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Every inch of Castiel's body ached.

He was tied up, hanging from the ceiling, with a thick rope wrapped around his chest, framing his dusky, brown nipples, a rope around his neck, a rope around his wrists to hold them in place above his head, and thick, fat ropes around his thighs, digging into his flesh and leaving a bruising mark on his tanned skin. His great, mighty black wings, tied up and plucked at places, with the same, thick ropes. He tried to move, tried to break through, but to no avail.

Disgust and shame coursed through his body.

An angel of the Lord, a warrior of heaven, a Seraphim, a leader, a fighter, a merciless soldier— tied up in a demon's warehouse like a piece of fresh meat.

How had he come to this, he wondered, not for the first time in a long while, for he'd lost count of how many hours he'd been hung up on the ropes. Hours, days, weeks.

He remembered the faces of his superiors, of Michael and of Uriel, ordering him to infiltrate the demon warehouse. He remembered knowing the warehouse would be empty and opting to lead the way by testing the water alone. He remembered his juniors, how the demons laughed as they slaughtered Castiel's brethren. He remembered the sheer panic that struck his being the moment he realised the demons had laid a trap within which Castiel had fallen head-first. He remembered the Enochian wardings outside the room the demons dragged his bruised, broken body to. And then, the torture started.

Question after question about Heaven, about the angel's war strategies, about angel weaknesses, about hidden weapons pestered his mind, all the while a demon with disgusting, pitch-black eyes and a cruel, grotesque snarl dragged an angel blade down his neck, slicing his skin and sucking his grace out— little by little, until he was ultimately, human.

They should have killed him.

That would have been easier

But no.

Each day, the tools got sharper, his skin weaker, and his blood thinner as it poured to the ground.

Today was going to be the same. Or at least so Castiel thought until he heard muted noises behind the bare, metal door. He wanted to scream, he wanted to call for help, but he found himself utterly useless— utterly human, save for his glorious black wings, now tied-up and bleeding. Footsteps echoed through the outside of the room he was suspended in, and he felt his skin prickle with anticipation of the pain which was to come.

The door grit open, and although Castiel found himself unable to move a single muscle in his body, he lifted up his head and glanced at the stranger at the door.

Something felt strange about this demon.

It was a man, with short, spiky blondish-brown hair, a chiseled face, bright apple-green eyes and dusky freckles. He was dressed in a plain, crimson-red plaid button-up, paired with dark-washed jeans, and his figure was firm. Muscular arms and bodies which screamt of his strength, and held in his right arm, a blade. Not just any blade. The First Blade.

The First Blade.

The very blade Cain had used to killed Abel at the dawn of humanity.

Disgust and uncertainty twisted through Castiel's gut, crawling under his skin and prickling at his flesh, and the smirk the demon sent him did nothing to hinder the nausea that bubbled inside Castiel. He wanted to throw up, and maybe he would have, had he not been starved for the past three days, his flesh aching and loose. He knew he wouldn't last another day or two, and yet, he wanted to live. The fear of his death made him realise— he had truly turned human.

"Hey there," the demon grumbled, and Castiel noted how deep his voice was. Had he not been a demon, Castiel would have seeked shelter with anybody whose voice sounded as warm, but it was a shame the voice belonged to a demon scum.

The demon trudged over to where Castiel had been suspended with the ropes, and smiled with a satisfied hum.

"My, they caught me a pretty lil' angel," the demon chuckled darkly, as he circled around Castiel to study his body. His white shirt, which once belonged to his vessel, had been torn, soaked and dried with blood, ripped at the arms and at the sides. His black trouser had been soaked with dried urine and blood, and he knew he was utterly, absolutely filthy, but now, nothing could faze him, and all he wanted to wait for, was the sweet release of death. However, with the way the demon stood before him, contemplative and calculating, Castiel highly doubted he would be released any time soon.

"What's your name?" the demon asked, as he stepped forward towards Castiel, and ran a finger down Castiel's cheekbone. An action which should have been affectionate had disgust curling through Castiel's veins, and he turned his head away. If the demon wanted answers, he'd come to the wrong place. Castiel wasn't giving up until they killed him. He would die a loyal martyr to Heaven.

