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“Destiel: Water sports, squirming and desperate -either Dean or Cas, drinking would please me greatly.”
He’d taken the fucking handle. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. Dean fumed silently to himself as he slipped into the bathroom, finally giving in. Castiel had been gone for hours now, and though Dean usually didn’t mind at all, but right now, he was fit to bursting.
The constant pressure had been building in his bladder since before it had all started. From the moment Castiel had gotten that damn call telling him he was needed elsewhere, and in the rush had requested Dean fetch him a drink, a pint of water to be exact. Dean had willingly complied. When he returned Castiel was almost fully dressed, fastening his tie hastily as he looked at Dean who was now holding out the glass.
Castiel smiled, it was small, barely there, but Dean was a trained eye and he saw it a mile off. His stomach clenched, as Castiel reached out, taking a small sip from the glass before handing it back to Dean knowingly. “It’s warm Dean, finish it.” The command was laced with warmth, a humour that Castiel saved for when he couldn’t quite bring himself to punish Dean’s actions, but instead found inspiration in his faults. “Fetch me another when you are done.” He kept a close watch on Dean, noting the liquid tipping down Dean’s throat, the bob of his Adams apple as he swallowed down every last drop of the tepid drink with a smile. Dean paced himself, knew there was some kind of trap just around the corner for him, and so he took steady mouthfuls before Castiel quietly reprimanded him, “I am in a rush Dean, hurry.” He complied.
The second glass he brought was cold. Dean made sure of it, he had run the tap, tested it at numerous points before he was satisfied and the glass was once again full. He took it back to Castiel once again, who was tying his shoes, perched carefully on the end of the bed. When Dean entered he stopped and looked up, extending his hands for the glass once more. Upon receiving it, he placed it back to his lips once more and taking yet another tiny sip, frowned. “Far too cold Dean, it will hurt my mouth.” He held the glass back to him, a small smirk playing on his lips as he did. “Finish it, and try again. Third time is the charm.”
Dean took the glass once again, an eyebrow raised and clearly unimpressed with Castiel’s antics, put the glass back to his lips. Defiantly he drank it down, the icy water stinging his teeth, laying heavy in his stomach. It was quick this time, no hesitation as he pivoted, and with purpose stormed out of their bedroom. It was an absolute joke, sure, he didn’t mind when Castiel took control, he liked being railed, didn’t mind the hoops he had to jump through to get it either, he’d suck a dick to get what he wanted, no questions asked. But being treated like a lacky was too far. He wasn’t Cas’ servant, and he damn well wasn’t his fucking slave. He turned the tap on this time, running it for a fraction of the earlier time and then heading back into their deserted bedroom.
There was a rush of water, and Castiel walked into the kitchen, clattering around for a few moments before Dean heard him walk back, a soft click of the bathroom door sliding closed. He took a mouthful of Castiel’s water, swilled it round before casually spitting it back into his cup. Served him right, the asshat. When Castiel finally returned, suited up with his briefcase in hand, he took the glass of water off Dean, and once more took a sip before turning his nose up at the glass and handing it back once more to an aghast Dean. “I am refreshed, finish it Dean. Also in future, please do not spit in my drink, it is impolite.” He smiled a little and raised his eyebrows as Dean opened his mouth to protest, before quickly bringing the glass to his lips and complying.
“Stay hydrated Dean, I expect a video every half hour of you drinking a glass. Do not enter the bathroom until I am back, and do not, under any circumstances relieve yourself. Are we clear? Dean?” He asked, somewhat sharply as Dean didn’t respond, gulping down the spittle and water at Castiel’s request. He pulled the almost empty glass away from his mouth and gulped for air. He needed to burp, and Castiel took a step forward, resting his hand low on Dean’s stomach, dropping his briefcase before his other hand back up to stroke through the front of the short, mousy hair he was so familiar with. Tightening his grip, Castiel began to apply a steady, heavy pressure to Dean’s gut. “If you disobey me, I will know Dean. Please behave whilst I am gone, I will return as quickly as I can. Am I clear?” He asked, the hand pressing on Dean’s stomach pressed down sharply, a blunt pressure to where he knew Dean would feel it, before chasing his open mouth for a brief kiss.
