#deanxcain

“The strongest kind –”

“Boys,” Crowley says, his voice hushed as he watches more and more treacherous demons pile up.

“What we gonna be blood brothers?”

“Again, stronger than that –”

“Boys,” Crowley repeats.

“The hell is stronger than that?!”

“Dean! Cain!” Crowley snaps, flinching when Cain's eyes land on him. “Cain, sir,” he says, clasping his hands together. “I'm not one to complain but under the circumstances, I figure we should speed this up a bit,” he says, his shoulders relaxing as Cain makes his way to the kitchen. Dean follows after, muttering under his breath as he does. The door slams hard, leaving Crowley to his own devices as he waits for whatever the hell is supposed to happen, to happen.

–

Dean tosses his knife on the counter, throwing his hands up. “Alright, let's get it over with,” Dean says, eyeing the window. Yeah, demons are swarming and he's not seeing an easy way out.

“Since this is the last thing I'll be enjoying for a long time –” Cain looks Dean up and down, rolling his sleeves up. “I'm in no rush.”

Instinctively, Dean gets into a fighting stance, grunting as he's pulled into the other man's embrace. “Woah uh...” His voice trails off, all previous thoughts being wiped away. His body is pulsing. Something inside of him is frighteningly aware of how good this is, how powerful he will be once he takes on the mark. His mind races to thoughts of future fights, beyond Abaddon, beyond anything he's already gone against. He could kill them all, easily. The thought should scare him, but as Cain nuzzles his head in the crook of Dean's neck, all the fills his mind is 'I need this'.

"You're worthy of the mark, it's calling to you," Cain says, finally pulling Dean back to earth. They never break eye contact. Something is pulling them both in, begging for the connection to be complete.

"The hell is this?" Dean asks, his shaking hands ghosting along Cain's arms.

"'It's power, Dean, pure ecstasy for men like us." His beard scratches against Dean's neck, sending a shot of electricity up the hunter's spine. "Doesn't it feel good?"

Does it? All he can see is conquest. Destroying his enemy and taking sick pleasure in the experience. "Yeah," he grunts, his chest heaving. Cains's fingers grip into his hips rougher, making the already intense connection even more so. "I want...I want it --"

"And I'll give it to you," Cain whispers, his lips tracing along Dean's neck. "Just lie down, and we can begin," he says, pulling away and gesturing to the table. Just like that, the euphoric feeling leaves Dean. His mind clears, and he can finally see just how...wrong that feeling was. But like it or not, if he's gonna cut Abaddon down, he needs this.

Still, this wasn't what Dean had in mind.

He was gonna grab the damn blade, take Abaddon out, and put a rest to all of this. Instead, he's sprawled out on the kitchen table with the father of murder standing before him. His face sinks, the realization of what 'strenuous rituals' means setting in. Cain slides a hand down Dean's neck, a blank look on his face. He can't explain it. The way Cain touches him feels primal, calculated, and pure instinct; more dutiful than anything. Yet he's never craved someone's touch more than he does now. Dean flinches as Cain grips his neck, his breaths shaking.

“Now where did that bravery go, Dean?” he asks, unbuttoning the hunter's collar.

“I don't need the foreplay sweetheart, let's get this over with,” Dean chuckles, trying to keep his voice from wavering. Where the hell is Crowley? He'd be eating all of this up. Cain gives a cold, stale smile, ripping Dean's shirt open and sending buttons flying into the air.

“Mmm, you want me to speed through this rare opportunity?” he cooes, pulling Dean's pants down his hips. “Rush past having the infamous Dean Winchester twisted around my finger? Absolutely not.”

“Whatever floats your...” he lets his voice drift away, squeezing his eyes shut tight as Cain grips his length over his boxers. “Can uh – can Crowley see us?”

“I'm a fan of privacy,” he retorts, eyes locked on the hunter's twitching cock. “So that feels good, now we're getting somewhere.” Dean swipes a hand over his face, cursing under his breath as his length is freed from his boxers, being stroked roughly by the other man. Once more, Dean's body springs to life, eager to taste the unimaginable amounts of power being offered to him. He fights the urge to cry out, slamming his fist down against the table. “I'd love a little more enthusiasm.” Dean rocks his hips up, thrusting into Cain's hand while trying to imagine he's here under better circumstances. “I apologize for not being your usual demographic,” he adds, chuckling breathlessly. Pausing, Dean opens his eyes, chest heaving and face flushed red.

