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Dean groaned.
His head buzzed with the remnants of wine in his body, and he sighed as he dragged his feet up the marble stairs at the entrance of his condo. His suit, apart from being slightly rumpled, seemed to itch at his skin— under his skin, and he needed nothing more than to claw the fabric off his body and fall into the decadence of his plush, soft white bed. The cocktail that evening, organised by the lovely head of the Board of Directors, a fancy, elegant middle-aged Scottish woman, one of Dean's seniors, had been a cause of celebration for the entirety of the company. Sandover and Inc. was an up-coming name in the world of stock-markets and investments, and as VP of the company, Dean had loads of work. Of course, his salary and bonus made up heftily for it, but hey, give a guy a break.
The cocktail had ended hours ago, the drive from the central City to the outskirts, where his condo was, had in itself been tiring. The alcohol in his system hadn't subdued, and he knew he was in for a long night when he pushed the keys into the keyhole and twisted the knob. The door swung open, and he stepped inside, only to be met with the appetizing scent of black coffee, the way Dean brewed it, with a hint of sugar and a spoon of cream— he could distinguish that scent from miles away. But the questions remained. Why did his condo smell like coffee at half-past midnight?
He walked in further, tip-toeing carefully, dropping his suitcase on the couch and loosening his tie. A soft hum floated from the kitchen into the living room, and Dean paused, having realised at once who the sound belongs to.
It was Castiel, one of his few house-keepers. Of course, he had the evening shift, but it ended hours ago. Dean wondered what Castiel was still doing here at Dean's condo, brewing coffee, nonetheless, and Dean's favourite coffee, at that.
To inspect further, Dean walked towards the kitchen, but the moment his eyes wandered inside, he froze.
What the hell?
Either he was too drunk— smashed, hammered, absolutely piss drunk— or Castiel was really wearing that.
That being a tiny, black French maid outfit.
Still unaware of Dean's presence, Castiel continued to hum under his breath as he glided across the kitchen floor, grabbing mugs and whatnot, but Dean could do nothing but remain rooted to the ground and drool. The maid outfit, erm, it suited Castiel. Dean had no idea why in the world Castiel would wear something as vulgar as that, especially when he was working at Dean's home, but hey, Dean wasn't complaining. Castiel bounced on his toes to reach up to a top shelf, and his short, low-cut French maid outfit bounced with him. Oh. Dean swallowed thickly the moment he caught a glimpse of skin under the skirt.
A black button-up blouse with puffed sleeves and a white, lacy hem; a tiny, black frill skirt which fell open when Castiel bent over to pick something up, only showing Dean a clear display of the young man's round, plump ass clad in a thin, sheer lace white pantie which sunk into the crack of his ass; a tiny, white lacy apron tied around his waist, and the best of all, his slender, tanned hairless legs covered in sheer, black netted thigh-high stockings. Dean was reminded, for the first time in months, simply how beautiful Castiel was.
Fuck, Dean thought, fuck.
This is wrong, his cock twitched at the thought, so wrong.
For the past eight months, Dean had learned to ignore how devastatingly handsome Castiel was. The moment the man had stepped into Dean's condo for a house-keeping job, Dean had signed him. Not that he cared for how good Castiel kept his house, but having the man around surely made for some good eye-candy. But to his absolute disappointment, Castiel wouldn't show him a single ounce of reciprocation. Countless times Dean had asked him to stay over for dinner, had let Castiel known that he was interested— with soft brushes on his hand when they were close, buying him flowers or stupid, little bookmarks that he liked to collect— Dean had tried, okay? And he had failed. So for the time being, he let his feelings remain unknown.
But right now? Dean would sell his soul to sink his teeth into that ass.
"Castiel?" Dean asked as he stood at the doorway of the kitchen, and at the call of his name, Castiel jumped slightly, before turning around to meet Dean's wide eyes. Already drunk, Dean had no filter to his thoughts, and even when his cock strained against his trousers, he ignored it as he stumbled into the kitchen. He knew he stunk of alcohol and looked ruined and disheveled, but he couldn't care less, because Castiel was right there, and he looked delicious.
"Oh, Mr. Winchester—"
"What are you wearing?"
"Oh this, it was a bet—"
Before Castiel could finish however, Dean was stumbling into the younger man's space, grabbing him by the hips and pulling him closer. Distantly, Dean realised Castiel was trying to push him away by his shoulders, but Dean found it hard to care about it, especially when Castiel smelt delicious, looked delicious and as Dean wanted to find out, tastedb delicious.
