Chapter Text
~
Romeo: Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
Mercutio: If love be rough with you, be rough with love;
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.
-- Romeo & Juliet, Act I scene v
~
To control is to have strength. It requires it, and gives it in return. Dean knows this. It’s why he’s played the game of Master and Slave, Dominant and Submissive, Sadist and Masochist, over and over, since the day he learned it.
But to own is different. Ownership comes with strings. Responsibility. A heightened care and devotion to that which is owned. The inherent consequence of continued obedience and submission, and the complete trust and adoration it implies. To own is so much more.
Dean didn't know this until now. Because until now, he’s never played Master to any one person for so long. Has never dared or even wanted to play that role for longer than a night, until now. And now it is no longer a game. It is... everything.
He is already consumed by it as soon as Castiel steps through his door. Dean can tell that the other man is upset, run-down and tired, and that he doesn’t want to talk about it. He just wants to forget for a while. Dean can do that for him. Hell, Dean can make Castiel forget his own name when he wants to.
And he kind of wants to. Kind of wants Cas to forget about everyone and everything until all he knows is Dean. Only Dean.
Maybe he will. If that’s what Cas needs.
As he begins to peel away the layers of Castiel’s clothes, he can already sense the weariness leaching out of the other man’s bones, and he can barely contain himself. His hands ache with the need to touch Castiel’s skin - to mark him, and claim him, to tease and stroke and spank him until Castiel is nothing but a mindless, whimpering, beautiful mess.
This transformation takes patience, though. This process of unmaking Castiel the man, and remaking his angel, his perfect pet, takes time, and work. But it’s a process they’re familiar with now. Honed to perfection, they’ve done it so many times. And to Dean’s surprise, the expectation in each step has become far from routine, but a rhythm, a seamless build of anticipation that only gets better with repetition. By the time the last layer of Castiel’s clothes come off, they’re both already dripping hard.
“Give me a kiss ‘Hello,’” Dean says, pitching his voice lower. It’s not a request, and he can tell Castiel understands this from the way his blue eyes flare with arousal before he complies. What Castiel doesn’t know is that the command is as much for Dean as it is to signal the beginning of the game, needing the small intimacy before he has to take control again.
Dean hums into the kiss, savoring the closeness, reaching up to stroke Castiel’s face and holding him there for a little bit longer than he should. He can’t help himself. When he finally tries to pull away Cas doesn’t let him go either, closing his teeth around Dean’s tongue behind the stud piercing there, and trapping it in his mouth. With a groan Dean dives back into the kiss, deep and dirty, sucking and biting on Cas’ lush lips with an almost savage fervor until he tastes Castiel’s blood in his mouth.
When he’s finally forced to break away for air, Dean rips his lips away with a snarl, grabbing onto Castiel’s arm and yanking him towards the living room. “On your knees,” he orders, and Cas immediately sinks to the ground, knees spread apart and hands behind his head, displaying himself the way Dean has taught him to.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Dean begins circling Castiel’s kneeling form, considering a plan of action, and Castiel knows to keep his eyes lowered as Dean does so. ‘Good’ Dean wants to murmur in approval. ‘Beautiful’ Dean wants to tell him. But it’s not time for these things yet.
Instead, Dean opens a drawer under the coffee table, pulling a coil of hemp rope from its depths. As the familiar scent of it hits the air, Dean can see the tremor of excitement that runs through Castiel’s body in response, the shiver that ripples across the tattooed wings on his back. As Dean kneels down beside him, he can’t help but smooth a hand down Cas’ spine, as if soothing a skittish bird. Castiel keens and arches against the touch, almost like he wants to lift off, and that just makes Dean want to tie him down even more, to see the way those ropes look around those pretty, pretty wings.
Dean reaches up to draw Castiel’s arms down behind his back. “Keep them there,” he orders, even though he knows Castiel wouldn’t have moved them anyway. But it’s part of the process, establishing obedience to commands. And with every ritual knot and coil around Cas’ body a spell is cast, until Castiel is completely ready to serve.
By the time Dean sits back on the couch Cas is panting with anticipation. Dean’s lips curve up into smirk, pleased. Slouching down, he widens the part of his legs, and beckons, “Come over here.”
