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See, the thing is, Dean isn’t an idiot, but he does a lot of stupid stuff, usually for good reasons. Usually because he’s trying to make someone he loves happy. This is no exception. The things he does for love…
Like being out so close to the full moon. He knows better. He knows how dangerous the woods near his house are.
He’s walking fast, jacket pulled up, and his hands are deep in his pockets. His phone is tucked away. He doesn’t want to be distracted, he’s trying to keep his eyes peeled and his ears open.
He feels the presence before he hears anything. The hairs on the back of his neck rise and he stops along the trail, holding his breath, just waiting. There’s nothing for a few beats, long enough that he’s starting to think maybe he’d imagined it.
But then he hears the snap of a twig and he turns to the direction the sound came from. He doesn’t see anything, but it’s late in the evening and getting dark fast. Theoretically, it isn’t close enough to the full moon for anyone to be fully wolfed out, but sometimes people use the days before and after the full moon as an excuse to “let loose” their inner beast.
Dean is caught between wanting to run and wanting to stay still and hope that whatever is out there hasn’t noticed him.
But when is Dean Winchester ever lucky?
There’s another snap, in a different direction, but it sounds closer. Dean can feel his heart start to race. Yeah, there’s something, someone, out there stalking him.
He’s still a good mile from home. The likelihood of him being able to outrun a werewolf, even one that’s only half transformed, is nearly nil.
But he has to try. He doesn’t wait for the sound to get closer, he runs.
As soon as he starts moving, he can see something giving chase out of the corner of his eye.
Damn, he thinks, they’re closer than he thought. He runs faster than he ever has before, legs pumping, breathing hard. God, he should have taken Sammy up on his offer to run with him. He wishes he had now.
Dean runs fast, and frankly, he’s surprised that he lasts as long as he does. The werewolf is probably toying with him. He was never going to get away. He can see his house in the distance, it’s still a long way off, but he can see it. Still, any energy he has left, he pushes it into his legs.
It’s not enough. It was never going to be enough. He’s pushed to the ground and he hits it hard. Rocks and sticks scraping his palms as he slides to a stop. He’s sweating and breathing hard, sucking in big breaths of air. Everything hurts, his legs, his chest, his hands.
He tries to roll over, but his head is pushed into the dirt and grass and he jerks back on instinct, only to be pushed down again. He stays put this time, chest still heaving.
Something, someone, is on his back. They’re sniffing him, and then he’s got a cold nose at his neck. It tickles and he would giggle if he could, as inappropriate and indignified as it is, but he’s still too winded.
“Fuck, aren’t you a tasty treat,” comes the rough growl and he can feel teeth at his neck.
Werewolves can control themselves, some more than others, but apparently this guy either can’t or has chosen not too. This one hasn’t started using him like a chew toy, so Dean stays still, half hoping that he just wanted to scare Dean, just wanted someone to chase.
The wolfman continues to sniff him but when he starts with the licking, Dean tries to pull away. It’s no use. With the extra strength from the transformation, he’s really no match for the guy. All it gets him is a hand on his head, and knees in his back. It’s easier to breathe so Dean doesn’t regret it too much.
“You smell so good, I want to eat you up,” the man says and he nips at Dean’s ear. It doesn’t feel like it’s enough to break the skin, but it is a good reminder how precarious Dean’s situation is.
But, the thing is, Dean sometimes does stupid stuff, so he rasps out, “Fuck off.”
The man laughs. “I’d watch my tongue if I were you.” And then he licks the side of Dean’s face. Dean screws his eyes shut tight as the licking continues, and all he can think is ‘ew,’ but if that’s what the dude wants, Dean isn’t exactly in a position to say no.
The wolfman shifts, and Dean doesn’t have as much pressure on his back. He stays still though, not wanting to set the guy off and get bitten for his troubles (thank you very much). Then he feels hands, claws, moving up his sides and pulling his shirt and jacket up. The man does seem to be gentle about it, not clawing his sides, so Dean doesn’t resist. Those things can be razor sharp, so even struggling now could get him hurt.
He’s not at all surprised when all of his top layers are pulled, yanked, torn, off of him. Dean does finally open his eyes. The wolfman is, well, half wolf, so it’s hard to get any good sense of what he looks like as a human. The fur is dark, black maybe. His face is mostly human, just more of a snout, but his body leans more wolf with the claw and all the fur.