"You don't wanna' say?" the demon continued, and Castiel grunted, "-alright, how about this angel, if I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?"

With every ounce of energy he could muster in his body, "-die, you filth," Castiel spat out.

A sharp slap struck his cheek, and his head swirled, face stinging with searing hot pain as he struggled to regain his vision. Tears brimmed at his eyes, and he let them slip through as the ropes swung his weak body to the side. The force of a single slap had shaken Castiel to the core, but somehow, the one, single touch of the demon had now made Castiel realise.

This was no ordinary demon.

This was something filthier and unholier than anything Castiel had seen before. Had Castiel been ignorant, he would have deemed the demon as Lucifer himself, but Castiel knew better.

This was no ordinary demon.

This was a Knight of Hell.

"The name's Dean. Ranking? Eighth Knight of Hell, specialty—" Dean leaned forward, his warm breath ghosting over the slice on Castiel's face as he whispered, "—torture."

A chill ran down Castiel's spine.

"Now, I've been nice to you. Be nice to me, or I'm going to have to be mean to you, and I really don't think you're going to like that, angel. So, from the top. What's your name?"

Dean stood waiting, but his other hand clenched into a fist, and at once, blood poured down Castiel's lips as he felt his insides crunch and crumble, and a loud, agonised wail rang through the empty, bare metal room as he choked on his own blood, the pain never ceasing, until a moment later, when it did.

"I said—"

"Bite me," Castiel groaned, expecting another slap, or perhaps even a punch, but it never came. His eyes fluttered open, and he found Dean smiling.

"Pretty angel, spicy tongue. I like it. Shit, I love it."

A laugh echoed through the room, and Castiel watched as Dean grinned— no, beamed with a grin— his head falling back as he broke into a fit of laughter— laughter that felt no short of needles bursting Castiel's ear drums, and at last, the demon gazed up at Castiel. But something about his eyes was different. They hadn't gone pitch-black, as the earlier demons' had when they wanted to intimidate Castiel, but yet, a strange darkness had unfurled within those apple-green eyes. Something unhinged and feral. Something vulgar and grotesque. Something tragic.

Something terrifying.

For the first time in days, Castiel felt fear.

"So you're not going to speak," Dean stated, more to himself, before he nodded, and held the blade up to his face, his eyes tracking the sharp, ridged edge of it, before meeting Castiel's eyes, "— and all those demons, hah, more like a pathetic excuse for a demon, tried to make you talk. But I bet they couldn't do, what I'm going to do to you, angel."

Confusion and fear coursed through Castiel. What a terrifying combination, no? When you don't know what the next second might bring, when every nerve inside you is lit on fire with fear and uncertainty, and yet, all you can do is watch. Terrifying indeed. And so it was with Castiel. Nor could he kill himself, nor would the demon kill him. It was a pity.

If there was anything Castiel anticipated, it was the slice of the First Blade on his flesh, somewhere in his his body, and he shut his eyes, hoping the blow would come, but it didn't. Instead, there were thick, nimble fingers at his chest.

"Must be hot, no, angel?"

Dean's fingers— they popped every button on Castiel's white, blood-soaked shirt, before letting it fall open against his bare, bruised chest.

"Mh, you're gorgeous angel, so gorgeous."

A warm, calloused hand ran down his bare chest.

Goosebumps prickled his skin.

A glance upwards answered every single question in Castiel's mind.

Dark, lust-filled, aroused eyes gazed up at Castiel.

"No—" he croaked out, as Dean grinned and cradled Castiel's jaw. He pulled Castiel down, until their faces were mere inches away, and Castiel watched as the last drop of green in Dean's eyes faded into pure black.

"What a delicious angel," Dean growled, and licked his lips obnoxiously, showing Castiel his long, pink tongue.

Castiel whimpered, eyes slipping shut as Dean ripped the white shirt off his chest, and ran his nails down Castiel's chest, barely grazing past his nipple, before moving down to tear Castiel's trousers open. The sound of fabric ripping filled the room, and piece-by-piece, Dean stripped every layer of clothing from Castiel's tanned, supple body, not sparing his boxers either, which Dean tore apart and tossed behind. The chilled air in the room pricked Castiel's skin, and he felt a shiver wrack his body as the cold seeped into his bones. But there was heat coursing through his body from the shame he felt in those moments, hung from the ceiling— a piece of meat for a demon, bare and naked, with his nipples and his cock twitching, never before had Castiel felt as repulsed by himself than he did in that moment.