Immediately Castiel begins to knee his way over, situating himself at the foot of the couch between Dean’s legs. “Now undress me. Quick,” Dean says, even though he knows it will be slow while Castiel only has the use of his mouth. It’s all part of the game, creating a sense of urgency, even though Dean’s going to enjoy the slow tease.
Castiel has gotten good at it, though. He knows now to start from the top and work his way down, beginning with the button at Dean’s collar, using his teeth and tongue to pry the plastic from the material. He also knows just how to push Dean’s other buttons as well, using his nose to nuzzle at Dean’s chest, hot breath brushing over the cool parts of skin he ‘accidentally’ licks. Dean hums in approval, threading his fingers through Castiel’s hair and slowly stroking through it as Cas works. And once Dean’s shirt is undone Castiel doesn’t stop there, working the button of Dean’s jeans loose, then taking the zipper in his teeth and pulling it down.
Dean’s erection practically bobs free then, tenting the material of his boxer-briefs, and Castiel presses his cheek to it, rubbing against it in supplication. “Please,” Castiel moans, begging for it with one of the few words he is allowed to speak. The others being ‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ or Dean’s name, which he uses frequently, whether he’s begging, screaming, or both. Dean never tires of the way his name sounds on Castiel’s lips, no matter which of the many ways the man says it.
Dean raises his hips, pushing his jeans down his legs. As he pushes down his boxer-briefs next, Castiel bites onto the waistband, using his teeth to help tug them off as well. Then Dean’s cock is finally free, and with one word from him, Castiel is allowed to put his lips all over it:
“Suck.”
What a mouth Castiel has. And there are things he does with his tongue that Dean hadn’t even known were possible. Maybe Dean says these things, babbling incoherent encouragement as he tries not to thrust too hard into that amazing, wet suction. He doesn’t really care at this point. Doesn’t really have to. Castiel’s learned to take care of him so good he can afford to let go a little bit. And he can trust that by now, Castiel’s also learned how to tell when he’s about to come, and will pull away, waiting to be told what to do with it.
Today Dean wants to see it.
“Open,” he gasps out, and Castiel opens his mouth wide, waiting for Dean to jack himself into it as he rubs his tip against the end of Cas’ outstretched tongue.
He comes pretty hard. And there’s a lot of it, dribbling across Castiel’s cheek where Dean misses and spilling down Cas’ chin where it overflows. Dean wipes at it with his thumb as he catches his breath, smearing it across Castiel’s swollen lips and watching him lick it off, until finally Dean pushes his thumb inside to be sucked clean as well. He does it again, and again, until every drop is gone from Castiel’s face, and afterwards Cas smiles up at him from where he’s resting his head on Dean’s thigh, adoring and content. Not for the first time Dean wonders how the hell he got so lucky.
But Dean knows that by now Cas must be in a great deal of discomfort, still hard and almost desperate for relief, though he knows better than to seek friction where he can. So this time Dean does praise him, because he’s worked for it, and earned it.
“Good,” he murmurs, stroking through Castiel’s hair again. “Perfect,” he reaffirms, and Castiel smiles even brighter, glowing from the praise.
Dean smiles back at him as he reaches into the coffee table drawer again, pulling out his next toy. Cas’ pupils flare when he sees it, and he practically pants in excitement as Dean displays it for him. “Bend over, angel-face,” Dean murmurs softly, and Castiel immediately knees backwards, giving himself enough space to turn to the side. Locking his eyes on Dean, he slowly leans over, all the way down, until the side of his face meets the floor. It should be a difficult maneuver, arms bound behind his back the way they are, but the kind of control Castiel has over his body turns the motion into a slow, erotic display.
Dean hums appreciatively as he slides off the couch, sinking to his knees behind the other man. He flicks the vibrator on for a second, testing the batteries, and Castiel moans at the sound of it, thrusting his hips out in silent entreaty.
Dean smacks his palm down against Castiel’s ass. “Be still,” he orders, and Castiel lets out a pitiful mewl, but quickly stills his hips.
“Dean...” he whimpers.
Dean leans over, pressing a kiss to the already reddening handmark on Castiel’s backside before shushing him softly, lips against the swelling skin. “Hush,” he croons, “I’m gonna give you what you need, Cas, you know I will.”
“Dean…” Castiel moans again, only a single word, and yet somehow managing to convey a million things in the way he says it. Somehow managing to do a million things to Dean when he does.
