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It takes Dean a long time to be able to ask for this. He plans it for months, if he’s being honest. He has an answer for every potential question like, why? and, what the fuck is wrong with you? But in the end all Castiel says is, “We can try anything you’d like, Dean.”
“Seriously?” Dean gapes at him. Sometimes he forgets, for a little while, how fucking weird Cas is. Or in this case, how removed he is from what it is about humans that they find weird. Because Dean just told him that he wants Cas to deny him a very basic human right and bodily function. That he wants to be bossed around and forced to drink enough liquid to keep him in pain and on the verge of feeling sick, and Castiel is just smiling at him, soft and bright as ever.
Castiel is good at dominating Dean. He’s taken to it quickly, he understands innately that Dean wants to feel a little powerless, that he wants to be used, wants to be pinned down. That when Dean talks back or tells Cas to fuck off and that he won’t do it, he doesn’t mean it. He just wants to be made to do it, whatever it is. Sucking Cas off, letting Cas take him from behind, that one time Cas made him wear a skirt. (A skirt that Dean had picked out and saved for the occasion.)
He enjoys finding out what it is about something that Dean really likes. He’s authoritative without being dismissive, he’s commanding without being cruel. It’s been… it’s been good.
They don’t fuck around like that all the time. Sometimes they just have vanilla sex. A lot of the time, they don’t have sex at all. They end their days with an iPad between them, watching Ru Paul’s Drag Race or Real Housewives and letting their feet touch under the blanket.
It’s all so stupidly easy, Dean can hardly believe it. Everything he’s brought to the table has been met with curiosity and enjoyment and there is such a resounding lack of shame in all of it that Dean has started looking to outsource.
“So you’re– you’re really good with this? You get what I’m asking?”
“I believe so,” Cas says, closing Dean’s laptop to give him his full attention. “You derive pleasure from the sensation of a full bladder, and from being told what you can and cannot do. You want to combine these things, in some way.”
“Right, yeah,” Dean says, feeling his face burn.
“And you want it to cumulate in me forcing you to have an ‘accident’, corrent?”
He puts the word in fucking air quotes and Dean’s stomach hurts a little bit. But he wants this enough that he’s willing to sit through this brutal conversation at the kitchen table.
“Yeah, Cas. It’s kind of like when I begged you not to put it in me, but you knew I really wanted you to, and you did it anyway.”
Cas’ eyes get a little dark at the memory, and he nods. “That was a pleasant evening.”
Pleasant is one word for it. It had ended with Dean shaking and crying and thanking Cas, curled up in his arms, wrung out and blissful.
“So you know, kind of the same. Kind of not. I want you to have control over me. I want you to tell me no. And I want to try and please you, to try and meet your demands in a way where we both know, deep down, I’m gonna fail.”
“And you want me to punish you for it?” Cas is genuinely curious here. They’ve played around with that, too. Dean shrugs. “No, not like, not like bad, or anything. Maybe just act disappointed, point out that I– that I made a mess.” He swallows. “That I couldn’t be good for you, after all.”
Dean’s face burns. If you don’t have homegrown shame, store-bought is fine.
Cas smiles at him. “I’m going to look into this.” Dean reminds himself to clear the laptop's browser history later. “We’ll be alone this weekend. We can try it then? Or if you’d rather go to a motel, I can see about finding us a case.”
Dean isn’t sure this is something he can do in the home he shares with his brother and his soon to be sister in law.
“A case, yeah, I mean. Might as well. If we can. Should be good.”
“Alright, Dean,” Cas says, “I’ll see what I can find.”
Cas finds them a case. It’s a quick salt and burn, just a few hours outside of Wichita. Truly, it’s something they could and do wrap up in a single day. But they told Sam they’d be gone for a couple, and Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t fucking buzzing with anticipation when they get everything sorted out early in the afternoon. He’s looking down the barrel of a solid day and a half with Cas, alone, doing something he’s only ever done by himself and in secret.