Dean’s cheeks were burning, as the press of Castiel’s hand coaxed his instincts into play. The pressure on his bladder was okay until the sharp push, but now it was at the forefront of his mind. Castiel’s kiss fell on immobile lips, and Dean stared as he straightened himself out, gathered his things and left. Once the front door clicked, Dean came back to himself. It was fury first, burning hot in his cheeks and he gripped the glass in his hand so tight he was sure it would shatter. It was not empty, and fuck Cas. Fuck Cas and his stupid fucking head games, and fuck his fucking water. Fuck his stupid requests ‘Don’t relieve yourself’. And most importantly fuck him. Who did he think he was, pushing Dean around like that?
Dean found himself at the sink. He was staring into the expensive chrome bowl of Castiel’s choosing, the glass in his hand still, angled and ready to pour. And then came the shame. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t tip it up and pour the mixture down the drain. Cas had told him to finish it, and some twisted part of Dean knew that he would. He’d kick up a fuss, kick and bitch and moan, but at the end of it, he knew it’d be worth it. Cas’d make him do something menial, and every single time, Dean got a huge pay out. So why should this time be any different? He took a long time to decide, a mental tousle between his pride and his dick. Last time Castiel had pulled a stunt like this, Dean had complied had earned him a pretty cool lap dance, so surely it couldn’t hurt to see what he’d get this time, right?
The promise of reward finally won out, and Dean, somewhat reluctantly, picked up the glass and downed the last of the drink.
Three hours and forty three minutes later, he caved. Not that Dean was keeping count, but the last cup of water had been a struggle. Castiel had allowed him to add in some fruit juice to sweeten the taste, but Dean had nearly called it. No reward was worth this. He was bloated for one, full to the brim of Castiel’s childish demands and his stomach churned. He swore he could hear the slosh of water in his stomach as he moved back to the sofa to sit. He was braced, elbows on knees and his hands clasped around the back of his head whilst he tried to fight it. He bit back the nausea, but the ache in his abdomen was almost unbearable and hunching his body to take the edge of his sickness wasn’t helping. He was on the edge of desperation. He needed to piss, needed to let it go. It’d take away the pain, the dull, desperate ache that pooled low in his pelvis, if he could get rid of some of the water, even a little bit then he’d stop feeling like he was going to puke too. Probably.
Dean’s phone buzzed, a reminder from Castiel that he needed to drink another glass and prove it. It’d be his eleventh since his whole farce began, and Dean couldn’t even remember why he was entertaining Castiel anymore. He stood up suddenly, ignoring the twisting pain in his stomach as he did so and waddled as quickly as he could to the bathroom. And that is when he noticed it, button popped, fly undone and a hand reaching to hold his dick, the other lifting up the lid and he noticed the fucking handle was missing.
Dean cursed. He cursed so loud the neighbours heard it. He cursed so loud, and so fucking hard he was certain that Castiel heard it. He wanted him to hear it. That motherfucker. The hand that had gone for his dick was now squeezing down tight on the sensitive flesh, he wasn’t going to spill a single fucking drop and that was that. If Castiel wanted to play it like that, Dean would just play better, and Dean would play for keeps. It took him a long moment, dick clenched in his hand and cheeks burning with fury for him to compose himself. His forehead was pressed to the cool porcelain rim of the bathroom sink, and taking deep breaths, Dean finally reigned himself in. Everything hurt. His stomach ached worse than the time he had stomach flu, and his head was fuzzier than that one time Sammy had tried to explain his current case to him. He’d never asked him about work again after that. He didn’t like being made an ass of; yet here he was, well and truly an ass of Castiel’s making.
Straightening himself up, Dean willed his hand away. His bladder safely under control, for the time being, Dean resigned himself and shut up his pants, before moving back into the kitchen slowly. There was a dawning sense of dread when Dean realised that he was now passed the four hour mark, and he now owed Castiel two full glasses. His stomach flipped as he checked his phone, feeling a wave of nausea all over again when he realised he’d failed, he hadn’t sent Cas the damn video and now he wouldn’t even get his happy ending at the end of it all. He cursed once again, slamming a fist onto the countertop and begrudgingly turning on the tap.
He found another glass, and filled both of them to the brim, setting his phone down and beginning the recording. He picked up the glass, a cock sure grin on his face as he silently toasted the camera and then he began to drink. The first few mouthfuls were easy, he had moved a little, limbered up and it went down just right. He kept thinking of hot summer’s days, where he was parched, baked in the sun and soothing a dry throat from the heat. It worked for a few moments before his body began to protest. He squirmed, jamming his thighs as close together as his damned bowlegs would let him and trying not to pussy out on camera. Not in front of Cas.