Dean presses another soft kiss to the curve of Castiel’s rear before pulling away, slicking up his fingers up with lube and reaching down to start stretching Castiel out. And now when Castiel moans his name, its meaning is singular, stripped of everything but the need for more.
Yet the man remains obediently still. And the only sign of how difficult that is, is the clench of his hands, the slight stretch of rope where his arms strain at his bindings, only allowing himself tension where he knows there is resistance.
Finally Dean slides the slick plastic in, carefully pushing back and forth until it’s seated as far as it can go. Castiel’s breathing is harsh as he tries not to squirm around it, tries not to adjust himself so it presses just where he needs it. But when Dean turns it on, the stimulation is enough to draw a sharp cry from Castiel’s lips.
“Yeah, that’s it. Let me hear you,” Dean encourages. Slowly thrusting the plastic in and out, he changes the center of its vibrations with the movement, switching the strength of stimulation from the rim of Castiel’s entrance, to the depths of his inner walls, drawing out more of those throaty gasps and groans he loves to hear. The wrecked sound of Castiel’s voice, when he can’t even form the few words he’s allowed anymore, drives Dean crazy. It isn’t long before he’s hard again.
“Cas,” Dean grits out, turning the vibrator off to command Castiel’s attention. Before the dismayed whimper that issues from Cas’ throat even ends, Dean spanks him on the ass, compelling him to be still, and silent. It takes a few seconds for Castiel to quiet himself, and Dean waits patiently until his moans are nothing more than harsh breaths, gasped into the carpet.
“Do you want to come?”
“Yes! Please...”
“Then I can either turn this on again,” he says, wiggling the vibrator until Cas sobs from the stimulation, “Or you can come with me inside you,” he finishes, smearing the wet tip of his erection across the back of Castiel’s thigh.
Castiel shivers, groaning with need at the touch. “Oh God, Dean, Yes! Please!”
“What was that?” Dean teases. “You want the vibrator?”
“No!”
“You want my cock.”
“Yes!”
And Dean knew that’s what Castiel would say. He shouldn’t even have given Cas the choice to begin with. Cas would’ve gotten what he needed either way. Dean just wanted to hear Castiel choose him.
He yanks the vibrator out, and before Cas even readjusts, Dean is slicked up, pushing the head of his cock past the rim of Castiel’s hole.
Castiel chokes off in surprise, holding his breath as he freezes, waiting to see what Dean will do. Dean grins, holding himself there for a long moment, dragging it out until he’s sure Castiel is about to scream in frustration, and then Dean slams home, angling himself with a precision that finally does make Castiel scream.
And what screams they are. Desperate, needy, agonized things, wrenched from Castiel’s throat as Dean both gives and takes exactly what they both need.
His pace is relentless, hips smacking against the skin of Castiel’s rear as sharply as if he’d been using his hands, creating perfect ripples across that smooth, soft flesh. When Castiel’s skin becomes too sweat-slick to hold on to, Dean grabs onto the bindings around Cas’ torso, using them as reins to pull himself all that deeper, harder.
It doesn’t take long before he knows Cas is ready to go off, having waited that much longer, stimulated and teased to his limits. “Come on, Cas. Let it go,” Dean grits out, still thrusting, and Castiel’s cries choke off with a sob, back arching as he spurts out his release, from the force of Dean’s cock alone.
Cas’ entire body deflates afterwards, but Dean still doesn’t ease up, fucking into his limp form from behind with Cas’ face still pressed into the carpet. Cas just takes it and takes it, mewling Dean’s name until Dean is blowing his load again, marking Cas up inside with a strangled sob of his own.
His entire body shakes after that, the need to collapse into a heap beside Castiel overwhelming. But Cas is also shaking, trembling with the effort to remain upright, and Dean needs to take care of him first. He takes a few deep breaths to gather his strength, presses a kiss to Castiel’s skin where he’s dropped over the other man’s back, then lifts himself up, pulling himself out as carefully as he can.
Castiel still can’t help but shudder at the withdrawal though, can’t help but hiss a little as he begins to leak come, all the way down his leg. And Dean can’t help but reach down, sliding his fingers up through it until he can push it all back inside. Another quick rummage through the drawer, and Dean is plugging Cas up, keeping it all where it belongs, and keeping Cas stretched until they’re ready to go again. Then finally Dean releases Cas’ bindings, and lifts him off the floor, massaging the blood back into Cas’ arms from behind while pressing soft kisses across his shoulders and into his neck.