"Wha— what are you going to do to me?" Castiel asked, only to realise there was no way the demon would ever answer his question, or even acknowledge it, and he hung his head down in surrender, knowing there was no escape for this demon. Perhaps during one of his torture rituals, death would finally engulf Castiel. He would like that. But knowing the demon, it wouldn't. And Castiel would have to live through shame, disgust, and misery— all through the end.

"Asking questions, are we? How about I make you a deal? I answer your question, you answer mine. Sound good?"

Somehow, the demon had caught Castiel's attention. Would he... Would he keep up his end of the bargain? Would he really answer Castiel's questions? No, it couldn't be. Surely, this was a trap. Dean wanted him to fall into it. And Castiel wasn't going to.

"Alright, you don't trust me. Understandable," the demon quirked his lips, walking around Castiel again, as if to study him, "-so here's yor answer. First, I'm going to play," A hand snaked around Castiel's bare chest, thick, fat fingers pinching his dusky brown nipples between them, to which Castiel let out an unbidden moan, pleasure tickling his gut at the touch, "—with your gorgeous nipples. Maybe I'll suck them. Maybe I'll fill them with needles. Your pick."

Shame washed over Castiel.

Without having to glance downwards, he knew his cock was reacting to the demon's touch, and as disgusted as he felt, as much as he wanted to vomit at the prospect of having the demon suck his nipples, he would do anything to not have needles pierced into his sensitive skin. It would hurt, and he assumed, something awful, and selfishly, he craved the pleasure of a warm, heavy tongue rolling around his nipple.

"T—tongue. Your t-tongue."

"Naughty, aren't we?"

A stinging pain coursed through Castiel's chest as Dean pinched his nipples once again, but this time, he let his hands fall away and instead, walked around to face Castiel, mighty and broad, and it had Castiel cowering for a few seconds, before warm, wet lips latched onto his nipple.

A moan spilled past his lips. He felt dirty.

"Oh— more— Dean—"

Dean hummed and chuckled around Castiel's nipple, pushing his tongue flat against the nub before licking a thick, fat strip down the pinkened flesh. Castiel's cock grew heavier, and his toes curled as Dean crept an arm up towards the other nipple, rolling the nub between his thumb and his finger, pulling it and pinching it, stretching it away from Castiel's skin, sending a wave of arousal and pleasure crashing through Castiel's body, drenching his nerves in pure ecstacy— ecstacy Castiel knew was forbidden.

"Tasty," the demon growled, and pulled his lips away with a pop, leaving Castiel's skin bruised, swollen and dripping with drool.

"Please—"

"Give me your name, and I'll make it even better." Dean's eyes, chips of coal, now unfurled into bright apple-green, and somehow, with the fingers tweaking Castiel's nipples, the swollen nub aching for more contact, Castiel found himself speaking unbidden.

"Ca— Castiel."

The demon's hands fell away from Castiel's bare torso, and when Castiel lifted up his chin, he found Dean gazing at him, with deep, calculative eyes, and a faint smirk on his lips as he tapped his fingers against his chin and hummed.

"Castiel. Such a pretty name, and you didn't want to tell me? That ain't fair. Come on now, Cas, you wanna' keep this game going? I answer, you answer?"

"Touch me, please—" Castiel gasped, struggling to reach out, but the ropes around his body stung his bruised, red skin, and a sob fell past his lips, tears staining his flushed face as pain crawled through him.

"You want me to touch you? If you answer me, I promise I will."

"Please, anything—"

Dean laughed, and the First Blade fell at his feet, as he stalked forward, step after step, and ran a broad hand down Castiel's chest, reaching up to wrap his hand around Castiel's jaw, and brushing his fingers over Castiel's cheekbone, as he compelled him to hold his gaze, Castiel's weak, bleary eyes staring down into the demon's cold, bright green ones, which dripped with vulgarity and obscenity, and somehow, it excited Castiel to know what the demon would do to him with his broad, crafty hands, and yet, part of Castiel loathed his own self for having fallen as low as craving a demon.