He’d screwed his eyes shut, brows drawn tight as he tried to fight against the dull twist of pain now cramping in his gut. He finished the first glass, gasping for air and taking a break, resting his head on the cool granite counter for a few moments, one hand clutching his gut in an attempt to ease the pain, to stop him squirming and to afford any sort of relief. But he knew how to make it stop, knew how to let go, let the pain wash out of him in a warm liquid stream. It’d be worth it, he’d take pissing in his jeans right now, hell he’d take everything around and including the kitchen sink if it would stop this. He was a proud man, but even he wasn’t above that in that instance.
And then he heard it, the ominous clunk as the door opened, the soft clinking of Castiel’s keys as they were stowed away, and Dean knew he’d failed. Shame burned hot in his cheeks and hotter in his gut, Castiel would be pissed. He wouldn’t get the earth shattering sex he’d been doing this for, and ultimately he’d just spent the entire afternoon making a massive prick of himself for no apparent reason. And to top it off he was about to piss his jeans in the middle of his fucking kitchen. Perfect.
Castiel’s shoes clipped across the tiles, and Dean felt a soothing hand on the back of his neck, rubbing it firmly in a way that would have made Dean’s knees weak had they not already been trembling with his urgency. “Dean,” Castiel began, voice low and raw and closer to Dean’s ear than he’d expected. That got his attention and he turned his hair, glaring defiantly at the brunet as he spoke hurriedly, “You asshat. I need to pee so badly Cas, don’t be an asshole. Give me the fucking handle so I can flush it and just let me go buddy.” The massaging had stopped, and the hand on the back of his neck began to weigh down heavily, holding Dean’s head to the counter.
“There is a glass of water here that you did not drink. There is also the small issue of the video that you failed to send me Dean. No, I will not give you the toilet handle.” He began, his tone even and calm as he spoke to Dean, hand still firmly on his neck as he picked up the still full glass and put it to his own lips, taking a long drink. Dean was still looking, and Castiel knew that. He could feel him squirming, pushing at the counter and trying to turn his head away, not wanting to watch Castiel drink down what he could not. Not wanting to be taunted by his failure, and more importantly, not wanting to watch water for the ever increasing pressure in his gut that he was certain was now reaching impossible proportions. “You do not need to flush it to use it Dean. Why didn’t you use it?” He questioned, taking a break from his drink to look at Dean’s face and tilting his head a little to see him better.
Dean choked. Why? Why hadn’t he just used the damn thing and got the handle when Castiel came back, why hadn’t he simply not followed through with Castiel’s request. His cheeks burned hotter, and Dean kept his legs together, tight, closing his eyes and taking deep steady breaths, “Look, Cas,” He began a little forcefully. The emphasis was there, but Castiel heard the small tremble, knew why Dean hadn’t done it, and if he couldn’t say it, that was okay. But Castiel was going to drag this out. “I really gotta pee, and if I do it here? You’re the one who’s going to be cleaning it up, you got that buddy?” The snark was there, but they both knew it was all talk, Dean’s hands gripped the edge of the kitchen counter hard enough to white his knuckles and Castiel finally released him.
“I want you to go into the bathroom and take off your clothes. Kneel in the bath please Dean.” He stooped down, bending to press a kiss to Dean’s temple before releasing him. “You’ve done well, I will be with you in a moment. You’ll be comfortable soon, I promise Dean, just hold it a little longer, please?” He stared at Dean as the man stood. Tall and broad and clutching at his stomach, glaring at Castiel and muttering under his breath about how big an asshole Castiel was, as well as a long list of the things Dean was expecting in return.
Stripping himself down was a task and a half. Stretching up to remove his tshirt pulled his swollen stomach tight and lit a fire at the base of his spine. It hurt to move, he couldn’t stop burping and the nausea was almost as unbearable as the suspense. Whatever fucked up thing Castiel had planned, Dean was 99% certain that he wasn’t going to like it one bit. Stepping out of his jeans was easier than removing his shirt, and his boxer briefs were easier again. His socks however were a challenge.