Castiel is completely pliant in his arms, leaning back against his chest and humming in pleasure at his kisses, neck arching in synchronous movements against his lips. When they’ve both caught their breath and stopped shaking, Dean helps the other man stand up, but doesn’t remove his arms or his lips, directing Castiel’s steps to the bedroom from behind without the need to see or speak. It’s not until they reach Dean’s bed, that they let themselves collapse, tangled together on the sheets.
~
Castiel’s eyelids droop dangerously low as they trade lazy kisses, his face relaxing into a soft, sated smile. Dean can tell the man is about to drift off - but that’s not what Dean wants just yet. So even though their kisses are slow and languid, Dean makes sure to press his lips to all the places Cas likes, keeping him just on the edge of awareness, but not stimulating him too much. Cas deserves a bit of a rest after all.
Besides, Dean has grown to love these long, unhurried recovery sessions – their frames molded against each other, Cas practically melting in his arms, all pliant and trusting, his expression open and content as he gazes at Dean with those big blue eyes of his... No, Dean definitely doesn’t want Castiel to fall asleep just yet. Not by a longshot.
If Dean wasn’t enjoying it so much, he wouldn’t be so patient about it either. But because he is, Dean lets Cas decide when he’s ready again, waiting until the man has recovered enough that his body begins to respond to Dean’s touch again, coming alive under Dean’s light, but persistent ministrations.
When Cas begins to moan through his kisses, trying to rock himself against Dean in need of friction – but at the same time having the presence of mind to try and hold back in case he isn’t allowed – Dean knows it’s time for the next round. Grinning against Castiel’s lips, he uses his weight to roll the other man onto his back, pinning Castiel beneath him as he lifts himself up to a straddling position. Then, wordlessly, he takes Castiel’s wrists and raises them, fastening them in the cuffs that permanently hang from the top bar of his bed.
Cas watches his every movement like a hawk, his blue eyes turning almost black with desire as his breath quickens with anticipation again. Dean can barely look away, so it’s mostly by feel and experience that he manages to open his bedside drawer and pull out the things he wants. Then Dean is reclaiming Castiel’s lips, kissing him deep and long.
Without speaking, he nudges Cas’ face to the side with his nose, nuzzling into the skin of the other man’s neck. Slowly he makes his way downwards, kissing and licking across Castiel’s chest until he finally finds the pebbled peak of a nipple. Then he closes his mouth around it with a hard suck, curling his tongue around it to tease it with his stud, using his teeth to nibble at it. When it’s wet and red and hard, Dean pulls off to pinch it with his fingers, twisting and squeezing it until Castiel’s gasps are equal parts pleasure and pain – and then he clips the nipple clamp on.
Castiel’s gasps are mostly pain then, until Dean’s mouth finds its way to Cas’ other nipple, sucking and licking and teasing it as well. Usually when Dean bites down on it, tugging at Cas’ nipple ring with his tongue-stud at the same time, the treatment is borderline painful. But with the other nipple already clamped, it becomes a pleasure that distracts from the other’s pain.
Castiel’s tolerance has increased during their time together, though. So now, instead of fastening the second clamp to Cas’ ring as he used to, if Dean can position the piercing the right way, he can clamp the nipple itself. And even though it’s much more painful that way, Cas has learned exactly how he can and cannot move to manage the sensation.
Castiel has come a long way during their time together. And Dean has learned much about what the man can take. So even though there’s one last attachment on the chain – the silver cock ring – Dean doesn’t use it this time. He knows by now Cas doesn’t have any trouble staying hard. And if he did have any trouble, Dean would know how to remedy it straight away. So instead he ties the ring to the headbar as a kind of leash, providing tension to the pull of the nipple clamps on the opposite ends.
Once it’s done Dean sits back on his haunches, admiring his handiwork. With a satisfied grin he watches Castiel squirm on the sheets, the cuffs at Cas’ wrists rattling and the thin chains attached to his body shimmering as they stretch against his movements. Dean has his dick in his hand before he even knows it, thrusting into the hot friction of his fist as Castiel watches and whines in frustration.
