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And Now Another Clue
674 words
R
"The thing you need to understand about Dean is that this was never about sex for him."
Mike swings the crop against Castiel's upper back and Castiel twitches forward, hisses sharply, and it's wonderfully satisfying. More than he ever imagined it would be. Not that he ever really imagined this at all because. Well.
Yeah.
Castiel is shirtless and chained, in Dean's place, but this is nothing like Dean. For one thing he's still being gentle, intends to be. For another, while Dean never liked him to talk - and that was fine, more than fine, because it afforded him so much facility for concentration - now he's enjoying the freedom to do so. Keeping it light, conversational. Almost as if he's commenting on an interesting feature of the landscape.
Which he sort of is.
"He said it wasn't. You said it wasn't," Castiel breathed, and Mike nods, laying a hand against the faint red marks on his back. Warm, almost humming. In this there are reminders of what feels a little like betrayal, but he doesn't have the space for guilt over it. Not now.
A little clarification can't hurt.
"First time he came to me I told him that was a condition. I never wanted to fuck him, Cas, it wasn't like that. I hardly even touched him. For him, it was..." He pauses, smiling faintly, and the crop strikes Castiel's flesh again. "It wasn't even like it is for most people here. I told you. He wanted peace.
So I gave it to him."
Five sharp blows and Castiel drags in a rough gasp, pulling at the chains. On the bed, Neil is sitting cross-legged, watching. Silent. Mike meets his eyes and something passes between them.
This is endlessly strange.
A break in the action. He stands back, lets Castiel get his breath. Waits to gauge the situation. Castiel's head is lowered, skin very faintly sheened with sweat. As Dean had been, he's beautiful.
"I know," Castiel breathes. "I know everything." And Mike can't read if there's anger there, if there's hurt.
But he can't help it. He can only do what he can do. He reaches out and - again, so familiar - slides his hand into Castiel's hair, coaxes his head up.
"Trust," he murmurs. From somewhere far away he feels Neil's hand against the small of his back. "That's what it really is. What people get off on. What I get off on." He waits a few short moments, so close now. He hasn't even done much of anything and Castiel is vibrating beneath the skin, the room in the air almost crackling. God, what this might become. He should maybe be scared.
"Do you trust me?"
Castiel doesn't answer. His eyes meet Mike's and hold them, and Mike shivers, suddenly and violently. This being that he has in chains, who's allowed Mike to put him in chains, could obliterate him. Easily.
Dean needs to see this.
Still no answer. Mike decides he doesn't need one, not now. He releases Castiel's hair, moves silently around to his back again, and begins to go to work in earnest.
Time blurs slightly. The blows come fast and then faster, rat-a-tatting almost like gunfire, then slower as they get heavier, and the noises coming from Castiel's throat become tighter and more desperate. Mike could swear he can hear Neil's breathing from feet away, even over those noises. More than once he expects to hear red, and once or twice he expects to simply be disarmed, flung aside like a rag doll when an angel in chains has simply had enough of him.
But at last he stops again and everything is still except for Castiel's panting, almost the edges of moans.
Mike stands, hand once again over reddened skin. Not moving. Grounding. "Breathe through it," he says softly. "It's okay. Just breathe."
Castiel is saying something. It's very low, very quiet, and Mike bends closer to him, cheek almost against Castiel's bare shoulder.
I think. I am beginning to understand.
Mike smiles and picks up the flogger.
674 words
R
"The thing you need to understand about Dean is that this was never about sex for him."
Mike swings the crop against Castiel's upper back and Castiel twitches forward, hisses sharply, and it's wonderfully satisfying. More than he ever imagined it would be. Not that he ever really imagined this at all because. Well.
Yeah.
Castiel is shirtless and chained, in Dean's place, but this is nothing like Dean. For one thing he's still being gentle, intends to be. For another, while Dean never liked him to talk - and that was fine, more than fine, because it afforded him so much facility for concentration - now he's enjoying the freedom to do so. Keeping it light, conversational. Almost as if he's commenting on an interesting feature of the landscape.
Which he sort of is.
"He said it wasn't. You said it wasn't," Castiel breathed, and Mike nods, laying a hand against the faint red marks on his back. Warm, almost humming. In this there are reminders of what feels a little like betrayal, but he doesn't have the space for guilt over it. Not now.
A little clarification can't hurt.
"First time he came to me I told him that was a condition. I never wanted to fuck him, Cas, it wasn't like that. I hardly even touched him. For him, it was..." He pauses, smiling faintly, and the crop strikes Castiel's flesh again. "It wasn't even like it is for most people here. I told you. He wanted peace.
So I gave it to him."
Five sharp blows and Castiel drags in a rough gasp, pulling at the chains. On the bed, Neil is sitting cross-legged, watching. Silent. Mike meets his eyes and something passes between them.
This is endlessly strange.
A break in the action. He stands back, lets Castiel get his breath. Waits to gauge the situation. Castiel's head is lowered, skin very faintly sheened with sweat. As Dean had been, he's beautiful.
"I know," Castiel breathes. "I know everything." And Mike can't read if there's anger there, if there's hurt.
But he can't help it. He can only do what he can do. He reaches out and - again, so familiar - slides his hand into Castiel's hair, coaxes his head up.
"Trust," he murmurs. From somewhere far away he feels Neil's hand against the small of his back. "That's what it really is. What people get off on. What I get off on." He waits a few short moments, so close now. He hasn't even done much of anything and Castiel is vibrating beneath the skin, the room in the air almost crackling. God, what this might become. He should maybe be scared.
"Do you trust me?"
Castiel doesn't answer. His eyes meet Mike's and hold them, and Mike shivers, suddenly and violently. This being that he has in chains, who's allowed Mike to put him in chains, could obliterate him. Easily.
Dean needs to see this.
Still no answer. Mike decides he doesn't need one, not now. He releases Castiel's hair, moves silently around to his back again, and begins to go to work in earnest.
Time blurs slightly. The blows come fast and then faster, rat-a-tatting almost like gunfire, then slower as they get heavier, and the noises coming from Castiel's throat become tighter and more desperate. Mike could swear he can hear Neil's breathing from feet away, even over those noises. More than once he expects to hear red, and once or twice he expects to simply be disarmed, flung aside like a rag doll when an angel in chains has simply had enough of him.
But at last he stops again and everything is still except for Castiel's panting, almost the edges of moans.
Mike stands, hand once again over reddened skin. Not moving. Grounding. "Breathe through it," he says softly. "It's okay. Just breathe."
Castiel is saying something. It's very low, very quiet, and Mike bends closer to him, cheek almost against Castiel's bare shoulder.
I think. I am beginning to understand.
Mike smiles and picks up the flogger.