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"As I thought," Lucifer says, taking hold of Dean's wrists and leaning back off Dean's back to pull Dean's arms behind himself so the six-inch chain could be replaced. Then he pulls out of Dean, cleaning himself off with a thought even though there's not much point, and gets off the bed.

"Get over to the desk." He doesn't add 'now', giving Dean time to have a moment to refocus before moving.

Dean hadn't exactly thought that it was going to happen now. But a second later he's being pried back off the bed, arms pulled behind his back while he blinks wide. Still entirely overwhelmed by the sudden shift in gears, Dean all but stumbles back off the bed, standing for a good second and staring abruptly at Lucifer. He flashes a look over to the desk and then back again, not putting up a fight about the situation but just looking altogether surprised. He'd started to expect he was just going to be fucked where he was.

Apparently not.

Finally Dean gets with the program, making his way over to the desk situated in the corner of the room. Standing by it, Dean stops, looking back to Lucifer with eyebrows raised, expecting more instructions while his heartbeat picks up to rapid fire in his chest.

Why be predictable? Lucifer has to admit that the look of confusion on Dean' face was pretty entertaining. No need to mention that he wasn't originally intending to fuck Dean at the desk already.

Once Dean finally gets moving again, Lucifer follows him a short distance behind him, giving him the instructed instructions. "Spread your legs and bend over."

Trying to breathe evenly and failing miserably, Dean turns on the spot, pressing his thighs flush up against the desk. It takes him a moment to prepare himself, failing miserably at trying not to think once more. It's hard enough to quash the guilt on a daily basis but this? This takes the cake, Dean trying not to fall under the weight of his shame.

But he wants it. Spreading one foot out wider and then the other, Dean leans over precariously, enough so that it's blatant without unbalancing himself. Clenching his jaw tight, he's already twitching, fingers curling into desperate fists behind his back.

New cuffs like the previous pair appear on Dean's ankles, chaining him in place as his legs are spread a little wider. Then a smooth collar of the same material as the cuffs appears snugly around Dean's neck, its chain keeping Dean attached to the desk where he's bent over.

After Dean's fully in place, Lucifer sends Dean the view he sees of him, spread out and waiting, fresh come trickling down his thighs. "I'm almost tempted to take a picture."

It's not the image that gets him but the words, Dean's reaction to try and snap his head up in concern of Lucifer actually fulfilling that potential. The chain chinks into place loudly and the reverberation of it makes Dean's neck ache, bowing down further instead so as not to wrench his neck out of place. But it's still a nearly terrifying idea: Lucifer having photo evidence of this. Of this failure for him to be anything but twisted.

Huffing a stern breath, Dean shivers for a moment, the warmth of Lucifer's body pressed against his own gone for the time being. It only causes his impatience to flare, the precarious feeling of being watched, explored at a distance. But for reasons he can't explain, it makes his cock ache, shoving his hips harder against the desk.

Lucifer waits a little longer to give Dean more time to get more impatient before walking over to push his way back inside Dean. This time, there's no time given for Dean to adjust as Lucifer starts snapping his hips forwards fast and hard. Dean wanted rough? He's getting it.

Standing there is excrutiating, Dean almost starting to squirm by the time Lucifer finally comes around. There's only so much waiting he can take, so much time spent crammed up anticipatorily inside his head. And then finally Lucifer slots back home inside of him, leaving Dean to nearly cry out if he'd been capable. Instead he just exhales a sharp breath, tensing all over, trying to bow down further and slam his hips back against Lucifer's. He can't help but try to take part, try to force himself into it just as hard - anything but just stand there and take it all.

"Good," Lucifer says in Dean's ear as his hips continue to snap forwards, making sure to hit Dean's prostate on every thrust. Dean's attempts to meet his thrusts was a good sign; one that implied that Dean was maybe ready to admit how much he wanted this a little more easily.