First he tried bending to them, only to realise his stomach wasn’t going to agree to hold all his water if he did that. Secondly he propped a foot on the edge of the bath and bent over, an acute pain racing through his abdomen as he contorted himself into a shape his overstuffed bladder was incredibly unhappy about. He got one sock off after only a brief struggle and resigned himself to pinning removing the other one with his already liberated foot to save himself some discomfort. He heard Castiel enter, but refused to turn and look at him, instead leaving his clothes strewn over the bathroom, he climbed into the bath and knelt. His back ached, his head was sore from the concentrating he was having to do to keep his body fighting his natural urge and before he could help it, his hand was back, gripping the base of his cock as tightly as he could, refusing to allow even a drop be spilt. He could do this. He could prove to Cas that he could do this, prove to him he was good enough for this, for him.
However that desire left him rapidly at the actual sight of Castiel, who was leisurely taking off his suit, one piece at a time and was slowly folding it up, stacking it on top of the closed toilet bowl. Dean could feel his patience dwindling as Castiel removed his belt, placed it on top of his shirt and slowly dropped his pants. They were also folded with military precision, and Castiel continued until everything was off. Nude, he padded over to the bath, looking at Dean and smiling softly before stepping up and into the tub.
There was a long, heavy silence as Dean looked up at Castiel, and everything began slotting into place. He knew what was coming, finally catching up to the fact that this had been Castiel’s plan all along and Dean exhaled. “I do not expect you to drink it all Dean, just as much as you can. The less you spill, the better your reward will be.” Castiel began, reaching down to stroke his fingers through Dean’s hair, soothing him as best he could whilst bracing for the uproar. He expected resistance, expected complaint and outrage, but all he got was a simple, short nod from Dean. “Do not let yourself go Dean, not yet baby, don’t spoil it, okay?” Castiel continued, removing one of his hands from Dean’s hair to take his soft cock in hand, giving it a quick stroke out of habit. The hand on Dean’s head moved tentatively to cup the base of his skull and pull him forwards ever so gently.
It was a slow process, Castiel unsure of Dean, and Dean unsure of Castiel, and more importantly of himself. He wanted this. More than he knew he did, more than Cas did and Dean felt his gut twist with shame once again. But he opened his mouth willingly, allowing his eyes to drop closed and the warm weight of Castiel’s cock to fill up his mouth. The familiar flesh was still flaccid, despite Dean’s lips, and Castiel’s hands remained as they were, one to brace his cock, and the other to hold Dean still.
“I’m going to start now Dean and I want you to try to drink it all down for me.” The request was simple, pitched low and rough, demanding, but Dean knew that at the heart of it, it was a request. “If you can’t drink it? Let it run out of your mouth, and if you can’t do that baby? Just pull back, and it’s all okay. You’re doing so well Dean, being so good …” Castiel trailed off, closing his eyes and knowing that Dean had been warned. Warm, trembling hands braced against his thighs, and Castiel took a deep breath, letting the sweet, slow comfort begin to spread through him. It was hard to relax at first, the gentle, burning pressure beginning and stopping until the first few drops began to flow, and then it was easy.
Dean winced, and Castiel immediately soothed him, a soft cooing nothing, of how good he was, how pretty he looked on his knees and how fucking perfect he was doing this for Cas. And Dean drank it in, drank in the praise, drank down Castiel. The gravel comfort of his voice making it all easier to soothe his gag reflex that was fighting him at every mouthful, refusing to swallow the subtle, tangy liquid at first, but Dean wanted to take it in like air. He needed this, needed Castiel to fill him, to prove that he could do this, so he forced it. Choking down Castiel, tears stinging the corners of his eyes, Dean drank. The almost taste was easy, salty but strangely dry on his palate as he sucked it down into his heaving stomach, full to the brim.
Castiel was pushing it now, still cradling the back of Dean’s head gently as he felt the body warm backwash begin to slide over his cock, he looked down and saw it. Piercing blue eyes spied the pale gold and almost scentless liquid, dripping down Dean’s chin, spilling from the slight part of his lips as he looked up at Cas, hopeful and eager for praise. It continued to dribble down his chin, down his neck in rivulets. Dean let it spill; he’d drunk all that he could, until only the last meagre mouthful of Castiel was held, easily, in Dean’s mouth. Pulling back, Dean closed his lips tight and swallowed pointedly, tipping his head back and opening up once more in a display of pride. He preened, smirking up at Castiel, hands dropping from the meat of the thighs he’d gripped so tightly. He’d done it, he’d taken what Castiel had given him. Praise was secondary to knowing that his turn for relief would come.
