his old room, his old quarters, right now, makes his stomach twist unpleasantly. He’s already said goodbye to that room. To that life. He is so ready to move on to the next part, the next chapter, with Cas.

They walk for a moment, Dean lost in his thoughts. He doesn’t want to let go of Cas’ hands as they wander the same hallway they’ve walked every day, alone. It’s strange, to be able to touch, to talk, to exist with each other outside of the confines of Dean’s bedroom. The newfound freedom is addictive, hard to let go of. He still gets the urge to make as much of the time they get, to drag Cas in the closest broom closet to have his way with him; because it still doesn’t feel quite real that they have all the time now. 

“Can we send someone? To get my stuff. I don’t really want to go back there.”

“Of course, my love.”

Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever, ever tire of hearing that word in Castiel’s mouth. 

“Take me home now, Cas.”

Chapter Text

Dean nervously fidgets with the hem of his robes. He’s never worn anything this beautiful, or intricate. The wedding gown Gabriel found for him is luxurious, made of the softest, most delicate material and hand-sowned by the royal tailor. It feels a little wrong to wear a gown worth more than his life and stand at the altar, awaiting the prince he’s about to marry. He hoped, for months, and when his hope got crushed, it felt like — it almost felt right, because how could he, Dean Winchester, ever hope to marry someone like Prince Castiel? 

How could he be foolish enough to believe that a royal prince would want him ?

And now, in this gown designed for royal blood, the glint of gold shining on his unworthy, blemished skin (because of course Alastair is right, now matter how much Cas refuses to believe it; a whore is a whore is a whore) standing in front of them , the royals, the most powerful people in this country, half of whom have visited his bed for cheap pleasure — he feels out of place. Like he shouldn’t be here. Cas makes all of that go away, but Cas isn’t here yet, and Dean stands alone, facing them.

By his side, his brother, as always a full head taller than everyone else. He gives Dean a reassuring smile, and Jessica grins too, reaching to gentle squeeze his hand. Dean might not be much, but he has a family. He has friends, too. His side is filled with people, servants and courtesans and friends he’s made along the way. More than ever he realizes that this palace is his home, and he’s so relieved he gets to stay. 

Gabriel deserves his due; he did a wonderful job and the garden feels even more enchanting than usual. The sun has set, but little fairy lights were hung to the trees and the tallest plant, weaved through a beautiful climbing plant arch. Dean can almost forget he's still in the castle, can almost believe he’s in some strange magical world where someone like Castiel can fall in love with him. 

He closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath to calm his nerves. When he opens them, there’s an angel making his way up the aisle up to him. 

Castiel looks like he’s floating. If Dean thought his own clothes were beautiful, he’s completely floored when he watches the love of his life come to him, dressed like an angel, like a God . 

The blue gown falls in folds around his body, light, sheer fabric making him look like he’s floating, half-man, half-cloud, towards Dean. The fabric is dark as night where it hangs delicately from Castiel’s bare shoulders, but lightens in color with every inch down, all the shades of the sky from morning to night, almost white where it reaches the ground in folds that make Dean think of clouds. 

And through it all, a silver thread creates beautiful, shining patterns of clouds and birds and higher, of stars and moons and planets. It catches and reflects the hundreds of lights suspended above their heads. Cas' skin glows softly, from the same paste they’ve put on Dean’s skin; glitter, but Castiel’s is silver, while Dean’s skin shines gold. 

Dark charcoal under Castiel’s eyes makes the blue of his eyes seem unreal. The smile on his face is ethereal. Dean only breathes again when finally Castiel reaches him, and gently threads their fingers together, bringing them to his lips. The touch is so grounding, Dean feels pulled back down to Earth again.

Dark, warm, and adoring, Castiel’s gaze details Dean from his to toe, and when it reaches his neck, his eyes turn dark, glazing over. He slowly reaches his hand up, and without a word, touches the garment Dean asked Gabriel to make for him.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Dean’s wearing a collar. 

