My Big Bad Wolf
“Who’s my big bad wolf?”
Castiel’s voice was hushed, dark and strained against Deans extra sensitive ear.
Dean whined and rocked back against Castiels warm cock. “M-me, hmng, I-I am C-…Cas…”
He wasn’t used to this, this feeling of being filled to the brim. Usually, he was the one doing the filling–Castiel’s heat was and intoxicating sensation–but he’d been curious and had asked Castiel if he could try it, just once.
(He had been so cute when he asked, blushing and swishing his tail nervously against his legs; there was no possibility Castiel could say no.)
Castiel chuckled once and shifted his hips. At Deans insistence, he’d left his bright red cape draped over his shoulders when he’d shucked the rest of this clothes.
When Dean came, it was with a howl, but only Castiel heard (which was perfectly fine with both of them.)
Look at me, writing porn for m-arci-a. I’m trying to convince her of the truth that is bottom dean.