The eyes though, are very distinctive. They’re very blue and very focused on Dean.
Dean swallows. He’s on his side, looking over his shoulder, wondering if making eye contact is the smartest move. The wolfman pushes his head back down into the grass.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here right before the full moon?” he growls into his eyes. When Dean doesn’t answer, the man yanks his hair. “Well?”
“Bein’ stupid.”
The man chuckles. “Is that what you’re telling yourself right now, Dean? I think you knew exactly what you were doing. I think you like a little risk. A little danger. A little monster in your man.”
Dean makes a sound he’s not proud of.
The wolfman goes back to sniffing him and licking him, nose right in Dean’s armpit. Again, it fucking tickles, and this time Dean isn’t out of breath enough to keep it together and the beginning of a laugh escapes him before he can lock it back down.
Wolfman doesn’t seem to like being laughed at, (even though Dean wasn’t laughing at him) and puts his teeth on Dean’s neck. He can feel the tips of wolfman’s claws digging into his shoulders too. Dean holds his breath, just waiting to see what the man does.
The man pulls back. “Pathetic. I expected more fight out of you.”
Well, that paired with knowing his name confirms that this guy has been watching Dean. He’s got three guesses what wolfman wants from Dean and the first two don’t count. And as if on cue, the man is tugging at Dean’s pants.
Dean looks over his shoulder and finally notices the wolfman is naked. Not something Dean had really registered the first time he’d looked, too preoccupied with the fur. And… wow. That’s a big cock. Listen, Dean has some fun with toys. No shame, he likes what he likes, but that is… more than he normally takes. It’s the sort of thing he’d need to work up to. With lots of lube. He doesn’t think that’s an option here.
Wolfman has gotten Dean’s pants down around his ankles, but is fighting getting them off with Dean’s boots. The man doesn’t have a lot of patience and it doesn’t surprise Dean when his pants are torn in two. He’s glad those weren’t pants he liked.
The wolfman manhandles (or should that be wolf-handles?) Dean up at his hips, forcing him onto his knees. Dirt and rocks scrape Dean’s palms as he tries to push himself upright, but the man’s claws dig into his sides, keeping him still.
He growls, “Stay,” right in Dean’s ear, breath hot on his neck.
Then the presence isn’t right at his back and Dean’s mentally preparing for a real unpleasant experience, so his first thought when he feels the tongue is more relief. The wolfman’s tongue is warm and wet and rough. It goes from his taint up his spine and Dean can’t help the gasp he lets out.
The tongue works his hole, licking all around it, dipping in with each swipe and when he says, “My, my, aren’t you sweet?” Dean can hear the fucking smirk in his voice.
But hearing him talk is enough of a jolt back to reality and the situation that Dean tries to pull away. The wolfman has an iron grip on him, so he doesn’t get far.
“Trust me, I’m doing this for your benefit. Unless you’d prefer being fucked bloody.”
And yeah, this seems like a great alternative to that, so Dean stops trying to get away, not that he was putting up much of a fight before. He’s justifying that by telling himself this man has gone out of his way not to hurt him with his claws or teeth, so maybe if Dean just lets this happen, he gets to go home at the end of the night.
The man, obviously no longer concerned with his prey making a run for it, has gone back to rimming with a determination Dean would admire in other circumstances. The tongue makes long, slow laps that make Dean’s thighs tremble, then quick flicks that send sparks up his spine. Dean’s cock, the traitor, twitches and grows hard, and he kind of hates himself for it. His legs shake, and his knees start going weak. Dean has never felt anything like this before and he’s starting to wonder if he’s about to come untouched from a rimjob when the wolfman pulls back.
Dean isn’t sure if the tears collecting at the corners of his eyes are from relief or frustration.
“Look at you,” the man says, nipping at Dean’s ass cheek. “Already hard, huh? Such a slut. Did you come out here hoping someone would find you? Hoping a monster would put you in your place?”
Dean shakes his head and the words come out a trembling timber. “No.”