“Spread,” Dean commands, reaching for the lube with his free hand. Castiel immediately spreads his legs wider, lifting his hips a little to present his entrance, clenched around the plug there. Dean pulls it out, carefully, before he quickly lubes up his fingers, pushing them right into that gaping, hungry hole. And Cas takes them so, so deep, allowing the entry with almost no resistance, even though the rest of his body is taught and tied up with tension. Damn but Cas can take so much now.
Dean decides not to wrap Cas’ balls up with the leather cuff he usually uses as well. He knows Cas has developed a great deal of control over himself, but right now he kind of wants Cas to lose it - to come all over himself no matter how hard he tries not to, because he just can’t fucking help himself. Maybe then Dean will spend some time punishing him for it, reminding him that he’s only allowed to come when Dean says so. That only Dean has control over him.
Dean doesn’t play fair though. He picks out the toy he knows affects Castiel the most, right where Cas is the most sensitive – a long black string of anal beads, small on one end, becoming progressively larger down the other end.
He starts with the thin end, pushing the smallest bead easily into Cas’ fucked-loose hole. Cas’ eyes fly wide when he feels it, instantly knowing what Dean is using on him. And even though the bead is smaller than the girth of one of Dean’s fingers, Cas clenches around it anyway, as Dean’s taught him to, so Dean can pull on the string and tease Cas’ hole with the tension.
He does that with the next few beads as well, tugging on the string lightly after he’s pushed one in, teasing and testing Castiel, painstakingly slow. Then once Cas has a few beads inside him, Dean pulls them all out again, each bead vibrating quick against Castiel’s rim with one yank. And when Cas eventually stops twitching, Dean starts pushing them back in again, repeating the whole process over and over until Castiel is gasping and shaking on the sheets.
Finally Dean gets to a bead large enough to provide a challenge, and Cas groans hard and loud as Dean oh-so-slowly pushes it in. But this time Dean stops with the teasing, pushing in the next larger bead straight away, and the next, until Cas is all filled up, stretched and writhing around them.
Cas is ready to blow, leaking all over his stomach and down his cock, his balls dark and tight between his trembling thighs. And then blow he does, almost as soon as Dean begins to pull the string back out, spurting and screaming as Dean yanks out the smaller end of beads with an almost vicious speed.
Cas is a mindless mess after that - chest heaving with ragged breaths, flushed and come-covered and gorgeous. Dean feels something tighten in his chest as he smears his fingers through the spray on Castiel’s stomach, waiting for Cas to come down. It always amazes him when Cas does that, coming from that kind of stimulation alone, without even having his cock touched. But for some reason, this time he feels inexplicably unsettled by it, almost like he’s been cheated somehow, jealous that Cas came from a toy. And it makes no sense, but it makes him a little… angry.
“Did I say you could come?” Dean scowls, and Cas’ eyes immediately snap to his face, apologetic. “Speak!” Dean barks.
“No, you didn’t. I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel replies hurriedly. This is the part where Dean is supposed to punish Cas some way, deprive him of the time to relish his relaxed post-orgasm state and turn his body into a livewire again, this time with pain instead of pleasure.
But he just can’t do it. He’s jealous, and angry, and he needs.
Before he knows it, he’s lubing himself up with Castiel’s come, and pushing himself into Cas’ slick, stretched-out hole. Cas is so wet inside, and takes him so easily, that Dean starts thrusting almost straight away, hard and deep and aiming right for where Cas should be feeling delicate.
Castiel looks a bit taken by surprise, that Dean wants to keep going, continuing so soon. But he’s not so overwhelmed that he uses his safeword, so Dean doesn’t stop or ease up. In fact, Dean’s never heard Cas say the word ‘Leviathan’ other than the time they’d established their words. And Dean’s never been more grateful for it than he is in that moment. Even though there’s something questioning in the way he’s searching Dean’s face.
Dean begins to thrust deeper, pushing Cas’ legs back even further, wider. “You make me crazy,” he grits out, as if in explanation, punctuating his words with hard thrusts. Castiel gasps, his eyes clenching shut at the overstimulation, but Dean doesn’t ease up. “Look at me,” he growls, grabbing Castiel by the chin. Slowly Cas opens his eyes again, and even though Dean’s thrusts are unrelenting, Cas still looks at him as if his gaze could reach into Dean’s very soul.