“Look, you're not bad lookin', I'm just painfully aware that neither of us should enjoy this,” he says, leaning up on his elbows. “I gotta take that bitch out, you gotta tend to your bees. Strictly business.”

“Hm. Business.” Cain presses his lips over the head of Dean's cock, slowly swirling his tongue. Though he tries to hold it in, Dean lets out a stifled moan, damn near whining as Cain takes him deeper into his mouth.

It feels far too good. Hot and wet, his tongue swiping along every inch slowly. The pulsing pleasure returns, forcing moans out of the hunter. How the hell can this feel so good?

“W-wait –” Dean cries out, his hips snapping into the air as his orgasm pulses through him. His cock is buried in Cain's throat, but the demon barely reacts, gently caressing Dean's balls as he rides his release. “Was that it?” he breathes. Cain releases the hunter's cock with a smack of his lips, shaking his head. The connection begins to dull yet again, but before it's completely gone, Dean is pulling him into a gentle kiss. He can't keep riding this high and having it taken away from him. Soon, the air between them changes, and what was once an uncomfortable exchange turns into the two of them crashing into each other. Cain moans into his mouth, his free hand wrapping around the Winchester's neck and pulling him impossibly close. Dean fumbles to undress the demon, his cock twitching as pleasure tingles at his every nerve. Breaking from the kiss, Dean stares at Cain's length, words lost to him. It wasn't supposed to be that...big. Before he can speak, Cain is shoving his fingers into the other man's mouth, settling between his thighs.

“Now now, Dean, my aim isn't to hurt you.” He slowly drags his fingers out of Dean's mouth admiring the stream of saliva before pressing his digits against the hunter's hole. He starts slowly, easing one finger into Dean, humming as he clenches around it. “Doing great,” he whispers, dropping his head to Dean's shoulder as he eases a second finger in. Dean bites back a moan, resisting the urge to rock against the fingers. “Hmm...”

“What?” Dean asks, huffing as the demon begins stroking his prostate in a come hither motion.

“You're good at keeping quiet,” he says, pulling his fingers out and spitting into his palm. After slicking his shaft, he presses the head of his cock against Dean's tight hole. “Never was a fan of that.”

“Yeah well –” Cain abruptly thrusts into Dean, gaining a startled moan in return. Dean arches from the table, hands instinctively gripping at the other man's forearms. “Oh my g-god.” His body clenches around every thick inch, his mouth gaped as Cain sinks deeper into him. More than before, the mark's power pulses through him, his eyes rolling back as Cain lets out a hungered growl.

“So tight, Dean, I was sure the angel I'd heard about had you first,” he breathes, setting a slow, methodical pace.

“Shut the hell up – nngh!” He tries to sound intimidating, but with each hard, slow smack of Cain's hips against his, a moan is forced out of him. Cain lets out a ragged breath, hands gripping the sides of the table as he bottoms out in Dean. He pauses there, enjoying the warmth and tightness squeezing around him, along with Dean's guttural whimpers. The demon lowers his lips to the hunter's, pressing gentle kisses against his lips.

“Cain,” Dean moans, his fingers gripping deeper into Cain's arms. “Fuck that's good,” he breathes, an array of curses falling from him. “H-harder,” Dean whispers.

“Couldn't hear you –” He leaves a sloppy kiss on the hunter's neck – “Speak up.”

“Fuck me harder,” Dean spits, gasping as the other man slams into him balls deep, knocking the wind out of him. Cain fucks him into the table, his gentle pace being replaced with fast, deep strokes. Dean's moans turn into pleasure filled screams, his voice strangled as each thick inch is forced into him. “Don't stop!” he whines, voice fluttering. The only thing he can manage to spit out is Cain's name. The demon leaves rough bites on his neck, licking and sucking his flesh. He flips Dean on top of him, lying flat on the table and resting his hands on the Winchester's hips. Slowly, Dean begins bouncing, his body shuddering with every movement. God, he never thought he'd come like this, but his second edge is quickly approaching. Cain laces his fingers through Dean's hair, yanking his head back and bucking his hips up. He returns to his unrelenting pace, gaining new, choked sounds out of the other man.