The wolfman laughs and it’s a menacing sound. “Liar. You wanted this. You wanted me to chase you, to catch you, to fuck you raw.” He goes back to rimming, tongue going deeper now. Dean cries out, a sob escaping from his throat. It’s overwhelming and humiliating, and, fuck, exactly what he feared (hoped) it would be like.
“Admit it,” the wolfman commands when he pulls back. Dean’s hole throbs, sensitive and wet with saliva. He can feel it dripping down his legs, down his thighs. “Tell me you wanted this. Tell me your nasty dreams about being taken by a werewolf.”
“No,” Dean whimpers, even though it’s a lie. He’s thought about it, but it was always too perverse, too dangerous, to ever really consider it.
The wolfman slaps his ass hard. “Wrong answer,” he says, then dives back in, licking and sucking, and Dean’s not sure but he might have screamed. Tears are falling into the dirt and grass. He’s a mess. He’s sweaty and shaking and very, very hard.
“Please,” Dean begs, voice cracking, and he’s not sure what he’s begging for. For the man to stop? For more? “Please, please.”
The man doesn’t stop. He keeps going, and Dean’s begging dissolves from words to sobs and whimper, and then into broken moans. His arms can’t hold him up and he collapses onto his hands, ass still up in the air where the wolfman is holding him, feasting on him. Dean’s cock is leaking precum, and he hates himself for how he’s responding.
Finally, when Dean has been reduced to a sobbing, shivering mess, the wolfman pulls away and drapes himself over Dean’s back. He can feel the fur down his chest, against his back, and feel his large cock nudging Dean’s own.
“Now, tell me the truth. Did you come out here tonight because you wanted it? Tell me no, and I’ll let you go. You can go back to your house and you never have to see me like this again.”
Dean’s shaking. He’s pretty sure he’s still crying too. He shifts in the dirt, but he makes no move to run.
“Do you want this Dean?”
Dean nods, unable to speak, and the wolfman grins, giving Dean a front row seat to his toothy smile.
All he can think is, ‘My, my, what sharp teeth you have.’
And then he’s not thinking about much beyond the press of the wolfman’s cock at his entrance. Dean tenses, he can’t help it, already anticipating the burn. The tip pushes in, and Dean groans. It stings, spit isn’t a replacement for lube, no matter how much he’s got in him right now, but the wolfman doesn’t pause or give Dean time to adjust. He pushes forward with single minded focus, burying himself balls deep.
Dean screams, arching his back as the full length of the monstrous cock stretches him wider than he’s ever been stretched before. The pain is excruciating, a searing sensation that makes his vision swim. If he hadn’t already collapsed onto his hands, he’s sure he would have now. The pain is so intense, he wonders if he’s been permanently damaged.
“Get off,” he manages weakly, tears streaming down his face. “Get off! Please…”
The wolfman chuckles, the low rumble of his voice vibrating against Dean’s back. “Shut up, slut. You said you wanted this. And look at you, harder than steel and taking my cock like a champ.”
Dean shakes his head, even as his cock leaks into the dirt below him. He feels the tip of a clawed finger go up his length, and dip into the slit of his cock. He hears the wolfman lick his finger clean. He’s so ashamed.
“You’re so tight,” the man growls, pushing deeper into Dean. “I thought you might tear, but you’re tougher than you look, aren’t you? Or maybe you’re a size queen, used to taking cocks like this.”
Dean doesn’t respond, he couldn’t if he tried. The pain is overwhelming, a white-hot agony centered on his hole. Every movement sends fresh waves of pain, and he fights the urge to beg, to plead, to promise anything just to make it stop.
The wolfman pulls back, almost completely withdrawing, then slams back in with force. Dean cried out again, his knuckles going white. His right hand crawls at the dirt.
“That’s it,” the wolfman mocks. “Scream for me bitch. Let everyone hear what a little whore you are.”
There’s another thrust, harder this time, and Dean’s world collapses into the sensation of being filled and stretched. The man sets a punishing rhythm, each inward drive accompanied by a grunt and each outward pull by a gasp or cry from Dean.
“You like this, don’t you?” the wolfman taunts. “You’ve fantasized about being taken by someone stronger, more monstrous than you could ever handle.” He punctuates each word with a thrust that drives the air from Dean’s lungs. “About being fucked until you can’t walk. About being ruined and owned.”