Dean grips Castiel’s hips, raising them up even higher off the bed, curling Cas’ body so far around himself he can see where Dean is thrusting into him. Cas is so open like this, so stretched from the beads before, that Dean can pull out all the way and slip right back in with every thrust. “You see that?” Dean says between heaving breaths. “Your ass belongs to me!”
Castiel watches where Dean slides in and out of him, groaning with Dean’s every, long, thrust. But it’s just not enough for Dean. “Say it,” he exhales. Barely a whisper. Almost like he’s afraid to give the order.
“Yours,” Cas gasps amidst groans, “My ass is yours.”
But for some reason it doesn’t give Dean the satisfaction he thought it would. For the life of him he can’t think of what will, though. So he just starts thrusting faster, fucking out Cas’ slick hole until the pleasure-pressure is so good, all he can think about is finding release.
Then he hears Cas, still whispering, “Yours,” over and over again with each thrust. And he just loses it, throwing his head back with a primal roar as he comes, hard, shooting what seems like endless streams deep inside Castiel’s body.
His vision is swimming when it’s over, and he’s sure his knees are about to give out, the way his body just won’t stop shaking. It takes all the strength he has left to free Castiel from his restraints, aided by the familiarity of experience, before he collapses into Cas’ waiting arms.
~
When Dean comes to, he's still wrapped up in Castiel’s arms, face buried in Cas’ neck, with long fingers stroking slowly through his hair.
He doesn’t want to move. Ever.
And there’s something unsettlingly fragile in that sentiment that makes it the first thing he does, pulling himself out of Castiel’s embrace and rolling over onto his back.
Cas comes with him though, rolling on top of him and gazing down at him with a gentle smile. And it just wrecks Dean a little, that Cas can still look at him that way, after losing control like he had. It shouldn’t be so easy.
Dean sighs, bringing Castiel’s hand up to his lips and kissing each finger, soft and reverent as he searches for answers in Castiel’s eyes. He feels the pads of Castiel’s fingertips gently pressing back, meeting each kiss, meeting his gaze unwaveringly in return.
He doesn’t know how much time they lose that way, but when he is finally done kissing the slender digits, Cas’ fingers return to rest on his chest, caressing the star inked over his heart.
Dean knows Cas is curious about his tattoo. So far all Dean has said about it is that he and Sam got matching ones together, that it’s something symbolic between them - his usual response when asked. People don’t usually pry much further than that, sensing it’s something private between the two brothers and respecting that.
Castiel has never pushed either, and Dean’s been grateful for it, because he’s not sure if he’s ready to explain it to the other man. It’s just as much Sam’s story as it is his own. And it’s not an easy story to tell.
He thinks that maybe he wants to. Maybe it’s time to share that part of himself he’s been holding close to his chest for so long. But he can’t seem to do it, and he doesn’t know why.
Castiel is… perfect. He’s everything Dean never actually thought he’d find. The other man has given himself over to Dean so thoroughly, letting him push limits and boundaries further than anyone he’s ever been with, and responding to his control with such trust and abandon. At times Dean thinks the man really is some kind of heaven-sent angel, just for him.
And yet, for all his submissiveness, Cas constantly pushes at Dean’s limits as well, taking Dean over the edge with him as Dean claims him over and over again, so many different ways. Lately it seems that no matter how tight he ties Castiel up, no matter what kind of strict and sensual punishment he can devise to torture the man to completion, Dean feels like it’s himself fighting against restraint, the edges of his own control fraying and unraveling as the other man takes everything Dean has to offer, and more.
And that’s the problem. The more Castiel can take, the more Dean is required to give. Now there’s nothing left but the darkest, deepest, buried parts of himself.
Castiel sighs, his blue eyes pained, but eternally patient. Dean knows the other man can tell his thoughts have gone somewhere he can’t follow, and as if sensing the trigger, Cas removes his fingers from Dean’s tattoo, reaching up to caress Dean’s face instead.
Dean closes his eyes, letting the pads of Castiel’s fingers brush against his features - tracing his jaw, down the bridge of his nose, across his lips, curling up his eyelashes - and Dean finds himself breathing easier, deeper, comforted by the familiar touch.
He already needs this so much. He wonders how he ever lived without it. Or if he could ever go back to living without it now.
And sometimes that scares the hell out of him, because he wonders what will happen when Cas finds out how weak he really is.
~ tbc