“Why don’t we go see a movie?” Cas asks once they’re fresh from the shower, grave dirt covered clothes bagged and stashed in the back of the duffle.
Dean blinks, trying not to let disappointment show on his face. They have this whole motel room, they’re alone. He told Cas how much he wanted to do this–he–
“I’ve been doing some– research,” Cas says, catching Dean’s eyes with his own. “I believe movie theaters have very large sodas.”
Dean’s face immediately burns, and he has to look away. His heart is racing. So they are gonna do this. Okay. Good. This is good.
“Right, sure, let’s– let’s go see a movie.”
It’s been years since Dean went to a movie. The last time he’d indulged in stuff like this was with Lisa and Ben, when they’d gone to see not one, but two separate movies about zoos.
It’s just not a luxury he really allows himself these days, and the entire thing feels nostalgic from the ticket stand to the shitty carpet to the posters on the walls. They decide on some superhero flick that Dean knows is part of a larger series, but has only a vague idea about the background of. It’s fun though, lots of hot guys, lots of big weapons. Not a bad time.
They split a popcorn, and Dean gets the largest sprite he’s ever seen. The thing has to be half a gallon, seriously. It’s heavy. He keeps getting distracted every time he takes a sip, the soda is electrically fizzy, more so than the stuff that comes in a can, and over-sweet in a way that puckers at the back of his throat but it’s good, and every sip pulls him out of the moment and back to reality where he remembers that Cas isn’t gonna let him use the toilet. That he’s gonna have to hold all of this, for as long as he can.
At one point, Cas leans over to whisper in his ear, reminds him he has to finish the whole thing, and Dean has to ignore his erection for the entire second half of the movies
By the time the movie ends he’s full and a little dizzy. They pass the bathrooms on the way out and Cas tells him to come in with him, and then makes Dean stand by the sinks while he uses the urinal. It makes the urge worse. If he weren’t thinking about it, he might be able to ignore it, but it’s not possible when he can hear that Cas is– is going.
When they get outside It’s not quite dark yet, and it’s disorienting to walk out into the last of the daylight after spending so much time in the dark.
“Do you want to go get something to eat? Or do you think we should just bring something back to the motel?”
Dean stands, shifting from foot to foot. He has to pee, but he’s doing okay. He’s not sure if he wants to spend any more time outside though, where people might see him fidgeting, squeezing his legs together. He doesn't think he wants to be perceived right now by anyone but Cas.
“Takeout,” he says, and he tosses Cas the keys to the car. He doesn't want to drive, he just wants to feel.
And he does feel. He feels everything. Every breath he takes squeezes something inside of him. His muscles are all tense. His stomach feels bloated and he’s sweating, just a little, his hairline damp.
They hit up a drive through, Taco Bell, and Cas takes his time ordering a variety of things. Two crunch wraps, a gordita, a few tacos. And two more big sodas. Dean actually whines a little when Cas hands him his, but he takes it, takes a dutiful sip, and then keeps sipping, slowly, as they drive back to the motel.
He’s not really hungry, or he is, but it’s too hard to focus on it. As soon as they park the car his brain is pinging that he’s close to a toilet again; that he should go. He moves his weight from foot to foot as Cas takes his time getting the key out, and as soon as they’re inside he beelines for the bathroom.
For a minute, he thinks Cas is going to let him. It’s not until he’s reaching for the door that he’s body blocked.
“I don’t think so, Dean.”
“Come on,” Dean says, putting a little weight into it. “Cas seriously, I— I gotta go.”
Castiel looks at him, searches his face and then says. “If you go, you’ll really be letting me down.” And that— well that’s good. That’s it. Dean takes a sharp breath in, waits. “I was so excited, thinking about getting to do this with you. Are you really going to ruin it before we even start? I thought you were tough, strong, I figured you’d be able to make it at least a few hours…”
Fuck. Shit. Yeah. That’s good. Dean shivers, ducks his head and presses his forehead to Cas’ chest. He takes a slow breath. Cas wants him to be good. Cas wants him to be tough. He can do it, right? He’s gonna do it.
