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Dean flexed his muscles against the bonds that tethered him to the bed at wrists and ankles. He could feel The Mark on his arm thrumming, whether at being tied or how aroused he was, he could not say. It didn’t always beat in time with the drumming of his heart when he and Cas were together, but every once in awhile it felt alive, thrashing there under his skin like some wild thing. His bare skin was slick with sweat and saliva where Cas had already kissed and licked his way down his chest. He’d only given the barest attention to Dean’s cock, and yet it was hard and reddish-purple at the head. Dean’s hips jerked once and he watched precum pulse from the tip and slide down to pool at the base in the short wiry hair there. His balls were still damp from Cas’s tongue and below, behind them, Cas was lapping at his hole as he slowly worked two fingers into the second knuckle, scissoring them as he pumped them in and out. Dean groaned, throwing his head back, grunting as he pulled on the ropes again. “Cas” he pleaded, “Cas, I - I need…”
Cas raised his head to shush him gently and pet his thigh, soothing the corded muscles straining there, like he would a wild thing. Dean growled and rolled his hips, desperate for Cas’ touch where he needed it most. Cas responded by adding a third finger and pushing all the way in to brush the pads of his fingers against the bundle of nerves there. Dean jerked once, as if he had been electrocuted, and let out a desperate whine through clenched teeth. Cas continued rubbing Dean’s prostate, the crook of his fingers the only motion of his hand. He swirled a fingertip around the head of Dean’s dick, teasing with light touches down the shaft and toying with the slit as more precum oozed from the tip. Dean had switched from pleading to demanding and back again, his thighs shaking and his back bowed as he arched off the bed slowly like a bow string pulled taut. His chest heaved as he gulped air and a flush stained his cheeks, creeping down his neck to his chest as Cas watched.
Dean was tilting dangerously close to begging. He bared his teeth at the angel kneeling between his legs, signature coat and tie flung somewhere off out of sight. Somehow that made it even hotter, that Cas still wore his dark trousers and white button down. His sleeves were rolled back, baring his forearms that somehow stayed tan even though they never saw the sun. His hair was tousled from Dean’s hands when they’d kissed earlier. It seemed like hours, days, since he’d shown up at the bunker and Sam had beat a hasty retreat to God knew where. Dean felt the heat building low in his belly, a buzzing in his head, his fingers and toes tingling from clenching them so hard. He thrashed on the bed, snarling, as he tried to get some leverage to fuck himself against Cas’ still hand, his heels digging into the bed. The bonds were too tight, only enough slack to spread his legs for Cas to kneel between his knees.
The light touches on his dick fell away and Dean moaned at the loss of even a tease there. Cas loved to make him come untouched, just to see Dean lose himself completely with the slow build up and while Dean loved whatever Cas loved, tonight The Mark was taking all that frustration and desperation and pushing him towards anger and violence. He could have sworn it was glowing faintly out of the corner of his eye. Dean flexed against the bonds again and he heard the wood creak ominously. “Cas,” he choked out, his voice whiskey rough and thick with arousal. “Cas, man. I, I can’t. Please, please touch me. It’s too much.”
Cas slapped his free hand down low on Dean’s belly and started pumping his other hand in and out steadily. On every thrust his fingers blunted against Dean’s prostate and Dean moaned with the sudden relief from the relentless tease, only to build to a near wail as Cas’ hand sped up. His cries were drowned out by Cas’ gravelly voice as the angel pitched himself to be heard over them. “You are still so good and pure Dean. Still as righteous as the day I pulled you from the fires of perdition. Your soul still burns bright and good and whole. It blinds me if I stare at it too long. The Mark has done nothing to diminish you, my love. It is a bare speck of darkness against the radiance of you. You are a good man, Dean Winchester.”
Dean’s moans and cries had stilled with the first words. He felt the first tear slide over his cheek and into his ear as he stared at the angel showering him with praise. Suddenly it was a torrent flowing forth as Cas’ continued to heap praise upon plaudit upon admiration, all why relentlessly fucking into him so fast his hand was a blur. He was powerless to stop the flow, just as he was powerless before the might of an angel's love and adoration, just as he was powerless against the orgasm Cas drew from him with the machinations of those lithe fingers.
Dean bit back a choked sob as his orgasm hit, his hips held immobile by Cas’ hand on his body. He felt it crest up, up, up, impossibly far, his shoulders off the mattress and his head thrown back so far his crown met the mattress and his eyes screwed shut. His mouth rounded with a soundless scream before the wave crashed down and he slumped back to the mattress, his limbs trembling. Cas had slowed his hand, but he still slid his fingers in and out, hitting Dean’s prostate every few times through the aftershocks. He swirled his fingers through the quickly cooling mess on Dean’s belly and brought them to his lips to lick them clean. Dean watched him all the while, quickly growing too sensitive, but loathe to ask Cas to stop. Every time Cas hit his prostate, his body jerked, but otherwise he was boneless. Cas reached forward again, this time swiping a finger tip through the salty tracks on Dean’s cheeks. He brought it to his lips again, lavishing the digit with the same attention as before. “You are my beloved. As I raised you and remade you once before, so shall I again.”