The ache in his belly had reached breaking point, and now that the intensity of the moment had passed, Dean was brought hurtling back to reality. The nausea was worse, Castiel’s taste on his tongue was strangely pleasant, but the swirling in his gut was making his head spin, the bloatedness making him sore and Dean was at his breaking point. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes once again and relaxed. He was giving up, he didn’t want to hold it any more, he couldn’t, and when Castiel stepped out of the tub, Dean let the pressure built. It was painful, building to an almost unbearable level, but he couldn’t bring himself to just let it go, not like this when he’d held off for so long. Both hands clutched his cock desperately trying to hold it in, whilst every other fibre of his being was crying for him to let it out. He looked to Castiel, face damp and body sore and paused.
“Lay on your back Dean.”
The sentence halted him and Dean didn’t know what else he could do other than comply. He needed to go, it was on the edge of unbearable and Dean, physically, let go of his dick to rest his hands on the edge of the tub, shifting cautiously from his knees to sit on his ass and shuffle up the tub a little. He was going to do it, he had to. Knew it was coming were there Cas said he could or not, but reluctantly he lay back, wondering why the fuck he was doing this now when Castiel was still heavy on his tongue and in his stomach. If he was going to piss on him, surely 2 minutes ago would have been the prefect time, and Dean wasn’t going to wait the next hour until Castiel had to go again, probably laying in his own mess at that point.
He was trying to relax, looking up at Castiel whose expression was pensive, frowning down at him. He bent over, taking an ankle of Dean’s in each hand, picking them up and spreading his legs to hook each one over the sides of the bath. “How limber are you feeling Dean?” He questioned with a small smile, eyes looking pointedly at Dean’s crotch and then back to his face, and Dean felt himself flush once more. It burnt in his cheeks, his ears felt like they’d been kissed by fire and shame squirmed in his belly but Castiel’s stare was hypnotic. The bright blue was fixed on his face, watching for uncertainty, reluctance and outright disgust. He wanted to push Dean, to force him and honestly, despite the initial revulsion Dean felt at the question, he enjoyed indulging Cas. “What do you take me for Cas? I ain’t going to break, you can fold me up if you want to…” he responded, the sound of his voice echoing ever so slightly around his ears as he used his legs for leverage and lifted his ass, barely off the bath with a small, almost comical wiggle.
The urge to piss was now stoppered by the flutter of apprehension, and Dean watched Cas closely. He was nervous now, stage fright beginning to creep in at the edges as he looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. Castiel moved to the end of the bath, looking down over Dean, and motioning for him to lift his legs a little. “I don’t mind how you do it, but I want it on your face Dean, I want to see it on your lips, clinging to your eyelashes, I don’t care. Whatever way is easiest for you but I want to watch.” Castiel instructed, as Dean looked on. He concentrated on Castiel’s face, doing his best to ignore the obvious stirrings of an erection on Cas’ part.
He’d be eating out of Dean’s hand after this. Dean knew it, was betting on it. If he was going to piss on his own face to get Castiel off, that was fine, but he was being handfed pie for a month, blow jobs on demand and a damn shower straight after. The reward would be worth it, because no matter what Castiel’s demand, the reward was always, always worth it. So Dean shifted, and after a long moment stated, “Just grab my legs and hitch ‘em would you Cas? You’d better make this worth my fucking while.” So, with a small rocking motion, Dean pushed his ass further into the air, and Castiel lurched forwards to catch his ankles once more. He pulled them towards himself, folding Dean up as the man in question struggled to brace himself on the sides of the tub.
“How’s that looking for you Cas?” Dean grumbled, his own view now considerably less pretty than Castiel’s face, he was crunched up, the bloat in his stomach approaching agony as he bent and twisted uncomfortably for Castiel’s pleasure. “Perfect, now all I want is for you to relax Dean.” His voice was thick with lust, Dean could hear it loud and clear as he closed his eyes and tried not to concentrate on the fact Cas was staring like that. He’d wanted this for hours, had needed it, and now he finally could have it? Dean couldn’t. An uncomfortable silence settled over them, Dean’s breathing laboured due to the constriction of his body, and Castiel’s heavy and lustful in response.