He feels his insides cramp in protest, has to breathe through the worst of the wave as it rocks over him. He knows if he can let it pass, he will be okay. It’s just that his brain was so sure, for a moment, that he was gonna get to–
He breathes slowly against Cas’ chest while strong hands rub circles onto his back. After a minute or two the worst is over and he’s able to follow Cas to the little table and sit down. He even gets a few bites of food down.
“Can you– can you put the TV on or something. I’m going crazy here. Need to be a little distracted.”
Castiel turns the TV on, flipping through channels lazily until he finds a car restoration show and Dean nods his thanks, gets a few more bites in. It’s hard to think about anything except the pressure in his bladder now, and it’s gotten to that point where all the sensations start to blend. Everything is hot and tight and full and aching and he’s half hard, half humiliated already.
Dean crumples up a wrapper, wipes his mouth. “I can’t eat any more right now,” he tells Cas, and Cas seems to know that he’s being serious, and not defiant. He stands, touches Dean softly, and then together they move to the bed in the middle of the room.
They cuddle a little, Dean sliding into Cas’ arms to be held as they watch TV. This would all be so gentle, so vanilla, if not for the fact that Dean is squirming, biting his lip and breathing a little too fast.
“You okay, Dean?”
“Full,” Dean says, tilting his head up to look at Cas’ face. “Can I– Can I go to the bathroom?”
Castiel considers him, tilting his head slightly. He touches Dean’s arms, his chest.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he sounds sad and sorry, but his answer is firm. “No.”
Dean whines. He knew it was coming, but his body was still somehow hoping and the fresh denial has him kicking his legs a little, feet pressing into the blankets.
Castiel holds him, shushes him gently.
“You’re doing so well, Dean. I love seeing you like this.” It’s the right thing to say, that’s for sure. Dean hopes it’s true.
“Y-yeah?”
“Yes,” Castiel meets his eyes again. “You’re trembling a little, you keep biting your lips, and you can’t sit still. It’s clear that you’re aroused, but it’s like all of the physical tells have been turned up.” Dean nods in agreement, breath still coming too quickly. “You’re always so strong, so tough and in charge. I like when you let me take over. I like when you trust me, and trusting me with this– it’s big. It’s beautiful. You’re making me very happy, Dean. And I would like to keep you just like this, for as long as I can. Can you do that for me? Can you hold it?”
“Fuck. Yeah, Cas. I can hold it. I can be good for you.”
Cas leans down to kiss him, and for a moment Dean’s whole body goes soft and melty, but he can’t relax too much, not without– well. He tenses up again, desperate in a few ways, and kisses back harder. Cas mouths at his neck, hands traveling down his body, teasing over the swollen edge of his belly, where his bladder is hard and distended, and then moving between Dean’s legs to rub him through his jeans.
Dean has been a little hard all day, but Cas works him up to full hardness now and it’s both a relief and a torture. It’s easier to hold, physically, when his cock is hard. But it doesn’t lessen any of the pressure, more like it locks it into place.
It hurts, and it feels fucking good. Physically, yeah, there is something about the weight and the pressure that must press against his prostate, because there is a low level hum inside of him, every little shift of his hips feels like the shadow of getting fucked, sharp and echoey. But mentally, too. It’s embarrassing, it’s vulnerable. He likes the surrender, the trust. He likes how if anyone but Cas saw him like this, he’d be too mortified to ever look them in the eye again.
But for Cas, he can be like this. For Cas, he can squirm. He can whine. He can beg for relief knowing he’s not going to get it, knowing the only way this ends is in dripping wet humiliation.