He looks so fucking beautiful, his ceremonial robes dark green and intricately laced with a golden thread. Cas’ eyes are immediately drawn to the pattern of plants, flowers, and birds that the gold creates, to the way the dark green color brings out Dean’s eyes. Gold also adorns his ear in the form of earrings, and he wears delicate bracelets around his wrists. Cas recognizes the pieces, as he bought them himself many years ago, thinking of him and of how pretty he'd look with them on.

And he does. He’s stunning. The most beautiful thing Cas has ever seen.

And he’s wearing a collar . Delicate green lace, tied on the front with a small golden chain. There’s a medal, right on top of his adam’s apple, carved with a C . Cas falters a little bit, blinking, heat rushing through his body despite himself.

Cas has never, not once,  seen collars being worn at weddings. He’s seen a few of his more exuberant siblings parade around with their spouse wearing them, which never sat quite right with him. He would never, ever ask Dean to do such a thing, it wouldn’t even cross his mind. In fact, before this very moment, if someone had asked him how he would react to Dean wearing one, he’d have fiercely denied liking the idea. Dean is not an object to be owned, no matter what the laws may decrete. 

And yet. 

He’s unsure of how he feels — appalled, or honored — until he finally meets Dean’s eyes again. They’re uncertain but eager, warm; he’s worrying his lower lip with his teeth, anxiously awaiting Cas’ reaction.

Cas has never been more at a loss for words than he is right now. He can’t even begin to understand what this means, to him — Dean, who’s always been owned by everyone but himself, who is finally free to choose his destiny, not only choosing to tie his life to Cas, but presenting himself, before they even exchange vows, as his — and not just for Castiel, but in front of all their friends and families. In front of all the people who have tried to own him before.

He not only told them, in his own words, that he was choosing Cas, that he wanted Cas, but he’s showing them, again and again, who he wants to belong to. 

It makes Cas’ heart feel too big, too full, almost painful as if it were to rip out of his chest at any moment. He raises a hand to Dean’s face, thumb on his cheek. His fingers slide behind his neck, feeling the lace under his palm. Dean yield to the slight pressure and leans forward to meet Cas’ kiss.

His lips are soft, warm, pliant against Cas’; he makes a little sound as Cas parts his lips and gently meets his tongue. Cas gets lost in the heat of it, unable to stop stroking Dean’s neck with his fingers, arching against Dean’s strong body. 

“Excuse me, but I haven’t even said my bit yet. At least wait ‘til you’re married, you horn dogs.”

Dean laughs and Cas pulls back, forehead against his temple, unable to repress the wide smile splitting up his face. He kisses Dean’s cheek, his jaw, his lips again.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

“ Seriously , guys, do you wanna get married or not?”

───※ ·❆· ※───

Dean barely hears Gabriel, and repeats the marriage oath a little absently, utterly lost to the heated way Castiel is looking at him, eyes dark and hungry. He feared for a moment that Cas wouldn’t like the collar, that it’d anger him. He knows how much Cas wants him to be free. 

But he stands by what he said; Castiel, and choosing him, spending the rest of his life devoted to loving him, caring for him, making him happy — that’s the best kind of freedom he could ever ask for.

He wants to belong to Cas more than anything. And he wants them to know, wants them all to know, that even before he said I do , long before today, he already belonged, entirely, completely, to Castiel. He wants to make it clear that all those times they thought he was theirs, when his job meant they possessed him for a few hours once or twice a week — it was an illusion. He was always Castiel’s, from the very moment their paths crossed.

The collar makes Dean feel safe. He awaits, impatiently, for the moment he’ll be able to kiss Cas again. He barely listens for anything else, he just wants Castiel’s mouth on his own, because words are not enough, right now, for what he feels. Cas, in this robes blue like the sky, Cas, with a gorgeous and delicate crown shining against the matte brown of his hair, Cas with his cheeks so pink and his smile so bright and his eyes so full of love — Cas, his Cas, his love, his husband. 

Dean forgets that they’re in public, that all the eyes are on them, that this is a royal ceremony and not his private bedchambers, when he finally gets to kiss Cas again. The first time he kisses his husband feels like their first kiss, all over again, a little overenthusiastic, a little messy, entirely perfect. 

