Title: Prisoner of Love (1/?)

Author: snowin' you

Summary: Prison AU. Castiel is a new convict and a new cellmate to dormant Dean Winchester, who turns savage in the dead of the night.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or its characters. This story is entirely fictional and does not reflect any real situations nor assumes such incidents would happen in any Correctional Facilities.

A/N: Originally written for verucasalt123. Title was taken from a song by Utada Hikaru, which in turn is the theme song for this awesome Japanese drama called 'Last Friends'. Watch it if you can!

A/N2: This chapter is re-posted with beta by alittlebitwicked. Thank you for your help!

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Castiel Milton was brought to the seventh cell down the hall. It was a 6x8 feet cage with nothing but one bunk bed and something someone would call a cat's toilet, to put it nicely. His cellmate was lying very still on the top bunk, not wincing at the sound of the buzzer alerting the guards and prisoners alike that a door was being opened.

The guard told Castiel to step in and stop at the yellow line. He did as he was told and as soon as the guard announced that the prisoner was secure, the buzzer went off again. Then the door clinked closed, its sound echoing through the hall. Castiel stood awkwardly in his orange scrubs, holding what little possessions the guard handed to him as his survival kit. His cellmate, whom he never got a name, was keeping perfectly still. He seemed not to notice him, or maybe he just didn't care, as if Castiel was nothing but dusts in the wind.

For a horrifying moment, Castiel thought the guy might be dead, so he inched closer. The guy had short, dirty blonde hair and a strong jaw. His complexion was darkened by suntan, the kind of tan you get when you spend long and hard hours sweating in scorching sun. The savagery of his looks was highlighted by his rough stubble. Castiel raised one hand up, intending to feel his pulse, when suddenly he noticed a slight movement in the man's chest. It was the slightest of slight movements, almost unnoticeable, but it was there.

Castiel gasped and quickly retracted his hand. He should have known better. If he wanted to survive his sentence, he needed to learn whom he should approach, or better still, whom he shouldn't.

He resolved to throw his things on the lower bed and flopped down on it. Castiel let out a sigh of relief once his back touched the not-so-comfy-but-better-than-nothing mattress. It was past dinnertime, and if his cellmate remained as he was, Castiel would have a 12-hour of peaceful rest before morning came and battles began.

Only if life were that simple.

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Castiel was jostled awake by a sudden weight on his chest. He let out a cry but it was muffled by one calloused hand that covered his mouth entirely. He fought to get up but his arms were quickly shoved behind his back and he felt a knee stomped hard on his chest. He choked for breath and with this much pain he sincerely believed one of his ribs must have been broken.

Even though his eyes were wide with panic, in the dark he could only make out a silhouette, so he had no idea who his perpetrator was.

"Calm down. I'm not gonna hurt you," the man said next to his ear, loud enough for only Castiel to hear.

With free legs Castiel tried to wrestle out of the man's restraint. For one brief moment, he managed to shout for help at the top of his lungs before he was suffocated again by a wad of cloth. Everything after that went really fast and hard and before he knew it, his hands were bound to the headboard and his feet to the posts at the end of the bed.

The man moved back as if to enjoy his piece of art. From this angle, with a little help from outside light, he could make out the strong jaws and the stubble. It was his cellmate.

Castiel struggled with all his might to break out of bond. His cellmate was a psychopath! He needed to get out of here. Now!

"Now, now," the lunatic spoke. He had a way of keeping his voice low so that no one would hear. How many times had he done this? What happened to his previous cellmates? Terrifying possibilities that came up in his mind weren't helping in this situation. The guy leaned in closer and it was only so far that Castiel could back away. "Do you really think someone would come to your rescue at this hour? In this cell?"

There was something in his voice. No, there wasn't something in his voice. There was no intimidation.

"Castiel, right?" he asked, merely inches away from him.

Castiel nodded, still trying to back away from the man, even if it was to no avail.

"I'm Dean. Dean Winchester," Dean said next to his ear. His hands crept up on Castiel's bare skin under his scrub top. "After tonight, you will never forget my name."

