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Dean’s hands are bound and he’s been shuffled into a private room by two men with full masks over their heads, covered head to toe in nondescript black clothing, even with gloves. They're the same height and build. Dean couldn’t give a single description of either of them, not even ethnicity. Whoever’s operation this is, they run a tight ship. Sucks for Dean, majorly. That and the fact that he’s completely stark naked.
The man he’s being summoned for isn’t in the same getup. He’s in a dark grey three piece suit, expertly tailored, with a maroon shirt and black tie. Gold cufflinks. Work boots, which don’t go with the outfit at all but they certainly add a layer of intrigue to him. He watches his men drag Dean towards him with a look of indifference, like he doesn’t wanna be here at all, and hey, Dean can sympathize.
With a disinterested flick of the wrist, he beckons his lackeys to leave them alone, clanging the solid metal door behind them, setting Dean’s nerves on edge.
“Give me a spin,” the man says flatly, finger moving in a circle to demonstrate what a spin is, because Dean must look like a moron.
“Like a pirouette or something?”
The man’s eyes flicker up to his face for the first time, finally acknowledging the fact he’s looking a person. He squints, raising his hand like he’s ordering him to stop. He scoffs to himself, setting his jaw and fixing his tie.
“Darling, when I want your feedback, I’ll ask for it.”
Dean’s got a really clever comeback for that but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out, the words choke in his throat before he can even begin to make a noise. Dean grabs at his neck in a panic. Scared and confused, he attempts to run to the door that's surely locked anyway, but he has to try. He only makes it two steps before he's glued to the spot, forcibly turned back to face the well dressed man by some eerie phantom power.
“Glad we got that out of the way. Now, shall we continue?”
Dean wants to tell him to fuck off, wants to get the hell out of here, wants to know how he's doing this.
He can't do anything. He's frozen in place.
The man steps close; slow and controlled, oozing raw power. Dean’s heart hammers in his chest. Bringing two fingers to his head, Dean's energy zaps and twists, depleting him.
The man hums, licking his fingertips like touching Dean’s forehead is something to be savored. It makes no sense. None of this makes any sense.
He nods, staring at him with something like curiosity flitting in his eyes, which is actually so much worse than his previous impassivity.
“Dean Winchester,” He announces to their private room. “Born and raised in Kansas. Only living relative is your little brother who's life you covet. Mother died in a fire, father died in a ditch. You've only been with women but my, my– you often wish they were men. Don't you?”
Dean is scared out of his mind.
The man grins, pulling up Dean’s lips to inspect his teeth like he's a show dog. Dean wants to pull away, wants to snap at him, but he's incapable of doing anything. Frozen with easy obedience. He feels sick. The man tells him to open his mouth and his jaw complies, opening wide and sticking out his tongue. The man peers inside, sliding two fingers down his teeth to his molars, feeling around like some type of psychotic dentist. He keeps going, plunges his fingers down Dean’s throat like he's trying to get him to throw up. Dean waits for his gag reflex to kick in but nothing happens. The man starts sliding in and out, mouth fucking him with his fingers, a devilish grin on his face, and Dean feels depleted again like the man’s touch is siphoning his energy.
The man clicks his tongue disapprovingly, tsk tsk tsk, “A perfect mouth for sucking cock and yet you've never had the opportunity. Such a shame really, that you're never felt the weight of another man on your tongue. The musky taste when he comes. In this visage, I can rectify that for you, Dean. Would you like that? Hm? Speak.”
The man removes his fingers, holding his face in a wet pinch, waiting for his answer.
“Who are you?”
A flash of anger sparks across his face at being ignored, but then he takes a step backwards, wiping the saliva off his fingers on the front of Dean’s shirt, using it like a disposable napkin.
“Yes, where are my manners?” He flattens out his front to make himself presentable, “I am the demon, Castiel. And you, Dean, are my new toy.”
The word demon ricochets like a towering echo. No time to process that, only one follow up comes to his mind.