“Harder, right?” Cain rasps, his free hand drifting to Dean's length. “You're gonna come again?” he asks, gaining a moan in response. Before he can tease any further, Dean is crying out, hot streaks of come spurting out of him.

“F-fuck – I'm –” He cuts himself off as his orgasm rocks through him a second time, his body going limp. Cain slows his thrusts, tssking Dean. This was going to be more entertaining than he previously thought.

….....

Dean can hardly think at this point. An hour has passed, bringing with it another orgasm for him, and nothing for the demon. Dean lays on his stomach, standing on his tip-toes as Cain fucks into him. Dean's words aren't making sense anymore. Cain kneads the hunter's toned cheeks, his thrusts never wavering.

“You'll excuse me for holding back, this feels too damn good,” Cain says, gaining incoherent words in return. He drags his shaft out slowly, watching each inch until the tip tugs at Dean's rim. In one swift movement, he smacks his hips forward, gaining a garbled moan from Dean. Once more, he pulls his hips back, and Dean tightens up, trying to keep Cain's cock from leaving him. “Your greedy little hole won't let me go,” he teases, giving Dean's ass a playful smack. Cain bites his lip, pumping his hips as finally, his edge approaches. “Our time together is drawing to a close.” He grips his hand in Dean's hair, pulling him flush against him and wrapping an arm around his torso. Cain's hips stutter, his head falling to Dean's shoulder as he comes. He stays buried inside of him for far longer than needed, riding his release and being milked dry by the hunter.

“Nngh,” Dean groans, staring down at his arm as stinging red veins creep up it. The powerful pulsing he's been feeling all night overtakes his whole body, making him feel...awake. Soon, the Mark of Cain is etched into his skin, his arm throbbing. He inadvertently pushes his hips back, a helpless groan forcing out of him as Cain's cock rubs against his spot. Cain keeps his fingers knotted in the other man's hair, still buried inside of his ass.

Somehow, the pleasure Dean was feeling is amplified. He feels like whatever the hell is coursing through his veins is drawn to Cain as it knows of their newly formed 'connection'.

“I'll call on you when I need you,” he says, pulling Dean out of his trance. Cain snaps his fingers, and in an instant their both fully clothed.

–

Crowley checks his watch, grumbling under his breath. Leave it to a Winchester to get him trapped in a house with daddy murder himself. How long could getting that damn mark take?! He checks his watch once more, flopping his head back against the couch. Whatever magic Cain is using made it impossible to hear them, let alone see into the kitchen.

Finally, after what seems like ages, Dean comes limping out, the mark etched into his arm. Crowley stands to his feet, swaggering to Dean with his hands tucked in his pockets.

“A braver man than I, squirrel,” he begins, eyeing the mark, “Whatever happened must have been...grueling.”

Cain placed the glass on a coaster and sighed. “Where is your brother, Dean?”

“None of your business.”

Sam thought he was on a simple salt-and-burn case, so Dean kept dodging his calls. Instead, he had driven for two days to the Virginia woods, unsure if the spellwork to find Cain’s new location had worked until he saw the apiaries in the field.

In the blink of an eye, the Knight stood in front of him. He examined Dean’s arm with the Mark, his grey-streaked hair falling over his eyes as his thumb rubbed against the ridged edges. The cool touch felt good on Dean’s hot skin.

Cain dropped Dean’s arm, a half-smile playing in his lips. “And why would I want to help you?”

“You know what this is like,” Dean said, looking around the room, at anything that wasn’t Cain. “C'mon, don’t make me beg.”

Cain rubbed along the side of his beard, as if considering the thought. “There is something that helped me through the years. Something Colette would do to give me focus.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll do it,” Dean agreed. Hell, he would have said yes to Cain cutting off his arm with a dull pocket knife to end this.

“You probably won’t like it, but at least I’ll get some enjoyment, especially since you tracked me down in my home. Again.”