They lay down as they kiss, and Dean curls on his side while Cas slides a strong thigh between his legs for him to grind against. Being flat takes some of the pressure off his bladder and he’s able to focus on his dick again. It feels good to press against Cas like this. He humps against his leg, his mind splitting between the relief of having his cock stimulated and the stress of pressure increasing against his bladder with every roll of his hips.
“Cas— Cas I— I gotta go so fucking bad. It—” he hiccups, “it fucking hurts.” His voice sounds too high, needy in a way he never is. He’s making little snuffling sounds as he moves, clinging to Cas’ shirt.
“You’re doing so good Dean. So good. Just a little longer,” Cas says against his ear. “Why don’t you stand up for me.”
Dean whines and shakes his head but he follows when Cas pulls gently on his hair and guides him to standing.
Castiel brings over the soda he got at the drive-thru, the one Dean ignored through most of dinner. He brings the straw up to Dean’s face and Dean takes it, groaning as he sips, and sips, and sips.
“Are you gonna keep being good for me, Dean?”
“M’tryin,” Dean says.
“Not good enough,” Cas says simply. “If you wanna really make me happy, you’ll walk into the bathroom and just look at the toilet.”
Fuck.
“Fuck.”
“Don’t make me wait, Dean.”
With shaking legs Dean makes his way into the bathroom.
“Count to thirty. Slowly,” Cas calls to him.
“One—”
Cas can’t see him, but he knows that he’s listening. He tries not to rush, but stumbles somewhere around fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen and Cas makes him go back, do it slower.
It’s torture, the toilet is right fucking there and his brain and his body are screaming at him, confused and angry and relentless. It feels so fucking good, filling up everything inside of him with want.
By the time he’s finished counting he’s in enough pain that his erection has gone down, and it’s making it harder to hold.
“Come back out and let me see you,” Cas says.
Dean has to walk gingerly, he can feel the contents of his bladder physically sloshing as he does, but he comes back into the room. Cas is waiting, and once he’s within touching distance Cas is kissing him again. Thick fingers are between his legs, palming him through his jeans until he’s once again mostly hard, blood moving too quickly between his brain and his cock. He’s distracted and dizzy and lost in the sensation of being touched and kissed until Cas moves quick and kicks Dean’s legs apart, forcing them to spread, forcing him to compensate for the change in position.
“Fuck,” Dean cries out, and a small spurt of piss leaks into his underwear.
“Hold it,” Cas warns, and Dean goes still, trying to control his breathing and trying to clamp down. It’s hard, he can’t do it right away, a little bit more dribbles out and a small, quarter sized spot appears on his jeans before he manages to get it under control. He’s almost nauseous with the effort. “Good, that’s a good boy.”
“Cas, please let me go, please, it hurts.”
“I know, baby. I know it hurts. You can take it though, can’t you? Look, look what you’re doing to me.” Cas takes Deans hand and bring it down between his legs. He’s hard, and it’s such a fucking relief that he’s into this, that he likes it, too. “You’ve got me worked up. Love you like this.”
Cas loves him like this. Loves him begging, loves him desperate and in pain, loves him humiliated and broken.
“So pretty,” Cas says. “So squirmy. You want it bad, huh?”
“I want it bad,” Dean says.
“What do you want?”
“I wann— I wanna piss.”
“Hmm,” Cas says, and he moves to stand behind Dean. His legs are still spread wide but now Cas’ hand is coming down to play with his belly, fingers pressing in gently. “You wanna go potty?”
It’s such an embarrassing word. Dean’s knees go weak and he leaks again, moaning without really meaning to. He can’t— he can’t do it. It’s too much.
“Cas, I can’t, I’m serious, I’m not gonna make it, I’m not—“
Cas sits on the edge of the bed and he tugs Dean, pulling him into his lap, back to belly. He spreads Dean’s legs wider.
“You’re not gonna make a mess on me, are you Dean? You’re gonna soak my good pants. Gonna mess up the bed we need to sleep in.”