“Why me?”
“Darling, why not you?” Castiel looks him up and down, “No– in all honesty, you were chosen for me by my pions. You see, I'm running a contest right now. Whoever brings me the best toy gets a promotion. So I do have a couple guesses as to why you.” Castiel circles him predatorily, “Let's see– you're closeted. My subjects know I love to be the first one to open up a man, to drown myself in his shameful pleasure. And on top of that, you're gorgeous. Perfect full lips, broad shoulders, a wide mouth, and I've yet to inspect your hole, but I do think you'll exceed my expectations.”
Chosen as a demon’s plaything because he's a no-homo queer. And doesn't that just fucking figure?
By the whims of Castiel’s demonic power, Dean is shoved down to his knees, once again unable to cry out or speak at all.
As slow as possible, Castiel unbuckles his belt and slides it through the loops of his waistband. The front of his suit pants very clearly holding back something monstrous and Dean can't do anything but watch and wait.
“This is all you're good for now, Dean. Make peace with that.”
His cock is huge, to put it fucking mildly. And he orders Dean to open wide, and since his body is being puppeteered, it opens willingly.
It's a brutal encounter for Dean’s first blow job, but that tracks since he's now a demon’s prisoner. Castiel holds him by the hair and forcibly shoves him down over his cock. He's heavy and thicker than anything Dean could imagine putting down his throat and he feels nothing but disgust as he's gorged on him.
It goes on and on. A very repetitive sort of thing. And with his gag reflex diminished, it's not as bad as it could be. Dean waits for Castiel to be done with him. Maybe it'll be quick.
And as soon as he's had the thought, he's distastefully shoved off.
“Come.” The demon beckons, relinquishing Dean from his all-powerful hold, and it's been so long since Dean held his body with his own strength, he immediately slumps to the floor in shocked exhaustion, coughing and spluttering, the destruction of his throat felt now more than ever.
Castiel’s malice switches gears, he wants Dean to feel the ugly weight of his humanity. The comparison of how simple it is to be led by him, the repulsion his body feels when he's on his own. It's effective, even after one demonstration.
“What I gave you is a kindness,” He says lowly, his voice a string about to snap, the calm before the storm, “Learn to be grateful. I won't always be so generous.” Dean never thought a brutal face-fucking could ever be considered a kindness, but the threat in his words makes him reconsider. It could be so much worse.
Dean trembles on the floor, slow to get his shins under him, and Castiel is sick of waiting. Despite having powers to move Dean as he pleases, Castiel grabs him harshly at the back of the neck like he's pulling him up by his scruff, dragging him to the elegant bed in the middle of a long wall.
There's… contraptions all around him. Each sort of nondescript, the type of things that don't scream their purpose just from a look. But now that Dean has more context, he can guess their uses. None of them mean anything good for Dean.
His feet are barely able to keep up with Castiel’s iron hold, always one second behind, toes tripping and dragging along the concrete flooring. And then he's being thrown to the mattress, decked out in deep purple and green silks. Fabrics far more expensive than Dean’s tax bracket allows him to think about.
He's whipped around to his back and Castiel is fixing him with a steely gaze. His disappointment is clear as day. His jaw set and gritting. Dean gulps nervously, trying to push himself further up the bed if only to give himself some distance from the angry demon.
When he speaks, he hardly sounds like himself, “I– I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” His wheezy voice croaks and he tries to swallow against the pain in his throat but it's no use. “Cas, I'm sorry. Please–”
“Cas?” The demon arches a sculpted eyebrow as he towers over him.
Dean feels his face pale. A bubbling dread stirs in his chest.
“ Castiel ,” He corrects, gasping, “Castiel, I'm sorry.”
“For..?”
“For being ungrateful.” He rasps out, and wow, that apology really takes him back to being a beaten and scolded child. Maybe the worst thing the demon’s done to him so far.