Dean’s cock twitches with each impact, every movement brushes against his prostate. Pleasure and pain send confusing signals to his brain. He hates it and lives it. The wolfman’s pace increases, growing more frantic, more possessive. Each thrust is harder and deeper, and he seems to be getting bigger, as impossible as it is. Dean’s muscles burn, everything aches. He’s shaking uncontrollably.
“You wanted this. You wanted to be used, wanted to be hurt.”
Dean goes to shake his head, but one of the monstrous hands moves from Dean’s hip to his head, pushing it down further into the dirt. “Liar!” he hisses. “Your body doesn’t lie, even if your lips do.”
He’s not wrong. Dean’s hips cant backward, seeking more of the brutal friction, more of the additive pain-pleasure cocktail. His cock throbs in time with the wolfman’s thrusts.
“Youre a filthy masochist who gets off on being used. Gets off on being hurt. Admit it.”
Dean whimpers. He would nod if he could, but the man is using his head as leverage for his thrusts and he can’t move it.
“Admit it, and maybe I’ll let you come.”
“Yes,” he whispers. “I like it.”
The man moves his hand back to Dean’s hip and laughs. “Of course you do. Now take my cock like the good bitch you are.”
The thrusts are animalistic. The wolfman pounds into Dean with wild abandon, chasing his own release. With a final roar, the wolfman buries himself deep inside and comes, and Dean can feel the wolfman’s cock get even bigger, swelling past anything remotely bearable, and he feels it like a fist on his prostate and it pushes him over the edge to organism even as the pain-pleasure feeling tips into pure pain.
The wolfman collapses onto his back, pushing Dean into the dirt and the cooling mess of his cum. They’re both breathing hard. Dean is shaking violently and it’s hard to stay awake. He’s not cold, especially with Cas covering most of his body, but he can’t stop it.
Cas's rough tongue laps at his cheek, cleaning away tears and sweat.
“That's gross,” Dean mutters weakly, though he makes no move to push the wolfman away. “Your tongue was in my ass.”
Cas merely huffs, and continues grooming Dean like a prized pet. Dean drifts, high on endorphins, secure in the knowledge that Cas has him. Cas will protect him, even after reducing him to a quivering mess.
When Cas finally shifts, pulling free, Dean gasps at the sudden emptiness. Cum gushes from his hole, and he winces.
“My knot has gone down,” Cas softly. “We can go home.”
It’s hard to focus and Dean can’t imagine walking. “You’re gonna have'ta carry me.”
Cas scoops him up effortlessly, strong arms supporting Dean's limp form. They’re not far from the house, they had intentionally bought something in the woods so Cas would have plenty of space to roam during his “time of the month,” as Dean calls it. (Cas was not, and continues not to be, amused by this phrase.)
Cas fills the tub and once it’s sufficiently full, lowers Dean gently into the water.
“You did so well,” Cas murmurs, running a claw-tipped finger along Dean’s jawline. “Such a good husband. So brave.”
Dean flushes, glad he can blame any blushing on the hot water. “Don’t gotta butter me up, Cas. Just don’t scratch me.”
Cas’s expression softens further. “Never. You’re far too precious.”
He proceeds to bathe Dean with reverent care, washing away dirt, blood, and semen. Dean washes his own hair. Cas is still nervous about getting Dean with his claws doing something like that.
Finally clean, Dean is wrapped in soft towels and carried to bed. Cas curls around him, fur tickling Dean's skin. “How was the knot?” Cas asks, nuzzling Dean's neck.
Dean winces. “Intense. Like being split open. But…” He trails off, heat creeping up his cheeks. “Good. Different.”
They’ve been working their way up to this. This was the first time that Cas hadn’t pulled out before it popped.
Cas chuckles, and Dean can feel it in his bones. “We can keep practicing with toys. Build up your endurance.”
Dean shivers at the thought.
They fall silent, Cas's steady breathing lulling Dean toward sleep.
Yeah, some people say weres can’t control their wolf, but Cas isn’t anyone. He's the man who holds Dean through the night, who cleans his wounds, and who calls him beautiful even when he's covered in mud and cum.
And Dean, well, he does a lot of stupid things, usually for good reasons, like trying to make the people he loves happy.
All in all, Dean Winchester is pretty lucky.
He’s got the man and the monster.