Cain crooked his eyebrow before he turned to walk into the bedroom. Dean shook his head before following behind. 

Putting himself at the mercy of a Knight of Hell was probably not the best idea Dean ever had, but it was better than the alternative he was facing.

***

“You’ll need to take off your clothes, Dean.”

Dean frowned at the switch in Cain’s hands. It was thin, probably rattan, and didn’t seem like it would do much damage. But looks could be deceiving.

“And you think this will help me, how?”

“Pain provides a distraction and a release. It will help mute the anger,” Cain said. The Knight tapped the switch across his thigh and smiled, a thin row of white teeth showing through his beard. Some base instinct buried in Dean wanted to run but he had to resist. Too much was riding on this.

Dean pulled his flannel and t-shirt over his head, dropping them on the floor. As he went to unbuckle his belt, he looked up to find the Knight’s eyes crawling over him. Those blue eyes were hungry, like Dean was a prime cut of meat.

Cain made no move to get rid of his jacket and vest, but nodded at Dean to continue. Dean wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans before finishing with the buckle and shimmying out of his jeans and underwear. His nipples peaked in the cool air and he rubbed at one absently as he turned to look at the waist-high bench that Cain had pulled into the middle of the room.

A black leather seat curved up like a saddle across the top of the sturdy wooden frame, making Dean think of a bar stool from some honky tonk, until you looked down at the leather restraints attached to each leg of the stand. 

Dean licked his lips and set his palms flat against the seat.

“Do you need me to tie you down?” the Knight asked.

Dean eyelashes fluttered as he fought with his instincts once more, before nodding yes. 

“That’s a good boy. The first time can be overwhelming, so I think it would be best given your current condition.” Cain placed one hand on Dean’s bare back, guiding him into place. “I don’t imagine we need a safeword.”

Confusion hit Dean. Safewords were for rough sex and scenes, and this was… not that, was it? This was about a way to funnel the anger building up inside of him, finding a target that was not his brother.

Sam’s face, cracked open with concern and disgust over a bunch of dead criminals, flooded in at that moment. Tell me you had to do it. Tell me it was them or you.

Sam was the only one so far who could hold back the Mark for Dean, but even that had its limits. Sometimes, when it was just the two of them alone in the Bunker, the sight of his brother’s face or the noise of him moving around in the next room would set Dean off. He would have to stalk off to his room, throwing in his earbuds to drown out the violence in his mind. The music and the solitude would help for a time, but the burn under his skin would build up again. Dean could feel it with his eyes closed, sitting like a terrible red bud under the pale skin of his forearm, ready to bloom into something bloody.

Cain’s hand brought him back into the moment as it pushed him over the bench, running up the knobs of his spine. Dean moved with the touch, folding his upper body over the padded platform. His fingers wrapped around the wooden legs, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. They snapped open again, when Cain nudged Dean’s feet out, opening his legs wide before buckling the restraints around his ankles and wrists.

“Comfortable?” Cain asked.

“Just get on with it,” Dean gritted out. 

Cain trailed his long fingers along Dean’s flank, like he was settling a racehorse, and followed behind with the bamboo switch which feathered softly over the curve of his ass. The light touch and the wait for that first strike was unbearable. Dean squirmed against the leather padding of the bench, his cock hanging loose and untouched between his legs, with nothing to protect it.

“Let’s agree to twenty strokes. I’m sure you can handle that.”

There was no other prep before he heard the snap of the first stroke or felt its thin line of pain.

Dean had known pain all his life. Shot, stabbed, and bones broken. The sharp pain of injury and the dull ache of recovery. And that was before the forty years he spent in Hell. That pain was so unimaginable that he couldn’t look directly at it. The memories were tucked away, as fuzzy and indistinct as he could make them in a dark corner of his mind.

The sting of the blade-like edge was intense. Not the worst thing he ever felt, but enough to make him grunt and curl his toes. He blew out a breath as the second stroke landed higher on his cheeks.

“Fuck!” The pain of the next three strokes didn’t get easier. Cain walked around to the side and rubbed his hand against the warm area he had just swatted on Dean’s ass, then ran his fingers down to the back of Dean’s thighs. The soft touch across that heat went right to Dean’s cock, and he rattled his cuffs and went on his toes to get away from it.