Dean is forty-two years old. He’s strong enough to beat up monsters. He’s killed— more times than he wants to think about. But now, here, he’s spread out and whimpering and circling the inevitability that he’s definitely going to wet himself.
“I’m sorry— Cas I’m sorry— I can’t hold it. It’s gonna— it’s coming out—"
He’s leaking now, but all of his muscles are so tight and his dick is aching and it’s slow and painful as he drips into his boxers.
Cas’s hands rove over him and find the swollen mass of his bladder. He kisses his neck, breathes heavy in his ear and starts to gently massage him, pressing the piss out.
“Fuckkkk,” Dean groans, every muscle in his body shaking. “I’m sorry,” he whimpers. “I’m so sorry Cas. I’m pissing, I’m pissing my pants.”
“Oh,” Cas says, and he sounds so genuinely surprised. “Oh god, Dean, it’s getting everywhere.” There’s just a hint of disgust in his voice and it thrills Dean, makes him lightheaded and breathless.
He’s wetting for real now, it’s coming out with a loud hiss. His pants are soaked and he’s sure that Cas is soaked too. There’s a little puddle under them both, he can hear the way it splashes as he moves. He can smell it.
“Oh Dean,” Cas says, and he sounds disappointed, he sounds let down. “I really thought you could do it, such a big, strong guy like you? I didn’t realize you were really gonna make such a mess. And right on my lap?”
His voice is let down but his hands are eager, and one pops the button on Dean’s jeans and reaches down to palm him through his sopping boxer briefs. It’s still coming out, and Cas presses his thumb to the slit of Dean’s dick, through the fabric, and moans.
Dean throws his head back and Cas meets his mouth. When he speaks again, he seems unsure.
“Dean? Can I fuck you like this? Please?”
“Fuck yes,” Dean groans. He’s finally finished pissing. Cas stands, just long enough to get Dean bent over, pressed into the wet bed. He tugs his pants down. Everything is slippery and soaked but Cas fishes a small bottle of lube out of his pocket to add something with less friction to the mix, and then he’s nudging against Dean’s hole.
It’s a strange feeling, because the relief is so fresh but Dean knows from experience that he will still be needy and on edge and running to the bathroom all night. Everything inside of him still feels a little swollen and when Cas slides all the way in it’s tender and sharp and just the right side of painful.
Cas takes his time with him, slowly stroking Dean up to full hardness yet again, and it doesn’t take much. He’s been so turned on for hours.
Cas fucks him slow, and the thing is Dean’s muscles and his bladder are just so weak, and when Cas starts pressing right against his prostate he starts leaking precum and piss, too loose to really hold anything back.
Every thrust seems to push a little more of the mixture out of him and he’s fucking blissed out. The bed under him is wet, his clothes are wet, and it’s gross and he loves it, wants Cas to think it’s gross and love it too.
Dean comes first, no surprise with what he’s put his body through in the last five hours or so, but Cas doesn’t slow down once he’s spent, he keeps thrusting up into Dean, keeps palming his soft cock and soon it’s just piss leaking. He’s overstimulated and overwhelmed and his vision has blurred with tears.
Cas takes his time, but he comes in Dean soon enough and before they can collapse fully into the mess Dean feels the warm sweep of angel grace and everything is soft and dry and clean underneath him.
Cas is gathering him up and Dean couldn’t stop crying if he tried. He’s wrung out and over sensitive, a live wire still sparking. Cas pets him, kisses every bit of skin he can reach and when Dean finally comes back into his body he can make out the words, gentle, praising, adoring.
He can’t speak, can’t even really think, but he lets Cas take care of him and get into soft pajamas and tucked into bed where he can be held.
He’s raw inside and out but being seen and known even at his most base and disgusting and still loved the way Cas loves him has him feeling light and giddy underneath it all.
When he finally finds his voice he rasps out a, “Thanks, Cas,” and he feels the arms behind him tighten, and then they fall asleep like that, wrapped up together.