"Mm, you smell good," Dean mumbled into the crook of Castiel's bare neck, and for a second, felt the man under him squirm.
"Mr. Winchester, please stop—"
"Why baby?"
"This is inappropriate—"
"Oh, but those panties you're wearing under that skirt aren't?"
Castiel paused, and Dean felt him give up on pushing Dean away. He stood rooted to the ground for a few minutes, and Dean drowned his lungs in Castiel's fruity scent. Somehow, it seemed as if Castiel was contemplating something, considering something very deliberately, but Dean couldn't be less bothered.
"Mr. Winchester, you're drunk."
"And?"
"And your erection is pressing against my thigh."
"And?"
"And," Castiel breathed, as he leaned back against the counter and parted his knees for Dean, "-you're not going to remember this tomorrow morning."
"And?" Dean whispered, inching closer to Castiel's face. Their eyes met and their gazes fixed, and at once, Dean felt himself give in wholly and utterly into his urges as he parted his lips and fluttered his eyes shut in anticipation.
"And I've been dreaming of you for months."
The elasticity between them snapped at last. Dean surged forward to press his lips against Castiel's. Castiel let out a delicate moan before going pliant in Dean's arms. His hands slid up to wrap around Dean's neck, while Dean slipped his thigh between Castiel's legs to rub it against his growing erection which strained against the lacy fabric of the panties. Not a moment after Castiel had let his head fall back, Dean was pressing his lips to his jaw and across his neck, sucking bites and nips into his tender skin, and Castiel was a moaning, crying mess against the counter, his cock leaking and wetting Dean's thigh with pre-come.
"Turn around and be a good girl for me, Cas, show me how beautiful those panties look on you."
Castiel obeyed, turning around wordlessly, and bending over the countertop. Dean watched, awestruck, as Castiel spread his legs open and grabbed both cheeks of his ass in his hands to pull them apart. The thin fabric of his pantie sunk into the narrow depths of his ass, and the lace rubbed against his pucker beautifully. Dean's eyes tracked every inch of his skin with a predatory gaze, and he dragged a finger over Castiel's thigh— up his netted stockings and over the round, plump flesh. Dean grabbed one of the cheeks in his hand and squeezed it tightly.
"Oh—" Castiel cried out, bucking his hips out and grinding his pantie-clad ass against Dean's cock. Fuck, Dean thought, it looked too good not to eat, and before he knew what he was doing, because at this point every last semblance of conscience and reason had flown out Dean's mind, he dropped to his knees, and rubbed a careful thumb over Castiel's tiny, pink pucker. It quivered under Dean's fingers, but before Dean could refrain himself, Castiel, the slut that he was, pushed his ass back against Dean's face.
"Mr. Winchester, aren't you going to eat me?"
And because Dean couldn't refuse an offer as tempting as that, he dove in, pressing his face against Castiel's taint, rolling his tongue around the lace, soaking it with his saliva and rubbing his finger right over the hole, never pushing in.
"Dean—" Castiel moaned out— no, groaned— and it caught Dean off-guard for a moment, but something about Castiel dressed in a maid outfit, bent over Dean's kitchen counter, flashing Dean his cute, white panties and his tiny, pink hole had Dean leaking in his trousers. Without wasting another moment, Dean pulled the pantie aside, shut his eyes and and dove his tongue inside Castiel's hole.
The air rung with the sounds of Castiel moaning in a string of soft ah's and oh's, paired with the obscene squelching, wet sounds of Dean's tongue and lips debauching his hole. Castiel's flesh was soft and it made it all the more better for Dean to squeeze his hands into as he fucked his maid with his tongue, before finally slipping one finger in.
"Fuck," Castiel panted, rocking back on Dean's fingers, meeting Dean's thrusts in-sync, his knuckles white from holding onto the edge of the countertop. Dean slid his own hands into Castiel's, while the other slid forward to wrap around Castiel's cock, pumping in lousy strokes at first, increasing his pace when he felt Castiel clench his ass on Dean's tongue. Dean pulled away, licking his lips to swallow down every last taste of Castiel, before pushing a second finger inside Castiel's wet, sloppy hole, thrusting them in to his knuckles, until the cold metal of Dean's rings rubbed against Castiel's pucker and he gasped.
"Keep— keep fucking me, Mr. Win— Mr. Winchester—"
"S'exactly what I plan to do, baby," Dean slurred, and Castiel cried out, gripping the counter harder as Dean fucked two fingers into him. Castiel recoiled and gasped, grinding back on Dean's fingers, a picture of raw sensuality, as Dean grunted to himself and shoved his fingers in deeper so they brushed against Castiel's prostate. The younger man gave a loud, needy whine and arched his back, squeezing the marble under his fingers as he rode Dean's fingers, hips rocking rhythmically as he let out a loud, high-pitched noise, straight out of a pornographic film, and Dean's cock perked with interest.