“Oh, you like that?” Cain said, as he pulled away.

Dean knew that he had always been fucked up when it came to pain. Some crossed wire in his brain couldn’t tell the difference between sex and a beating. The best kind of sex came after the adrenaline high from a hunt, with fingers digging into raw wounds and forming bone-deep bruises. Dean would drop his dad at the motel, and cruise the streets of whatever town they were in, looking for a specific kind of bar, where the crowd gave hard looks and had eager eyes. With Dean’s looks, it was never tough to pick out someone who would go rough in the shadows of the back alley, or fuck hard in the Impala and then go back inside to drink with their friends.

If John noticed that Dean came back to the room with more bruises than when he left, he never said.

But that changed when Sam was back. When they kissed for the first time, after the wendigo hunt in Colorado, he stopped looking for someone to hone his rough edges because Sam needed the same thing as Dean. They understood each other, that need to own and be owned by someone, biting and hard in the moment, and then know that the other would be fine the next day. 

And yet, Sam would pull back at times. There was a line for him between rough sex and thoughtful, intentional pain. Even if he asked, Dean wasn’t sure if Sam had it in him to do that. The potential was there, Dean could feel it in his brother’s strong hands and the force of his voice.

“Can you see it yet, Dean?”

He didn’t have a chance to ask what the hell he was supposed to see before Cain began the next round of strikes. These were softer, more of a tapping. Cain was restrained now - showboating his mastery of pain. Perhaps he and Cain had more in common than he thought - two creatures who were twisted into shiny sharpness by Hell.

“Don’t be a dick. Keep going,” Dean said.

Cain put force into it, placing the blows closer to where Dean’s ass met his thighs, where the nerve clusters were more sensitive, and despite himself, tears came to Dean’s eyes and began to fall on the floor below. His cock responded to the heat coursing through his belly, and his balls tightened in anticipation of the next hit. He rattled the restraints in frustration, his thighs trying to pull together, to protect himself, to pull away. He closed his eyes and only one face came to mind, surfacing like a bubble in the boil.

“Sam,” he whispered. His body went limp with realization. He was going through this to protect Sam, but underneath it all, he wanted his brother to be the one holding the switch. Not to help him, but to punish, and once again, Sam was pulling back from what needed to be done.

Images of Kevin, Cas, and Gadreel flipped through his mind like cards in a deck. And throughout, there were thoughts of Sam. I see a light at the end of this tunnel.

Dean was unaware of the tears that continued to fall but now he leaned into each new stroke, arching his back to feel it all the way down his body. Cain seemed to notice the change, no longer a showman but someone eager to finish.

After eighteen, the Knight leaned over him on the bench, his hand dropping between Dean’s legs to feel his balls which were painfully tight and his cock which had begun to drip. The feel of Cain’s wool trousers as they brushed against the switch lines made Dean cry out, the pain like an electric shock.

“Close your eyes and let yourself go.”

And so he did. Dean clenched his eyes and stretched his spine. The heat along his ass felt like fire, and those flames were soaking into his core, pulsing as if his heart was in his testicles. A floating feeling came over him, as if he was disconnected, witnessing the pain from a soft, warm place.

He dropped his head down and the last two strikes were heard more than felt. Come splattered on the floor beneath him, his body clenching and spasming in relief. A drowsy feeling came over Dean and he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

***

He woke up, alone and naked on the couch. A blanket was wrapped around him, and a glass of water sat on the coffee table in front of him. Next to the glass was a long package wrapped in brown paper, with a simple note written in a large flourish that said, “For Sam”.

The house around him was empty and Cain had disappeared again. No doubt that the next time he saw the Knight, it would be because Cain wanted to be found.

Dean sat up gingerly, the bruising on his ass still sore. He started to slip on the water when it dawned on him. Setting the glass down, he looked at the Mark on his arm. The burn was gone and it appeared a light pink rather than the angry red of the previous week.

He pulled the long package onto his lap and unwrapped the paper. A cluster of rattan switches was bound in twine, with a note meant for Sam tucked in between the thin sticks.