When the kiss turns a little too heated, a little too knee-buckling good, Dean buries his face in Cas’ neck and holds tight, just breathing, slowly, in and out. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

The reception is a blur; to Dean, at least. They eat, but he can’t get more than a few bites past his lips. Under the table, he holds Castiel’s hand, and every time he looks at his husband, Castiel is looking back, eyes dark, warm, wanting. It makes Dean’s stomach flip excitedly, makes him feel a little too warm, tingling, wanting, too. 

They make small talk with their guests, but Dean isn’t really listening, and finally, finally the plates are empty, and music fills the air.

“Dance with me?”

Dean is the one to lead, because as it turns out, Cas is kind of an awful dancer. But it’s okay, they take it slow. Dean likes the being all pressed up against his husband part, he likes the slow swaying, getting lost in the infinite blue of Cas’ eyes. He likes getting lost in their own bubble, the music, Cas’ lips. The robe is so soft under his fingers, it’s hard to resist the urge to find a crease, to slip his fingers underneath the fabric and touch Castiel’s skin, burning underneath. 

They should have eloped, and be in a bed right now, because Dean wants his husband in ways he’d rather no one was a witness of. 

This is theirs. 

It comes slowly, waves of a tide slowly eating up the shore. It comes as he details every crease in Castiel’s pink lips, takes in the small lines on the corner of his husband’s eyes — lines of joy, lines brought on by a smile so wide, Dean’s never seen anything like it before. Cas' nose crunches up as he laughs, and Dean is seized by something so big it overflows, prickling in his eyes, tingles all the way to the tip of his fingers, laced with Castiel’s. 

He brings him impossibly closer, so much they can barely move. Dean sees nothing else but the way Castiel’s eyes shine under the lights. No one else. And the waves crash, finally, and he murmurs, voice breaking, “we’re married.”

Cas' grin splits up his face, and a tear slides down his cheek, his neck, leaving a small trail of salt that Dean follows with his lips. He places a kiss where Castiel’s robe meet his shoulder, up, up his neck, his jaw, his lips again, letting the new reality sink in.

His husband. His husband . It’s over. And beginning all over again.

They’re married.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Someone whistles, and it dawns on Castiel that they are, in fact, still in the middle of the makeshift dance floor at their wedding. And that he’s currently on the tip of his toes, both hands around Dean’s neck, groaning at the filthy slide of Dean’s tongue, and with Dean’s hands wandering a little too far under his ceremonial robes. 

They pull back, cheeks flushed, and Dean hides his face in his shoulder as Castiel notices the various expressions of their guests, dancing around them.

Balthazar wiggles his eyebrows and Dean’s brother Sam is pointedly looking at the ceiling. Cas wonders how long they left before they can leave without being rude.

“Do you remember the day we met?” he asks Dean, because if he doesn’t distract himself, he won’t be held responsible for the filthy things he'll do to his new husband. 

Dean does, of course. He was just a servant then, barely eighteen, carrying food and drinks and cleaning after the people who ruled the country. How could he forget the first time he dove into those blue eyes? The first smile he saw stretching those pink lips? The moment, even if he didn’t know it yet, that would change his life forever?

“I remember you looked scared.”

“I was terrified. I had spent the first eighteen years of my life studying, reading, living a very secluded life. And then suddenly I was expected to play an active role in the fate of an entire country. I was so lost, and you...”

Big, wide blue eyes, never leaving Dean, no matter where he was. Tracking him. Parted lips, cheeks so pink. After all this time, Castiel even getting the slightest blush makes Dean’s heart do a full backflip. 

“And then you smiled at me.” Cas’ eyelashes flutter on his cheeks, pink from the wine and the dancing, and for the first time in a long time, Dean is reminded of the shy, flustered, fumbling boy Cas used to be; the one he fell in love with. A grin spreads on Cas’ lips, a smile much warmer, much more confident than the ones he used to give Dean, and his eyes turn soft. “You were cleaning up empty glasses and plates. You looked up at me and you smiled. And for a moment, I forgot to be scared.”

Dean rolls his eyes and noses at Cas’ cheek, who speaks right into his ear. “And then you leaned over, and asked me if I was okay. And… and you looked like you actually cared.”