It stretched, and Dean had no idea how long he was held like that, Castiel’s arms unwavering above him, holding him in place. But eventually he knew it was starting. The relief was almost instant, palpable in every muscle of his being as the pressure was relieved and the first few warm droplets landed on his chest. It was a dribble to start with, the scent of his own urine heavier than Castiel’s, more acidic and harsh as it pooled in the hollow of his throat as it dripped down his chest. It was warm, a perfect temperature against Dean’s skin, and he would have been happy to let it continue down his torso if Castiel hadn’t pulled his legs back further.
The burn in his gut was now replaced by one in his back, and he started as the hot stream hit his face. He took a deep breath, screwed his eyes shut and braced himself as it continued to come. It covered his nose, splattering over the already heated blush that laid there, drops clinging to his eyelashes, dripping over the sharp curve of his cheekbone and leaving a tear stain line in their wake. The pleasure he received, however, was sweet. The instantaneous release of pressure on his bladder was euphoric, worth the dampness on his face as relaxation spread through his body. His stomach unclenched, the nausea easing up even as Castiel’s taste was over powered on his tongue, replaced by his own as he opened his mouth and gasped for breath.
There was a loud groan from Castiel as he looked down at Dean, glorious and piss streaked, laying in a pool of pale yellow as it slowly drained. He’d been planning for days, drinking himself to the brink of bursting to ensure Dean would take it, reducing the concentration of his flavour in the hopes that Dean might acquire a taste for it. Hopefully it had worked because he looked so pretty on his back, lips parted, hair dampened and eyes screwed shut. It was an orgasmic relief, that Castiel knew, and Dean’s face painted the picture clear as day. It was the relief it brought, not only to the body but also to Dean’s mind, he was no longer strung tight, desperately trying to hold in what was natural to let out.
Eventually, Castiel let go of Dean’s legs and he unfurled quickly with a graceful thud as his ass hit the hard, dry bath. Green eyes opened as there was a sound of Castiel moving once again, a small amount of clunking and then the sound of water running. Dean knew that meant a shower, a clean shower, with Castiel and that was a damn good start to make up for this whole sorry mess. Running a hand over his face, Dean stretched out, laying still for a long moment before sitting up as he heard Castiel’s footsteps once again, coming to a stop at the edge of the tub.
What had been the beginning hint of an erection when Dean had been folded in half was now prominent between Castiel’s legs, and Dean couldn’t help but look. There was, once again a long, pointed silence, and Castiel stroked a hand through Dean’s piss wet hair, relishing the quickly cooling liquid and raising his now damp fingers to his mouth. A hot pink tongue slipped to the join of his index finger and the middle one, lapping up the moisture with a soft grunt, eyes trained on Dean. The hand not in Castiel’s mouth strayed, gripping the base of his cock and jacking it leisurely in front of Dean’s face. Dean’s body, however, failed to respond, a dull ache still low in his gut, he was pretty sure he’d need to pee again shortly, he was still bloated, not quite empty and but Castiel was right in front of his face, uncut and gorgeous and Dean couldn’t muster his own cock to stir.
Castiel’s hand was back in his hair, tilting his head back once more as he continued to jack his cock, furiously now and taking a few small steps back he bent down to kiss Dean’s mouth. It was filthy, a foreign taste on Castiel’s tongue as it slid against Dean’s, hot and perfect as Dean relented and let Castiel plunder his mouth without complaint. The shower’s pounding pressure was ringing around the bathroom, undercut by the wet slapping sounds from Castiel’s cock, wrist snapping hard and fast, as he savoured the shared flavour on their tongues. It was mostly Dean, but Castiel knew, or at least thought, that he could taste himself on Dean’s tongue, subtle but distinct and he moaned once more against Dean’s lips before pulling away.
Straightening up, Castiel shifted and stepped closer to the bath, his thighs pressing hard against the edge of the tub as he cupped the back of Dean’s head once more and pulled him in close, “Last time Dean, I promise the last time today, but swallow it for me? Open up that pretty mouth Dean, let me come on your tongue?” And Dean complied, opening himself up for Cas once more, taking him into his mouth and drinking him down. The patter of water covered the laboured sounds of Castiel’s breathing as he milked his cock into Dean’s mouth, grateful to watch Dean’s cheeks hollow as he sucked on him hard, swallowing Castiel down greedily before pulling away with a soft pop and a shit eating grin.
Looking up, Dean knew that he wanted this; to drink down Castiel, everything he would give him and to relish it every time.