"Need another one, baby?"
"Yes, Dean—"
"That's Mr. Winchester for you."
"Mr. Winchester, please—"
Dean pressed his lips into the flesh of Castiel's ass, sucking the soft, taut flesh into his mouth to leave a glaring, red mark. He thrusted another finger into Castiel's greedy hole, and it sunk in at once. Castiel groaned, rocking back on Dean's fingers to feel every inch of his fingers splitting his flesh open. Dean pulled away, a string of spit dripping down his lips as he studied the mark on Castiel's ass. Red and deep. Perfect. Somehow, Dean felt absolutely mindless as he grabbed Castiel's ass cheek, and gave it a tight, hard squeeze. Castiel yelped, and Dean let go, only to find a faint red handprint branded onto Castiel's ass.
Alright, Dean thought, as he stared at the handprint, need to fuck right now.
"Want my cock?"
"Yes—"
"Say please."
"Please—" Castiel gasped, and Dean pulled his fingers out of his hole. They were slick with spit, but he couldn't be less bothered as he pushed himself up to his feet and stood towering over Castiel, who was still bent over the counter like a whore, his hole gaping and swollen, ready to swallow anything that slid into it.
"Please what, Castiel?" Dean teased, as he unzipped his trousers and dug his cock out. Had he been sober, he would have taken his time undressing not only himself but his partner, but with the way Castiel was right now, Dean couldn't care less about stripping. All he needed was a hole— Castiel's hole— to fuck his cock into. He gave his cock a few lousy strokes, before stepping forward and holding it over Castiel's twitching, pink hole.
"Please put your cock inside my dirty, wet hole, Mr. Winchester."
"That's right, that's like a good girl."
Castiel's words had sent a wave of arousal coursing through each inch of Dean's being. Deep within his bones, he felt his urges deepen, and all at once, Dean needed to see Castiel. The faces he was making, the colour of his nipples, the way his hair was a mess, the way his collarbone looked so tempting— so without a word, he hooked his arms under Castiel's chest and pulled him up. Castiel groaned at the action, but followed Dean's lead.
"Turn around, I want to see your face."
Silence hung between them, and the only sound filling the air belonged to the sound of their gasps and pants. Castiel paused for a few seconds, before hooking his fingers through his panties and pushing them down. Dean watched as the lace rolled down his smooth, slender legs and his thick, meaty thighs, before pooling around his ankles, and then Castiel was turning around.
Goddamn, he's gorgeous.
Castiel's face was coloured with a beautiful scarlet blush, his eyes deep and disoriented, his hair tangled and tousled, his lips swollen from having been biting them, and his neck sweaty and glistening. Damn it, Dean missed out on this? Fuck.
The maid outfit was rumpled all over. Castiel's skirt tented with his erection poking the fabric, the stockings had rolled down slightly, the buttons had been undone and the blouse fell open, revealing his bare, creamy chest to Dean, and the strap of the apron had fallen around Castiel's arms.
"Are you still fucking me or have you come to your senses?" Castiel asked, and Dean should have bent him over and spanked his ass bright red for the insolence in his voice, but it could slide this once, especially when Dean grabbed him by the hips and pushed him up onto the countertop.
"The only thing you should be using your mouth for," Dean growled, digging his nails into Castiel's jaw as he gripped his chin, "-is to make those pretty little noises, yeah?"
Castiel whimpered, and Dean pushed his legs up until his knees were bent, earning a loud groan from Castiel. Dean pressed Castiel's ankles into Castiel's hands, and spread his legs open wide, "-sluts should stay sluts. Don't need them being bossy."
Pre-come dribbled down Castiel's cock, and Dean realised, in his hazy state, how Castiel's cock leaked and throbbed, in dire need of release. He rubbed a thumb over the slit, and Castiel cried out his name, but he withdrew his hand quickly, instead spitting on it and rubbing it over his own cock to slick himself up. Dean's eyes found Castiel's and he held their gazes as his cock pressed against Castiel's hole. A soft moan slipped past Castiel's lips and his eyebrows knit together, and Dean found it hard to tear his eyes away from how lewd Castiel looked, his stocking covered legs held open for Dean's cock, his chest heaving and his face needy and wanton.
