You try to be mysterious, you try not to write sex into everything. Just when I think I'm out, you pull me back in...

Castiel smells like the sheets Dean bites down on every day. Like the cubes of wash soap and the dingy water of the city. The hollows under his arms taste like fresh sweat when Dean nuzzles them. When he sucks one of the boy's fingers into his mouth it feels rough, dried from the soap and curling gently against his smooth tongue.

Castiel's eyes are dark, the sliver of lust he's felt digging at him since he turned twelve is working through his veins, sticking into his heart and flooding him with new poison. He feels heavy and warm with Dean pressing down on him, rubbing his hardness against his hip through the course material of his clothing. His shirt is gone, gently stripped from him by Dean's own hands, and the sharp edges of straw poke at him though the mattress ticking.

Dean's hands find the buttons on his slacks and flick them open, tugging the fabric down and letting Castiel nudge them off of his feet. Dean's own trousers follow, shucked off to the end of the mattress, and then they are truly naked, and Castiel can feel the prickling of hairs like straw between their bodies. He feels Dean's skin rise into his with each breath, sweat forming where they touch. His thighs on either side of Dean's body, his skin pressing into the insides of Castiel's thighs as he shifts a little, brushing the head of his cock against the smooth skin just shy of the boy's entrance.

Castiel rocks his hips slightly upwards, feeling the touch of their intimate parts and stuttering a breath, one hand touching his stomach lightly, the other trailing up Dean's side.

"How does it..." Dean bends down to touch their lips together, tongue skating between expertly as the words 'get inside' are lost in the boys throat.

Dean's mouth is soft and hard at the same time, pressure as an absolute behind the lips kept soft with grease. He tastes like spit and flesh, but also wine and the salt of Castiel's own sweat. To Dean Castiel tastes clean, which is change enough to keep him interested as he sucks and bites at his lips, rubbing his cock head into the slip of silk flesh behind the boy's genitals. Castiel's hands flutter needily at Dean's chest, and it's a pleasant surprise when the cool fingers light on his nipples, first one, then the other, exploring the little protrusions with blind interest. Dean reciprocates, lowering his head to suck at first one mauve bud, then the other, until Castiel whines and his thin fingers twist in Dean's hair, hips rising to rut into Dean's stomach.

He thinks the boy is ready enough not to run when he begins to work on him, and certainly hot enough to take the slight pain of it in his stride. Dean sits up a little, kneeling between the boy's legs again and feeling the opium dark eyes of the launderer on him as he picks up the crock of grease from beside the mattress.

It's cheap stuff made with wax and oil, thick and white at first touch but turning liquid as it's used ardently, he knows from experience.

"Knees up." He directs, palming some of the stuff and lowering himself a little so that he can press it up and then into the boy. Castiel winces as the cold stuff touches his skin, expecting Dean to continue regardless, but the man notices and tisks at his own thoughtlessness, turning the cream in his hands to warm it through. He returns the oily mess to press between his buttocks, and Castiel tilts his head back, getting used to the sensation of oil between the parts of him, slippery and intimate.

"Better?" Dean asks softly. Castiel nods, whimpers as Dean's finger circles and presses, rubbing first gently, then harder, until the muscle that Castiel barely thought of, flinches open and he can feel uncomfortable pressure. The finger sliding in and every instinct in his body trying to force it out, to moving in the direction nature intended of the space Dean is intruding on. Castiel hisses a sharp breath and Dean rubs soft knuckles against the underside of his cock in apology.

"It's over fast." He promises, rubbing firmly at Castiel's cock as he readies him for another finger. He's only ever really opened himself, and that in a perfunctory kind of way, a process like when he washes spunk out of himself or readies salts for cleaning infections. It's a way to make his job easier. But this is...inside, Castiel feels smoother that out, untouched. Virgin, the word beats a tattoo through his blood and Dean feels a surge of excitement. He'll be this boy's first.

Castiel cries out at the second finger, trying to twist away from the discomfort and the burn. Dean eases him down, strokes him and promises that it will get better, that pain and pleasure go hand in hand with men, that Castiel has to be patient. The third finger make him moan softly with pain, still and limp on the mattress, eyes closed and sweat forming as he struggles not to drag away from the fingers in him.

Fortunately, just as the exercise begins to worry Dean in it's painful nature, he finds the thing that makes this way of coupling worth the pain. He stays just shy of the place, leaning up to press a kiss to Castiel's harshly breathing mouth.