"Who ordered the ambush?"

"I, I don't know, please, touch—"

Soft, warm lips wrapped around Castiel's nipple, wet tongue laving the swollen nub with drool, flicking it and licking it with thick, sloppy stripes as the other nub perked at the chill pricking it. Dean's sweaty palm wrapped around it, rubbing it and rolling it, and for once, Castiel found himself sinking into pleasure, until at once, a sharp pain burst through his chest, and he jerked in his restraints, watching as Dean bit his nipple, his teeth sharp and merciless, as he continued to nibble, tugging the bleeding nub between his teeth and rolling it around his tongue.

"Dean, please, no—" Castiel's wails rung through the room, and he fought against the ropes binding him, but in vain, as Dean bit his nipple again as punishment, and smirked with a lewd grin on his face, his lips tinged with red blood. Between his sobs, Castiel's eyes fell upon Dean's trousers, where he could see, crystal clear— the straining bulge at the front.

"Now, Cas, who ordered the ambush?"

"Za— Zachariah—"

"Good boy," Dean hummed, and at once, his hands were gentle where they cradled Castiel's jaw, and a soft kiss pressed against Castiel's forehead. The fingers on his nipples returned, delicate and insistent, as they massaged Castiel's nipples, squeezed them and pressed them, all tenderly, and Castiel felt himself float closer and closer to ecstacy. His cock leaked thin, clear pre-come, and his hole quivered with the need to be touched.

"Now, you've been so good for me," Another languid kiss dropped against his head, as if merciful and pitying, and Castiel leaned into the touch, before Dean continued, "-few more questions, and I'll let you go, alright angel?"

"Dean," Castiel found himself whining, jerking his legs and rolling his hips to seek some semblance of friction against his leaking cock.

"Shh," Dean cooed, and at once, Castiel felt broad, warm arms embrace him, wrap him in a gentle touch, and Dean's fingers ran through his hair, touching him with such gentleness as if Castiel were fragile, as if he could break had Dean touched him with more pressure. And inside Castiel, bloomed something strange, and he relished in Dean's warm, compassionate arms.

"So good for me, Cas, how about this, you answer another question and I'll do something about this," Thick fingers grazed against Castiel's leaking, throbbing cock, and he gasped, burying his face deeper in the refuge of Dean's arms, finding himself unable to move or speak, as Dean wrapped his palm around Castiel's cock, and stroked it in lousy, slow thrusts, driving Castiel closer and closer to the edge he'd been teetering on.

"Ye— yes—"

"Good," Dean pulled his fingers away, and touched them to Castiel's chin, urging him to gaze up, "—somebody knew about this portal. Somebody knew about the demons' den in this warehouse. Who was it? Who told Zachariah about this warehouse?"

"I don't know," Castiel sighed, his voice heavy with stuttered breaths as Dean stroked him, and he felt the pressure in his gut creep further and further, deeper into his cock, and oh, release seemed seconds away, when—

Dean's hand fell away, the stimulation ceased, and everything simmering within Castiel's gut dissipated into nothing.

"Dean—" Castiel cried out, loud enough for the word to echo through the room, as he jerked and struggled against the ropes, seeking any, any sort of friction against his aching, ruined cock.

"I said, who told Zachariah about this warehouse?"

"Inias, it was Inias— Dean, please—"

"It was Inias?"

"Ye— yes, h—he was our agent—"

"Oh," Dean hummed, as if surprised, but a moment later, his fingers returned to Castiel's cock, and Castiel sighed in relied, tears spilling to the ground as his face fell against Dean's shoulder. Dean's hand soothed his back, murmuring in soft, coaxing words, "-good boy, so good for me, so good."

Castiel whimpered, and hid his face in the depths of Dean's neck, chest heaving with loud pants as Castiel struggled to regain his breath. Dean's hand ran up and down his back, rocking him gently and kissing his forehead as he coaxed Castiel with soft shusshes.

"One more question, and I'll give you what you want, alright angel?"