Dean planted his hands on the marble counter on either side of Castiel's hips as he thrusted in, as deep as he could physically get. Around his cock, Castiel's wet, heated flesh opened up, swallowing him in inch by inch, and Dean felt himself slip into a trance where he could comprehend nothing but Castiel.
Being inside Castiel felt like nothing Dean had ever felt before. It was tight, suffocating, wet, warm, fleshy— Dean couldn't get enough. If he had his way, he'd have Castiel sitting on his cock every second of every day, but for now, he focused on setting an easy pace, thrusting in and out, watching as Castiel's hole budded and sank in along with Dean's cock, and how Dean's cock plunged into the depths of his tight, wet heat, over and over again.
"Fuck," Dean groaned, rocking his hips and fucking into Castiel's hole, making sure Castiel could feel every thrust and drag. He slid a hand up and crept it under his blouse, caressing his chest until he could feel the tiny nub of Castiel's nipple brush against his finger. At the first touch, Castiel let out a breathy moan, and Dean watched as his eyes rolled to the back of his head before fluttering shut. From where Dean was watching, Castiel looked nothing short of an X-rated movie star, body jerking with every thrust, mouth hung open, eyes shut and hands holding his legs open like the perfect whore. The thought only spurred Dean on, and he found himself going faster, harder— fucking into Castiel's hole with a newfound vigour and pinching his nipples between his fingers.
"Oh fuck," Castiel hissed, as he let go of a leg, using his free hand to slide it under his skirt and stroke himself. He hooked his leg around Dean's neck, pulling Dean closer until their faces were inches apart, and the moment his blue eyes fluttered open, Dean dove down to crash his lips against Castiel's, not letting the man adjust to his lips before shoving his tongue into Castiel's mouth. Their bodies rocked on their own accords, and Dean found himself losing his senses with every passing second as he drank in every last taste of Castiel's lips. Castiel moaned and hummed into the kiss, rolling his tongue around Dean's and sucking Dean's lips into his mouth. Spit drooled down the sides of their lips, but Dean didn't care, he continued to taste as much of Castiel as he could, until Castiel's head fell back, and his eyes rolled shut.
"Mr. Winchester— Dean— I'm going to—"
"Go on, baby, I want you to come all over your skirt. That's what a dirty little girl would do, wouldn't she?" Dean growled, and snapped his hips until he was pounding into Castiel with all his might, his orgasm creeping closer and closer. Castiel's hands fell back to grip the edge of the counter and his legs fell open wider around Dean as he knit his eyebrows together and rocked on the counter with his toes curled . Dean watched as his cock came in thick, white splurts and painted his skirt. The come stuck to the fabric, and Castiel almost went limp, but Dean hadn't finished with him.
Using Castiel's pliability to his own advantage, Dean gripped Castiel by the hips and plowed into his swollen, red hole, their gasps filling the air, before at last, Dean felt the pressure in his gut pop, and he paused, still buried deep inside Castiel when he came. Thick, hot semen filled the tightness of Castiel's ass, and Dean felt himself grin as he wrung his orgasm to its fullest. Finally.
Silence fell upon the room as both men struggled to catch their breaths. Dean heard his heart beat pounding in his chest, and at last, when he had gained some semblance of control over himself, he let his soft, wet cock slip out of Castiel's hole with an obscene squelch, and his eyes tracked the stream of come dripping down Castiel's hole, into his taint, and Dean fingered it back into his hole to keep his come inside Castiel.
"Cas," Dean panted, resting his head against Castiel's shoulder. Castiel in turn, brushed his fingers through Dean's sweaty hair, and dropped a kiss to his forehead, "-you're fired."
"Wh—"
"You're moving in with me tomorrow."
Dean pulled away in time to catch Castiel's awe-struck expressions, his blue eyes wide and gawking. A loony grin spread across Dean's face as he stole a kiss off Castiel's lips.
"You said you've been dreaming of me for months, didn't you? So have I. Every goddamn week. So you're fired. Move in with me."
"Dean—"
"I mean it."
"Perhaps we should discuss this when you're sober," Castiel sighed, as he hopped of the counter and bent over to pick his panties up. Dean watched as his swollen, puffy hole quivered and leaked a thin stream of come down the back of his thighs.
"Maybe I could use some of that coffee you were brewing. But don't think I'm gonna' change my mind when I'm sober. I mean it. Move in with me."
Castiel paused for a moment at Dean's words, but eventually, turned around to wrap his hands over Dean's neck and pull him down into a kiss, before mumbling, "-If you promise to keep me full of your come every day, maybe I'll consider it."
Dean grinned. Goddamn, Cas was perfect.