“Course I did. You looked two seconds away from a nervous breakdown.”

“I was. Until you slipped me a glass of alcohol.” 

Dean snorts at the memory. He remembers the grimace Castiel made when he tasted it. He wasn’t allowed to drink yet, legally, but Dean thought that like any underage kid, he had had his first taste a long time ago. Turned out not to be the case, but Cas managed to cough it out without anyone else but Dean noticing. 

At least his cheeks had gained some colors and when Dean smiled, he smiled back, and Dean was a goner.

“I fell in love with you instantly,” Cas murmurs.

“You did?”

“Yes. Immediately, and irrevocably.”

“Because I gave you booze?”

“Because you were kind to me, even though you didn’t know me, and without expecting anything in return.”

“I got a really, really hot husband out of it.”

Cas shakes his head fondly.

“Every night you would look at me, smile at me. You would share my pain, you would roll your eyes when my family was being obnoxious, and would try to make me laugh in any way you could. You’d wink at me and tell me I’d be okay, and I believed you. You didn’t have to do that, in fact, it could have gotten you in trouble. But you did it anyway.”

“Well, you have a huge cock and I like that,” Dean teases.

Cas rolls his eyes. “Is that all there was? Is that why you kissed me, the first time?”

More memories flood back; a pie dropped and ruined, Dean hiding in the closet while Castiel took the blame to save him a beating; the door closing behind Cas, the sliver of light across his face, the perfect pink of his lips. The silence that felt infinite, the whispered “thank you”. The gentle, too gentle, press of his lips. 

The moment that seemed to stretch time itself. 

Back then, if asked, Dean would have said yes. Of course, that’s why he kissed him. Because of pretty blue eyes and because he wanted to get laid. But it would have been a lie back then, and it still is today.

“No. I kissed you because I got stupid butterflies in my stomach when you looked at me. Because when you smiled at me, it made my heart go—” He takes Castiel’s palm and presses it on his chest, underneath which his heart stutters and starts pounding. “—like that. I kissed you because it was all I could think about.”

Dean closes his eyes at the soft press of his husband’s lips against his own, smiling in their kiss. It still makes his skin buzz, his blood rush through his veins, his heart leap in his chest. It still makes him feel as giddy and excited as it did all those years ago.

“Nothing’s really changed,” he murmurs when they break apart.

“You’re wrong. Everything has changed,” Cas replies. Their lips brush. “Except this.”

They get a lot of boos and whistles from kissing each other breathless in the middle of the dance floor instead of dancing, but they pay it no mind — it’s their wedding after all.

───※ ·❆· ※───

By the time the party is fully on, half the castle has joined the celebration, servants and royal mingling and swirling, drinking and laughing. It’s a joyous, wonderful night, but truthfully Dean would rather spend it only getting lost in Castiel’s eyes and mouth rather than speak to anyone else in the room, even if he is grateful for his friends and family and for the opportunity to finally introduce them to Cas.

Cas seems especially happy to meet Sam and Eileen, overcoming his natural shyness and clearly excited to meet and talk with them. He has heard so much about Sam from Dean, and Dean knows how much he cares for him and Eileen already. They make small talk for a while, and Dean is giddy watching Cas slip so naturally in the dynamic of their family.

It’s different story when they bump into Benny on the dance floor.

Benny shakes both their hands and congratulates them warmly, but immediately Dean can see that Cas is not as open to him as he was to Sam.

“You look familiar,” Cas frowns. “Have we met?”

“I manage the kitchens, brother. So probably.”

Cas squints harder. “I mostly cook for myself. I seldom use the cafeteria.”

Benny looks a Dean a little quizzically, and Dean himself is surprised by the coldness of his husband’s tone and expression. Dean remembers a second before Cas does, and watches as his features change, his jaw clenches, his eyes turn to ice. He tenses against Dean as memories of that night flood them both — their first time, Cas coming down to the servant quarters to find Dean in bed with… Benny.

And Andrea.

Shit.

Who’s now standing next to Benny with a happy, innocent grin on her face.

“This is Andrea, Benny’s wife.”