Dean's not sure he wants the praise but the way his body responds to it says otherwise. Trying to keep up with Lucifer's thrusts in his position is nearly impossible but he attempts to work himself back when he can, when he isn't being rattled fully by the pounding of thrusts against his prostate. There's no escaping it, his filling arousal rising up above the lip of the desk, raw and overly sensitive. Staring down at himself only makes him heat that much more, part of him wanting foul words from Lucifer, the rest unsure he can stand it.

"As I said. You want this," Lucifer murmurs in Dean's ear, aware that Dean's well turned on by what's being done to him. "Maybe we should see if you can come again already. Or maybe I should make sure you can't come until given permission to."

In other words, finding another way to restrain Dean; even though with the way he's tied to the desk as Lucifer pounds into him, he's going nowhere fast.

The thought of being forced to hold off, in any manner, is enough for Dean to heat considerably. Ducking his head down and away, Dean tries to resist the temptation to straight up ask for it, as if he hasn't pleaded for enough already. But maybe there's no sense in trying to deny any of it anymore, he just doesn't know. It's too hard to think through what he should be ashamed of and what he can't stand waiting for, what he actually wants to beg for to quell his need for good.

He wants to be held back, wants his release stopped at the very edge until he can't stand it; wants it to hurt. But he's almost thankful he can't even say it, even if it's lingering right there, easy access in the back of his mind.

Lucifer actually pauses his thrusts into Dean for the moment to make his next set of actions a little easier. Which is to snap a cockring into existence to fit it snugly at the base of Dean's cock.

Then his hips are snapping forwards just as hard and fast as before, with the added incentive of wanting to make Dean wild with need and ready to beg to be allowed to come if he had his voice.

"Obviously, I don't mind giving you what you want when you aren't being a pain in the ass," Lucifer says in Dean's ear as he thrusts, painting himself as willing to give within reason.

Dean isn't sure he believes that, at least not to its fullest extent: that Lucifer would always be so willing to give, only when Dean's behaving. But right now he doesn't have the mind to question it, can't even bring himself to care enough to. Lucifer had offered up a cockring around his slowly stiffening cock, and Dean only fell deeper into it all.

Rocking with the force of Lucifer's thrusts inside of him, Dean tries to keep from buckling forward any further, not wanting to lose his balance. He's still trying to meet Lucifer's hips when he can, the sound of skin on skin enough to intoxicate. Anything to make himself lose his mind, ignore the guilt for a little bit longer.

Muscles aching, Dean even tries to squeeze himself tighter around Lucifer, to do something else. Dean can't deny the quiet thrill of trying to be the one to please, to prove he can do something more.

Granted, there are definitely limits. Dean should give up all thoughts of being the one to do the fucking now, if he hasn't already. Lucifer isn't that giving.

"There's a good boy," Lucifer murmurs as Dean tightens around him, still snapping his hips forwards. A little positive reinforcement never hurts; it tends to make people more willing to please him when they can expect praise for it.

Despite the fact that it's entirely too patronizing, the reinforcement still works wonders. Dean can't help but feel almost pleased that he's done something right, something inherently pleasurable on his own terms. In the moment, he can't even manage to feel guilt ridden about it, just wanting to give it all up in a way he doesn't have to think about. Offering himself without trying to be just a toy.

Legs slipping wider, Dean can't do much more than take it and trying not to buckle forward against the desk. Trying to remain upright with his trembling is more than hard enough, his shoulders aching, his muscles squeezed tight. Breathing hard, Dean silently groans through gritted teeth, jolted with every thrust.

Lucifer leans further forwards to press Dean against the surface of the desk as he continues taking him, the chain becoming shorter as a result. At this point, Dean would be lucky to get his head half a foot away from the surface.

"Don't worry about things like keeping your balance. Simply focus on pleasing me," Lucifer murmurs with a particularly hard rock of his hips to send pleasure coursing through Dean's system. He hasn't forgotten about getting Dean ramped up and mentally begging to be allowed his relief.