"This..." he whispers into the shell of the boys ear, as he turns his head to the side in discomfort. "is why we do it." He nudges his fingers and Castiel arches up, strung tight and sobbing as pleasure overtakes pain and sears his nerves. Dean leaves it at one tap, withdrawing his fingers and leaving Castiel whimpering and desperate.

"Do that again." He whispers, stubborn cock still pressing into Dean's stomach as he levels himself over Castiel's body. "Please..."

He shushes him gently. Though he has no real reason to be gentle, it seems that it is his way this morning, with the boy who's been more courtly than his so called gentlemen.

"Just a little while, and you'll feel good, trust me." He rubs more grease over himself, lines himself up and arranges Castiel's legs a little wider. "But, this is going to be hard, painful..." he rubs his fingers against Castiel's jaw and, heedless of where they've been, Castiel catches one and sucks the oil from it, as Dean had sucked his finger only a while before. Dean nudges forward without thinking, pressing the head of his hardness against the slicked ring of fluttering muscle and drawing a taut gasp from the boy underneath him.

"I know. I know." He soothes, pushing a little further once Castiel has quietened. "It's over fast." His groan meets Castiel's cry of pain in the air, his body pressing down on the boy's as Castiel's frame goes tight in discomfort. "Just will go more easily."

Castiel fights to relax, feeling a stretching, burning sensation that heralds some monstrous pressure. He bites his lip and Dean groans as the walls around him flutter and pulse before relaxing again, allowing him to push. Castiel fists the ticking beneath him, moans against his clenched teeth as Dean slides fully into position. Another flare of pleasure courses through him and Castiel relaxes again, full and throbbing dully with pain, overlaid with more immediate pleasure.

Dean looks down on him, holding his position with no small amount of restraint.

"Did it hurt too much?" he asks, as Castiel shifts his hips a little, experimentally.

"It was worth it." Castiel's fingers anchor themselves in Dean's hair, his arm bent around the back of his neck, pulling Dean down and bringing their mouths together as Dean starts to move, pulling out slowly and pressing in again, meeting less resistance each time as Castiel waits for the strike of ecstasy, the weight of Dean inside of him feeling less like a torture and more like a pleasure, something he might crave. One of his hands slides down, squeezing as it holds Dean's thigh. The older man winces at the pain that flares in his abused flesh, still sore from his client's mistreatment, he sinks back into Castiel, banishing pain with pleasure and feeling the boy arch up to meet him.

They find a repetitive action between them, Dean pushing down as Castiel rises, rocking together on the exposed mattress until Castiel's moans of pleasure grow longer, more desperate, and he tries to move faster, to bring Dean back inside of him with a little more force each time. His eyes flutter shut as Dean complies, letting himself go and relishing the wet grasp of flesh around his cock for the first time in an age. When Castiel splits apart, spurting against Dean's stomach and twitching once, hard as his muscles rake the length of Dean, still moving inside of him, Dean moans and pulls the limp body of the boy upwards, against his chest, finishing with a few violent thrusts at this new angle, feeling Castiel clench with each press at his sensitized internal nerve. Letting him suck and lick the pulse point on his neck kittenishly as he comes down, feeling Dean spend inside of him.

Once lowered back to the mattress, Castiel winces as Dean pulls out of him, inching slower than his sensitive dick can stand, to try and avoid unnecessary hurt. Lying side by side, touching each other for comfort in the wake of completion, Dean feels like he could sleep here for a while, and perhaps wake to find Castiel still on his bed.

If this were his bed, and not a mattress in a slum he occupies for trade.

"Where do you live?" he asks of the boy, as Castiel rolls closer, pressing into him and savouring the warmth of his skin.

"In this house." Castiel murmurs. "My mother is dead, and John took me in at my birth."

"He farmed you?"

Castiel nods.

Dean processes this.

"Do you know the street behind St. Michaels?"

Castiel nods again.

"I have a room there. Above a milliners." Dean says.

Castiel seems to grasp where this is leading, or perhaps he just wishes the same thing.

"I could visit there, maybe?" he asks softly, feeling Dean's hand rub his back comfortingly.

"Better there than here." Dean mutters, hoping that he will get to see more of this boy outside of this hole, that perhaps he will get one more go with him before John decides to set him on as one of the parlour boys.

Such a shame to see something so good torn down and trampled to pieces by the swine that occupy this place. He touches the boy's skin, looking into his eyes for the first time and feels all his stubbornness lock into place around this motherless thing, too fragile, too perfect to be purely course in his breeding.

Perhaps if he tries hard enough, he might be able to keep a hold of him.