Castiel screamed but it went silent in his muffled throat. He was going to get raped, on his first night in prison, by his own cellmate.

The bed shook thunderously under his tussle. Dean's hands roamed all over Castiel's chest and he shoved his top up above his head. It hung loosely around his wrists where he was tied to the bed, his torso bare and open. Dean kissed the curves of his naked shoulders. His breath hot, his stubble jagged against his skin.

By now Castiel was sure Dean was right. If help were going to come, it would have come long ago.

At this realization, Castiel stopped fighting. He resigned himself to this unwanted proposition. Warm streaks of tears ran down his face, and for the first time he was glad his mouth was gagged. No one could hear his pitiful sobbing.

"Shh," Dean hushed him. "Don't cry," he said, kissing the tears away. Castiel should be disgusted, but the kiss was so gentle he could melt into it. Or maybe his crooked, perverted mind, reeling with shock of it all, had malfunctioned altogether. "I'm not going to hurt you," Dean continued. "I want you to enjoy this."

The hell he would enjoy being raped by another man.

Dean took his time planting small kisses all over his body. After some time, Castiel started to think it might not be that bad, if this was all Dean was going to do. That is, until Dean found his sensitive spots, and Castiel shuddered every time Dean brushed past them. Castiel could feel Dean smirked onto his skin when suddenly Dean attacked those spots with precise accuracy, as if Dean had them all mapped and charted, and this time Castiel wriggled not from fear, letting out muffled, shameless moans.

Unbelievably, Castiel was half-hard, and he hated Dean Winchester more than anything.

After Dean seemed satisfied with his upper body, he shoved Castiel's pants down to his ankle in one swift motion Castiel didn't even have time to gasp. Now he was fully exposed.

Dean grinned wickedly. Castiel couldn't see it, but he knew Dean was grinning wickedly.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it, Cas," Dean said, again with the volume of his voice attuned only for the two of them.

Wait a minute. Did he say, 'Cas'?

If he had the ability to speak, he would retort sharply, but he didn't. And when Dean dropped down by his bed, taking his cock in his mouth, Castiel could only fight so hard and scream so loudly.

"Shh, Cas," Dean hushed him once more, pinning his hips down on the mattress. "I'm not going to hurt you. You need to trust me on this."

Trust him? Trust the man who was going to rape him?

Dean's two arms were too strong for him, even when he struggled for his dear life. Castiel's hips were locked in place while Dean resumed sucking his cock. His limbs were writhing frantically, tightening the knot where he was bound to the point that it hurt. After some time, he again resigned himself to this violation and gave up his useless struggles.

So there he was, lying on his prison bed, hands and feet tied up while his cellmate was giving him a blowjob. When he was no longer struggling, the only sound he could make out in the dead of the night was the sound of Dean sucking, and it did something to his twisted, demented mind. Castiel never had a guy give him head before, but he would be lying if he said Dean wasn't any good. Hell, he was fabulous: the way his soft lips curved around the sensitive skin of his cock and not the slightest grate of teeth, the way his tongue added just right amount of pressure and moved just at the right angles, the way Dean can deep-throat him, letting his cock down the very tight heat of his passage. Castiel had no idea how Dean could do that without gagging, but it did feel so good.

Castiel could hear someone panting and it took him a moment before he registered that it was actually him. He had no idea when Dean had removed the gag from his mouth, but now he was writhing and whimpering and he wished Dean would return the gag so he wouldn't have to bite his lips to suppress his moans until he bled. He tasted the foul copper in his mouth. He felt his balls tightened, his stomach churning and then his body went into a spasm while he shot pearly cum on his stomach with unsuppressed moans that echoed through the hall.

"Goodnight, Cas. You did great," Dean said pecking at his lips. A soft, warm touch that was not enough.

Castiel longingly inched forward, but Dean was long gone to his top bed, leaving him in his disgraceful posture.

The new convict cried himself silently to sleep. Now that the entire building heard him, he would have to become a prison whore. He wouldn't survive his sentence.

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