Head bowing further, closing in against the desk, Dean's forehead almost knocks directly into it. Breath ghosting hotter against the top, Dean can't even see straight enough for it to matter, though for a second he pulls back only to find himself stuck fast. It's almost enough to make him panic for a second, halfway expecting to topple forward, but instead he attempts to dig his heels into the floor and shove his hips back.

Which only works to the extent that he's distracted by Lucifer's thrust, trembling as his muscles constrict. He's not sure exactly how he's supposed to please Lucifer, he's got not no clue what else he can possibly do but his wrists twist against their bonds, trying to speak desperate words against his silence.

Continuing to meet Lucifer's thrusts would be a good start. Along with tightening around him. Not to mention letting himself get lost in the feelings Lucifer is giving him instead of feeling guilty about enjoying it or inclined to be difficult.

"That's it. Be an active participant instead of just laying there and taking it." Lucifer comes only a few thrusts later, filling Dean yet again although he keeps snapping his hips forwards to drive himself in.

Dean's trying to be as active as he can muster, not truly knowing any better ways to impress himself on Lucifer. Slamming back against him is hard to manage when he has no leverage but he's damn well trying, practically panting with the effort of it. It's all he can do to keep from shouting in his own head, flustered and overwrought, starting to become too pent up to know what to do with himself.

And though Lucifer finally comes, again, Dean is left squirming after each new thrust, barely managing an attempt to push back and fuck himself on Lucifer's cock. He doesn't have a clue how the angel's managing it, excruciatingly sensitive himself now but wanting it all the more as the moments tick by.

Dean may want to take a look at the fact Lucifer is an angel for how he's managing. Not that Lucifer is ready to come again yet; right now he's just refusing to let up on Dean.

"How long until you beg to be allowed to come, I wonder," Lucifer says as he maintains his inerrant thrusts against Dean's prostate in an effort to push Dean to that edge he's not allowed to actually fall over without Lucifer's say-so. "Yes, yes, you can't beg out loud, but you can beg in your mind."

Except Dean was starting to get exceptionally tired of his own silence. It was making him want to shout that much louder, his voice stopped up somewhere in the back of his throat, threatening to fill his heads with words he couldn't say out loud. Lucifer was still thrusting and Dean was starting to lose his grip, hips crammed harder against the desk as he tried to rut himself to orgasm.

But there was nothing there except the space in front of him, nothing but the absence of any possible friction he could get. Dean desperately didn't want to beg yet but he was falling ever closer, Lucifer beginning to take his ultimate toll.

Dean better get used to the idea of not being able to say anything out loud. That's going to be the case for quite awhile.

Dean being unable to do anything directly to satisfy himself was admittedly part of the allure of bending him over the desk. There's also where it was an effective means of showing dominance due to the way it permits him to restrain Dean for his own use and put him on display at the same time. Two birds with one stone.

Lucifer's hips snap forwards harder, pushing Dean to his limit in an attempt to give him that final push towards begging. The prospect of Dean doing so was exquisite. "Beg for me. You know you want to."

Please.

There it is. And once Dean lets it go, a whole slew of begging follows. It's not as if Dean gets many opportunities to ask for help with any kind of permissible reason. It's always too much, too painful, and Dean's always too damn stubborn to give himself over to vulnerability. And yet he can't help himself this time, Dean crashing into desperation, muscles clenching painfully tight as he tries to coax himself into spilling over.

He knows Lucifer wants to hear it as badly as he wants to say it, doing everything he can to provide the kind of pleading no one ever expects from him. But it's all he can manage to think through now, needing to come badly enough that it hurts.

Lucifer listens to Dean beg for a minute, savoring the experience. It's not often someone manages to get this sort of reaction out of him. Best to enjoy it while it's happening. Eventually though, he does take pity.

"Since you asked so nicely," he says, snapping his fingers and freeing Dean of the cockring. "Come."

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