“Lovely to meet you." The chill in Cas' voice is unmistakeable, but before Dean can say anything to mitigate the cold, Cas squeezes Dean’s fingers and takes a deep breath, gathering himself, his voice more measured when he speaks again. “Thank you for attending. I know it means a lot to Dean to have you both here.”

He’s trying, really hard. It’s kind of cute, actually, that he’s still jealous after all this time — Dean hasn’t slept with either of them in years, but Cas doesn’t exactly know that. And Dean knows how painful that night was for him.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Benny drawls, blissfully unaware. Dean accepts his and his wife's congratulations, and then gently leads Cas away before his husband loses his cool entirely.

“Cas, I’m—”

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, shaking his head. He breathes in and out, eyes avoiding Dean's. “I have no right to—”

“We stopped a long time ago. Years before they got married.”

He nods, his features still hardened with tension. 

“But he’s still your friend.”

“Yeah. He’s a really good guy, and we care about each other.” 

“I can see that.” 

Dean swallows around the lump in his throat.

“Is it… a problem?”

“No. No, of course not. It… has no reason to be.”

Cas finally looks into his eyes, and attempts a smile as best he can. But Dean can see he's still troubled, and isn’t sure what to do or say to reassure him. What he used to do with Benny feels so inconsequential, but he knows for Cas it's different. 

“It never meant anything,” Dean murmurs. “We were just friends, and I — I was, y’know, doing that stuff with a lotta people back then. It wasn't... it didn't mean anything.”

He realizes it might be the wrong thing to say, but Cas doesn’t seem mad, just pensive. 

“I know. I know you…” He sighs, closes his eyes, seems to try to gather his thoughts. “Back then, I thought that we — I didn’t know, that night, that you… that for you, what we did wasn’t… that it was different. That night, I thought... I thought what we had done was meaningless too.”

“Cas…”

Dean doesn't know what to say.

“It’s okay. Now, I know—”

Dean drags him closer, speaks right against his lips.

“That no one else ever mattered but you.”

A small smile finally stretches Cas’ lips. He strokes Dean’s jaw tenderly.

“That even back then, you felt for me what I felt for you.”

Dean holds him close. The party is raging around them, but Dean barely notices any of it. 

“I did. I just didn’t… I didn’t realize it. I didn’t let myself even — think about it.”

“Why not?”

Dean lets out a small laugh.

“Uh, because you were a prince. And you were smart and educated and adorable and I was… no one. Nothing.”

Cas' expression morphs into an adorably offended frown.

“That’s not true. You are the kindest, warmest, cleverest, funniest—”

“But I was just a servant. I couldn't-I couldn't even conceive of someone like you wanting me. And I’m sorry. That I hurt you.”

"I’m sorry too. That I locked my window for a year. And that I’m… somehow still jealous about it, so many years later.”

“It’s kind of cute. But you’ll have to get over it, ‘cause I’m all yours now, and Benny’s not going anywhere.”

“I will." This time, Cas smile is confident and genuine. "I promise. Your friends are my friends, and they're important to me, too.”

God, he's perfect, Dean thinks for the hundredth time. He takes his hand and guides them back the dance floor, where they slowly sway together to a gentle, romantic tune. Cas speaks again a few minutes later, his voice soft, just for Dean's ear.

“I think I struggle because I don’t... I don't understand how anyone could ever… know you, have you, be anywhere near you without… falling hopelessly in love with you. I can’t even imagine how anyone could know you and not love you desperately, and I think that’s why I… get so…”

“Jealous?”

“Yes. Because I can’t imagine not seeing you the way I do, and if they do, then they love you, so much that they can’t imagine ever a day passing that they do not long for you, that they don’t think about all the… insane things, they would do, to get one more moment with you.”

Dean brings him even closer. He kisses his cheek, his nose, his lips. “First of all, none of them are in love with me.”

“I disagree. Several members of the court wanted to marry you.”

Dean can't help but smile at the way his voice turns into a grumpy growl.

"But they didn’t love me, Cas. I know it. Because—" Dean's voice wobbles a little, his throat closing up. "Because I know what being loved feels like. You - you showed me what being loved feels like."

"Oh."

