skidmo_fic

Title: Hold You in the Palm of His Hand
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Warnings: Um…fisting. Yeah.
Word Count: 1035
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me...sadly
Feedback: yes, please.
Summary: Castiel gets jealous. Dean happily accepts the consequences. Pure smut.
A/N: Written for the Dean/Castiel Kink Meme, for

realpestilence, who wanted: Jealous!Castiel fisting Dean, very toppy and possessive. Title is from an Irish blessing.

It wasn’t supposed to go down like this.

Hell, it wasn’t supposed to go down at all.

Cas is a freakin’ angel for fuck’s sake. And yeah, Dean’s come to realize that angels aren’t the fluffy-winged, haloed, harp-playing pussies he’d originally thought, but he still thinks there are probably some things angels shouldn’t be doing.

Pinning him to the bed and shoving their tongue down his throat is one of those things.

And the thing is, he knows he should be fighting, trying to push Castiel off (though he knows it wouldn’t do any good, and that thought alone shoots straight to his dick in a way he’s 110% sure Cas can feel through however many layers of clothing are between them), but he can’t. He can only moan and writhe and suck Cas’s tongue further into his mouth.

“Was it like this with her?” Castiel asks, his voice even deeper and gruffer than usual as he pulls back, still holding Dean firmly against the mattress.

“Huh?” And that’s as coherent as Dean can be when all the blood that should be feeding his brain is currently lodged firmly in his jeans and the only thought process he can manage is, ‘More, Cas, please, don’t stop, don’t stop, touch me, fuck me, use me.’

“The waitress,” Castiel murmurs, and he grinds roughly against Dean, dragging a whimper from him. “When you went to her apartment, did you kiss her like this? Did you hold her down and take her roughly? Did she beg you, plead with you, demand that you fuck her?”

The word ‘fuck’ coming from Cas’s lips is another of those things Dean thinks angel’s shouldn’t be doing, and he can’t even think of the right answer with Castiel’s fingers working open his belt, tugging open his jeans.

“I don’t,” Dean gasps. “I don’t…maybe…don’t remember.”

Castiel laughs then, chuckle rippling from deep within his chest. “You will remember this,” he growls, and it’s not a prediction. It’s a fucking command.

Dean swallows and nods.

“Say it,” Castiel says softly, tearing Dean’s shirt off.

“I’ll remember,” Dean breathes.

“Good.” And when Castiel kisses him this time it’s slow and tender, and Dean doesn’t know how to respond, so he just gives himself up into the kiss, let’s Cas lead him, set the pace, the tone, everything.

“You shouldn’t have gone to her,” Castiel is saying, nimble hands making quick work of Dean’s jeans and boxers, shoving them down and off and tossing his own trench coat and jacket off to the side. “It isn’t safe. She could have been anyone. Could have been a witch or a demon. She could have killed you.”

“I had an itch,” Dean protests, and he thinks that understanding that urge should be another thing on his list, but he knows now that Castiel does understand, must understand, or they wouldn’t be here like this.

“Then you should have come to me.” The cheap tie comes off next, then the plain, white shirt. “The enemy is aware of your appetites, Dean. Temptation is their specialty.”

And yours, Dean thinks as Castiel kneels, naked, in front of him.

A tube of lubricant appears from nowhere in the angel’s hand, and Dean sucks in a breath.

“I will not hurt you,” Castiel says as two slick fingers find their way into Dean, and Dean hisses and nods. “I would never hurt you.”

And Dean believes him, because this isn’t about Cas hurting him, it’s about Cas claiming him, fucking owning him, body and soul, and the noises he’s pulling out of Dean are ones Dean has never heard before.

And then Castiel slips a third finger into him and hits him just there, and Dean groans and squeezes his eyes shut, and stars burst behind his eyelids, and he wants to beg Castiel to fuck him, wants to insist that he’s ready, he can take it, wants to take it, but again, he can’t, because he belongs to Castiel now, and he’ll do whatever Castiel wants, and he’ll never complain or question or bitch, because right now, right in this moment, he trusts Cas completely, totally, fully. And while part of him knows that when this is over, he’ll go back to pushing Castiel’s buttons and making him explain himself, none of that matters right now.

He’s so trusting, so lost in whatever is happening between them, that he doesn’t even notice a fourth finger inside him, doesn’t notice at all until Castiel kisses him hard and deep and pushes slowly, painfully slowly, until his whole hand is inside Dean, and Dean groans, and his eyes snap open, and he stares at Castiel, gripping his shoulders, breathing hard and fast through his nose.

He’s never felt so full, so owned, so completely and utterly wrecked with lust.

And he’s never felt more safe, more secure, more completely and utterly content.

“Cas,” he gasps, his voice a strangled squeak.

“I’ve got you,” Castiel answers as his hand balls into a fist and slowly begins to move.

“Cas,” Dean says again, groaning this time.

“I’ve got you,” Castiel repeats. “You’re with me. You’re mine, and I hold you in my hand.” His voice is low, soft, soothing, and Dean nods and closes his eyes and just feels.

And what he feels is amazing. It’s intense and overwhelming and like nothing else he’s ever felt before, and when Castiel wraps his free hand around Dean’s straining cock and starts to stroke, Dean’s universe explodes, and when Castiel’s whispered, barely audible, “Let go for me, Dean,” reaches Dean’s ears, he obeys, because he doesn’t know how not to.

***

When Castiel has removed his hand and cleaned them both up, he settles himself behind Dean, spooning him, and pushes into him again, his dick filling up the emptiness left by his fist, and Dean rocks back to him, and Castiel fucks him slowly, making love to him, claiming him all over again in a completely different way.

And when Cas’s soft groan huffs out against Dean’s damp hair, Dean lets his eyes close and pulls Castiel’s arms around him, and Cas murmurs, “Sleep, Dean. I’ve got you. You’re mine.”

And he is, so he does.

fin