"Dean, Dean please—"

"How did you break through the wardings?" Dean asked, his voice stern and commanding, and something about the strictness had Castiel leaking again, his soft cock swollen with the need to release.

"Wh—wha..?"

"The wardings outside the warehouse, how did you break through them?"

"Eno—enochian spellwork," Castiel hissed, knowing once he answered Dean, the reward would be mighty. And as expected, Dean's thick fingers returned around Castiel's cock— massaging and stroking firmly, pushing Castiel closer and closer to the edge of his orgasm. Right when he thought Dean would let him climax, the fingers fell away and Castiel let out a cry, his lips now curling into a pout as he sobbed, and tried to squeeze his thighs shut, but to no avail.

"Say, angel, you ever been fucked?"

"N—no—"

A perverted grin pulled at Dean's lips, as he stepped back and reached down to grab the First Blade. Perhaps Dean was simply toying with him, and now, he would at last, kill Castiel. That had to be it. After all, Castiel had given up all crucial information, and all it had needed was for Dean to treat him like a whore. Isn't that what he was now? A mere human— a filthy toy who had been depraved by the touch of a demon. But Castiel would be lying if he said the touch felt better than all of Heaven combined. Dean's hands grazed Castiel's jaw, and he whimpered at the touch, expecting the slicing thrust of the First Blade to meet his chest, or perhaps his stomach. After all, he was so weak now, simply a gash to his arm would kill him.

Instead, something nudged at— oh, no, no, no, no, no—

Something nudged at the rim of his asshole, prodding between his cheeks and rubbing around in circles— it was thick, blunt, rough and coarse. Not flesh. It was not a finger.

"Who said you'd get my cock, bitch?"

The intrusion at Castiel's hole thrust up wildly, and Castiel gave out a loud scream as it pushed up inside him. It was dry— there was nothing to lubricate its way in, and the feeling of it felt nothing short of a hundred needles piercing into Castiel's skin, and yet, part of him preened at having swallowed the intrusion inside. That was when he realised.

It was a hilt. The hilt of The First Blade.

"You should be thankful I'm putting it inside the safe way up, yeah? Fucking angel scum," Dean growled, and the warmth Castiel once felt from his words had now ceased to exist, replaced with pure, fiery hatred. Fear grew in the pools of Castiel's gut, knowing now Dean had accomplished his goal, knowing he meant nothing to Dean now. Of course, why would Dean treat him with compassion anymore? All Castiel was to Dean now— was a hole to ruin.

"Dean, please—" Castiel found himself begging, before clenching his asshole and feeling his body rock upwards as Dean thrust the hilt faster, rougher, harder. Castiel tried to resist, tried to push it out, but Dean wrapped a hand around his neck and squeezed tight enough for Castiel to see white as the painful intrusion in his ass continued. Tears streamed down his face and his lips trembled as he flailed around in the ropes tying him, feeling the hilt of the Blade stretch him open and plunge into him. His flesh seemed to tear and rupture with every thrust, but Castiel was helpless as he cried out and begged for air.

"That should teach you," Dean chuckled, and his black eyes now peered into Castiel's hooded, dim blue eyes, "—I'm gonna' fuck you with the blade, as hard as I can, then I'm going to come in your hole and choke you until my name is the only thing you can breathe in, is that clear?"

Fallen as he was, Castiel nodded, now devoid of every shred of self-respect and dignity. Oh yes, he would love it. It was dirty, filthy and so utterly human to give into his carnal needs.

"Say it, angel," Dean spat, "-what am I going to do to you?"

"F—" Castiel gasped, "—fuck me with your blade— come in my hole— choke me—"

"Perfect. You're perfect," Dean smiled, and Castiel preened at Dean's praise. A moment later, the hilt of the blade came to a searing halt inside Castiel's ass, just a few seconds short of Castiel's orgasm, and Castiel whined out in protest, before the ropes on his arms and legs seemed to vanish, and he fell to the ground with a painful clamour. The Blade slipped out of his hole, and the rim of it burned with an extremely excruciating burn.

"I've untied you," the demon clicked his tongue, "-now turn over for me. Let me see your hole."

Drowning in his lust, unable to control himself, Castiel turned over, and just to please Dean even more, spread his legs apart and held his ass open, showing Dean his puffy, red virgin asshole (although there remained nothing virginal about it anymore).