"And whatever they felt, it wasn't love. And even if it was, there's never been - there's only ever been you, for me."

Cas can’t stop touching Dean’s collar. He can’t stop smiling, either, in a soft, teary way. 

“Do you like it?”

Cas sighs. His fingers graze on the lace and Dean’s stomach lurches pleasantly.

“Yes,” Cas breathes out. “I like it too much, I think.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t want to own you.”

Dean frowns, looking down, but Cas tips his chin up to meet his eyes.

“I just mean — I know you said that freedom to you was… being with me. And that makes me… incredibly happy. And I want you to know that you are still free despite our union. I would never try to control you, or restrict you, or forbid you from doing anything you want to do.”

“I know, Cas. I know that. I know you ,” Dean adds with a small smile. “But for someone like me, to get to decide who I want to give myself to? That’s… that’s a privilege. I mean, for years, I couldn't. Couldn't show any preference to anyone, I wasn't even allowed to wear your marks. Wearing a collar for you, showing everyone who I belong to, is me being finally free. ”

Cas' lips wobble, teary eyes outworldly blue.

“My love, I promise to cherish you, and give myself to you, just as much as you give yourself to me.”

“There’s something else,” Dean murmurs after a long, searing kiss.

He takes Cas’ hand and drags him to hide behind a huge pillar, shielded, somewhat, from most eyes.

He slips Cas’ hand through a the slit in his robes, up until they reach his underwear.

Cas’ mouth gapes open when his fingers find the lace. 

“Matches my collar,” Dean murmurs in his husband’s blushing ear. 

He pushes Cas’ hand further between his legs, and watches the confusion on his face as his fingers reach the small metal cage and trace the shape of it through the fabric. Dean shudders as the pad of of Cas’ thumb rubs over the sensitive flesh, through the lace, between the metal rings encircling his cock. It twitches, wanting to get hard, unable to.

“Is that — are you…? Dean, is that a cage ?”

“Yeah,” Dean smiles, heart pounding in his chest. He hopes this isn’t a mistake. He’s pushing it, he knows, very close to Cas’ limits. “I’m all locked up.”

“Oh,” Cas shudders, and his pupils expand so fast Dean can actually see the black circles grow, his gaze suddenly wide and dark and hungry. “Why?” he croaks.

“Do you like it?” Dean asks instead of answering.

“I…” Cas rubs his fingers on the engorged tip of Dean’s cock, precum wetting the lace trapping it. 

“Fuck,” Dean grits through his teeth, closing his eyes and dropping his head on Cas’ shoulder. It just feels so much , with nowhere to go. 

“You like it,” Cas murmurs, in awe. He cups the cage in his warm hand, and then tugs a little at Deans’s swollen balls, and Dean stifles a wanton moan in his neck. 

“Yeah.”

“Do you have the key?”

“You do. In your pocket.”

Cas looks confused for a few seconds as he searches the secret pocket sewn into his robes, and stills when he finds it. Dean can feel him swallow.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I’m yours.”

“Dean—”

“No,” Dean cuts, already knowing what he’s gonna say and not wanting to hear it. “Listen to me.” He grabs Cas’ face in both his hands and braces their foreheads together. “I’m yours. I — always have been. Every part that was mine to give, at least. This is the last… the last part of me that’s all yours now, too.”

“I don’t need — you didn’t have to —”

“I know. But I wanted to.”

“But…”

“I’m free now. You freed me. I choose freely to marry you and I am choosing freely to give this, too. And I want to be here, with all of these people, knowing they can’t touch me, that they can’t — can’t get me. Not anymore. Now it’s just you.”

Dean nuzzles him, his cheeks, his neck. Cas wraps his arms around him and holds him tight, one hand on the back of his neck, thumb slipping under his collar. He shakes his head and Dean can feel from his shuddering breaths how overwhelmed he is, how he’s still fighting it. He can also feel how much he’s liking it in spite of himself, his cock rock hard against Dean’s thigh. 

“Please. Let me give this to you.”

“Can we — can we get out of here? Now?”

“Yeah. Yeah, please.”

They’ve wasted enough time. Dean wants to be finally be alone with his husband.