Castiel licks his lips and grabs Dean by his thighs, yanking him to the edge of the bed, shocking another gasp out of him from a display of pure strength, his knees bent at Castiel’s waist. The bed’s the perfect height to line up with Castiel’s pelvis and Dean’s sure that's no mistake.
“That's okay, Dean. I'm sure you'll make it up to me somehow.” He begins locking his ankles to the cuffs dangling from the ceiling, making his legs wide and suspended. Castiel leans over his body to tie his bound wrists to the bed frame, his arms outstretched over his head, Castiel’s cock pressing firmly into him as he does this. A threat of what's to come. And Dean's the helpless witness, the reluctant participant, the lamb to the slaughter.
Before he backs away, Castiel kisses Dean’s lips, still puffy from the brutal face fucking. Dean doesn't kiss back. He's as useful as a dead fish. Trembling underneath him. Scared of what's to come next. Castiel keeps kissing him and then grows frustrated, sighing like it's really inconvenient Dean doesn't want to make out with his demon captor.
Daintily, he wipes the saliva from the corner of his own, stroking himself lazily as he stands over his helpless body.
“Dean, as I'm sure you've figured out by now, you hold all the power here. I know that might seem unlikely considering the circumstances you've found yourself in but it's true. I am none other than your capable host and I will follow your lead. For example, my generosity is directly correlated with your willingness. The less willing you are, the less generous I become. I will have what's mine either way, but how we get there is entirely up to you, darling.”
His middle finger begins encircling Dean’s tightly puckered hole, pushing with a light pressure, and Dean feels sick with his choices. Either resist him and have it hurt, or go along with it and endure a different kind of hurt.
“What will it be?”
Castiel leans down, hovering close to kiss him again, fingers poised at his hole. And it's either a brutal assault or– or what? Dean closes his eyes tight and reaches his lips to meet the demon’s. It's a soft press at first. It feels like any other kiss and Dean fights for his lips to remain pursed and not drawn back in disgust. It's not easy.
Castiel hums, long and pleased, the vibrations thrumming into every indulgent kiss. Slow movements make each one last as long as possible, smacking loudly like he likes the way Dean’s shameful obedience tastes. His devil tongue licks along the seam of his mouth, impatient to get in, and Dean keeps his bile at bay. Anything to survive.
The finger at his hole coats itself in slickness and slips inside. Eliciting a startled gasp and effectively opening his mouth, inviting Castiel to plunge his hot tongue inside, curling against Dean’s hungrily.
“Mmmmm. That's a good boy. See how easy it can be?”
The finger pushes all the way in and Dean hates the whimper that escapes him. His lips keep pressing and pressing, his tongue sliding alongside a demon’s, completely exposed and vulnerable to his every desire.
Another long finger crams its way inside, both slowly fucking in and out of him, and the feeling is very alien to Dean. Neither good nor bad, except all of this is bad obviously, but it's better than it could be, and that's beginning to confuse him a little.
Then Castiel's fingers hook in a strange way and the pads of his fingertips push into a small little spot, but it lights him up from inside, sending shockwaves of overwhelm all throughout his body. He's gasping, his chest heaving, and in this surprised moment, he's forgotten himself and opened his eyes, looking up at Castiel with sudden alarm.
Castiel's grinning, watching his face intently for a reaction as he presses into that spot again, and even though he's prepared this time, it's still a shock to his system, his body writhing.
“Feels good, doesn't it, darling?”
He presses again and again, relentless, no longer sliding in and out, only curling his fingers to press, press, press, and Dean thinks he's seeing stars twinkle behind Castiel's starving expression. Each press pulls a sound out of him that he's never made before, over and over, and he can't look away from the demon’s enticing eyes. Like he needs them to ground himself.
Another finger slides in and the burn this time feels good instead of foreign. And this time, when he gasps yet again, his back arches off the bed, his chin high in the air, like he's being drawn into the promise of Castiel’s mouth. It's noticeable, it must be, because Castiel bends his neck down to kiss him, and when Dean kisses back, it doesn't feel fake anymore, it just feels desperate.