"God-fucking-damn-it. You've got a beautiful hole, angel. So beautiful. Oh, I'm gonna' love marking it."

And with a haughty laugh, Dean popped his jeans open, and let his cock— a huge, fearsome thing slap against Castiel's tender, plump asscheek. He stepped in closer, until his cock nudged against Castiel's hole, and rubbed the leaking, pink tip against his taint.

"Put it in, Dean please—" Castiel croaked, craning his neck back as best as he could, only to find Dean grinning with a lewd, perverse grin on his face, and Castiel felt the bile in his gut rise up. He felt disgusted, and yet, he couldn't move. He wanted it, no, needed it— needed to be filled with a demon's cock. To be depraved, to be corrupted, to be tainted by a demon's touch.

"Nope," Dean laughed, and sunk his cock in— but only to the tip, not an inch deeper.

Pain unfurled through Castiel's body at having the large tip shove into him with no lube or slick— completely dry and rough, but goddamnit, he needed it anyway he could get.

"You think I'd want to give an angel my cock? A divine, holy being of light— guess it's true what they say. All angels are simply demons with halos. What a slut for me, Cas, want me to come in your ass?"

"Oh yes, Dean please—"

"Then come is all you're gonna' get," Dean laughed, and threw his head back with a relieved moan as his hand wrapped around his cock, and he stroked himself, masturbating with his tip buried inside Castiel's hole. Castiel dared to push his hips back, but a sharp pinch on one of his cheek's had him mewling, and he learnt his place, now staying put on his knees as Dean huffed and groaned behind him, jerking himself off, thrusting only the tip of his cock inside to torture Castiel, and Castiel whined, before he heard Dean curse frantically, and a moment later, something warm and wet flooded his hole, and he jerked, arching his back as he felt Dean's come coat his insides with its thick texture.

"Fuck," came a loud curse, and the tip of Dean's cock slipped out of Castiel's asshole. Castiel, already a wreck, having been denied his orgasm, turned over on his stomach, feeling Dean's come dripping down his thighs. He reached down, dipping two fingers into the sticky fluid, before bringing it up to his face. He made sure to hold Dean's gaze as he dropped his tongue out and licked up the come coating his fingers.

Dean watched, awestruck, as the angel before him sucked demon come from his fingers.

"You really are a slut, aren't you?"

"Have nothing else to do," Castiel breathed out, and let his head fall back against the cold, stone ground.

Dean hummed, but Castiel couldn't see him as he shut his eyes, and let himself bask in the aftermath of what he'd just done. He'd let a demon tempt him into sinning. What worth was he as an angel anymore? They would kill him the moment they found out Castiel had lain with a demon. That is if Dean didn't kill him first.

"You're going to kill me now, aren't you?" Castiel asked, his voice a notch lower.

"Worse. I'm going to give you freedom, angel."

"Please don't."

Dean turned his face away, but somehow, Castiel reached out and gripped his trouser, calling to him. Dean paused, and turned around to stared down at him. Castiel noted his face was inscrutable, a bit strange, as if he was deep in thought.

"Just kill me."

Castiel groaned, letting a tear fall down his face.

And something on Dean's face changed.

The next moment, he was leaning down, near Castiel's face, and Castiel held his breath as he watched Dean move closer to him.

"Do you wanna go back or stay with me?"

Castiel considered it for a moment.

"With you."

"Then you do things my way."

With that, Dean pressed his lips to Castiel's, and Castiel whimpered, expecting Dean to pull away, instead—

Something entered him. Something vile, something strange, something corrupt. Black smoke slipped inside his throat, and he realised just what Dean was doing.

At that point, however, he had no mind to resist.

When Dean pulled away at last, Castiel blinked his eyes open. Now completely black, instead of the once bright blue and filled with grace. He felt strangely rejuvenated, as if his body had regained its strength.

"Welcome home." Dean laughed, and Castiel sat up.

A demon. Dean had turned him into a demon.

"C'mon, take my hand," Dean smiled, his eyes blinking black in a split second as he held his hand out to Castiel, "-let's go sin some more, angel."