“Mmm, that's it, give in to me.”
Castiel stays there for a long time, pumping three fingers with a graceful rhythm, never letting their lips part for longer than a huff of air, and Dean's suspended legs ached from him trying to move his hips back onto Castiel's hand.
Then he was horrendously empty, fluttering and clenching around nothing, and that was worse than being filled by a demon, and the shame that engulfed him after that realization was enough to fill an entire ocean. Castiel was basking in it. He didn't know how he knew, but he did. It was spurring the demon on, Dean’s shame. It was the whole reason he'd been snatched off the street after all. To gorge Castiel on shame. Well, he had plenty. They chose wisely.
He wasn't empty for long, no matter what his body said otherwise, because soon Castiel's cock was wide and heavy, waiting at his virgin hole.
“This is the part where you beg for it.”
An easy request at this point, “Please, Cas. Please.”
It was a slow filling, and with Castiel no longer over the rest of his body, it was also a cold experience. He held his head up off the bed to watch as the demon pushed his way inside and the stretching burn was nothing like Dean had ever felt before. He was breathing fast and hard, and Castiel rocked his hips in shallow little thrusts, slowly deepening where they were bonded, and at the same time, they both snapped their gaze back towards each other, almost like they were in awe and needed to see if the other was feeling the same. And they were. Somehow, despite species, despite circumstance, they were feeling the very same thing in that moment. Dean couldn't say what it was exactly, only that it was incredible.
Castiel fell back over him and resumed their devouring kisses. And with Castiel’s body flat over top of him, Dean could no longer ignore his own erection, grinding against Castiel whenever it could. He was sick. He was being taken by a demon and he was loving it. His lifetime of shame twisted with a newfound sense of freedom, and with that feeling of freedom, Castiel was flush against his ass. That monstrous cock that just destroyed his throat was now completely sheathed inside Dean’s body. They chased after each other's groans, eager to pull out more and more, and Castiel really began to move.
One leg bent and climbed atop the bed just so he could thrust quicker and with abandon, his grunting turned into growls, his strength overwhelming, his power alluring, and Dean never felt smaller in his whole life. And at the same time, he'd never felt more powerful. Something about taking a ferocious demon’s cock like this, the slamming rhythm of it, the helplessness of it, the expansive stretch, the restraints. Dean knew it was fucked up and that's why he had no problem coming untouched.
After a never ending plowing, a rough and brutal taking, Dean was clenching down hard around Castiel’s cock, his shouts unintelligible, his rational mind disbelieving, shooting ropes up between them, coming harder than he ever had before. He could barely breathe being fucked so absolutely.
Castiel wasn't far behind him, chanting, “Oh Dean, you're a perfect toy. Such a perfect, perfect toy.”
Castiel's cock throbbed and Dean felt it with every nerve in his body, suddenly full and warm and getting fuller still. Each throb dumped more come inside him and Dean didn't know how to feel. Anything besides dazed and sated felt impossible.
When he pulled out, Dean groaned something tortured and never hated feeling empty more.
Gently, Castiel undid the bounds on his ankles, slowly bringing his feet to the ground as Dean hung limply from the bed, legs finally getting some blood back in them. Pins and needles everywhere. Castiel runs a finger through the come on Dean’s stomach and pops it into his mouth, moaning like it's cake batter.
“Be sure to stretch out your legs, Dean.” He pats him on the cheek, looking very pleased, “I've got to go give Balthazar a well earned promotion. You've really exceeded my expectations, Dean. I think this'll be a good partnership.” He kisses Dean square on the mouth, like he owns it, and leaves him there, his wrists still bound to the bed frame.
“Wait– Cas–!” He doesn't want to be just left here like this. Shame coils back around him.
Castiel waves him off, doesn't even spare Dean a look, his suit immaculate again, “I'll be back shortly for round two.”
Blinking up at the ceiling, come leaking from his ass, Dean tries to make peace with the fact he's now a demon sex toy.