Author's Note: This was written largely for fun, almost a year ago wow. Warnings for blasphemy, badly-written western bc I haven't ever actually watched a western whoops (I mean the most western thing I've watched might actually be Back to the Future Part III wow how sad). Then again it's irrelevant bc this was mostly just an excuse to write porn anyway. Ahem.

The Right Side of the Law

"We stand here today, September 14th, 1861, to execute heavenly justice upon Castiel—on Castiel for the crimes of murder, fraud, impersonation of a priest, theft, desertion, and public indecency."

Dean tips the brim of his hat up a little, just a little, and looks at Cas up there, hands bound behind his back and a noose around his neck, and maybe the bastard looks good tied up, but damn it, Dean's the only one who's allowed to put his hands on Cas like that.

"Sentence handed down by myself, Raphael Finnerman, duly appointed judge and reverend of the Oklahoma circuit. You will be hung by your neck until you die."

The sheriff and deputy are the only two men who are armed on the stand, but there's no telling whether or not the spectators have guns. Dean keeps one hand on the reins and the other at his side, hovering near the grip of his gun. He shouldn't have to use it, with Sam stationed on top of the jailhouse, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared.

"Any last words?" the sheriff asks.

"Only a few. Reverend, I cannot abide hypocrites like you," Cas says, stern in the way that he is when he gives sermons. There's the slightest quirk to his lips as he turns his head to face his audience, imperceptible but to Dean's eyes, and he continues, "I'm God."

Murmurs spread throughout the crowd, and Dean grins despite himself because Cas is friggin' incorrigible. The sheriff and deputy are disgusted and frightened, respectively, and the judge looks so furious that Dean almost expects him to push the deputy out of the way and pull the lever himself.

But Cas goes on, "And he who lies in my name shall choke on his own false tongue, and his poisonous words shall betray him."

"Enough!" Judge Finnerman barks, motioning for the deputy to pull the lever.

"For I am the Lord—"

The floor beneath Cas's feet drops out, but Cas has scarcely started to choke when a gun fires far above Dean's head, severing the hangman's rope. Cas drops below the stage, and Dean rides toward the back, where the opening for removing bodies is.

The sheriff and deputy have each fired a shot toward the roof, but Dean's confident that Sammy's staying out of sight. The door is kicked open just as Dean reaches it, and Cas runs out, tied hands reaching out for him.

"There!" the sheriff cries, spinning to point his gun at Dean, but he drops before he can get a shot off.

Dean yanks Cas onto Impala in front of him and urges her forward, a bullet from the deputy's gun whistling past his head as they ride away from the platform.

When Dean glances back, the deputy is nowhere to be seen, and there's a second body lying on the stage—probably Finnerman's. Serves him right, for ordering the execution of Cas's entire family.

"I didn't get to finish," Cas says, voice slightly rougher than usual, and Dean rolls his eyes.

"Two words, Cas. You got enough this time, all right? You let yourself get caught again for kicks, an' I won't lift a finger to get you out."

Cas coughs lightly, bringing both hands up to loosen the rope around his neck. "My hero," he says dryly, and Dean smiles.

Hours later and three towns over, Dean ties Cas's still-bound wrists to the headboard of the bed in a rented room at the local saloon and spanks him until his ass is rosy red.

"I'd appreciate it if you would remove the noose, at least," Cas says, voice hoarse.

Dean wraps the rope around his wrist and tugs to pull Cas's head toward him, and Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the curve of his back is perfect.

"Not yet, God," Dean says, reaching over with his free hand to gather some soft butter from the dish sitting on the bedside table. He releases the rope then, and Cas lets his head fall forward but keeps his back arched, because he must know by now exactly how much Dean likes to have him in that position.

Dean uses his relatively clean hand to pull one of Cas's cheeks to the side before smearing the butter over his hole. Christ, it's been too long since they last had the chance to do this—Finnerman was fussier with the trial than they'd expected—and Cas looks tight as a goddamned virgin all over again.

Fuck, Dean wants to be patient, but he's already unbearably hard, hips thrusting into nothing when he finally gets a finger up in there, and Cas deserves some punishment for getting them into this scrape anyway.

"Dean," Cas groans, sounding just as impatient as Dean feels.

In response, Dean pulls away to get some more butter on his fingers, and Cas whines at the loss. Then Dean is pressing two fingers to Cas's opening, slowly stretching him open. When Dean finds Cas's prostate, Cas tenses up and lets out a strangled moan, hips shifting jerkily.

"Dean, fuck, please," Cas grates out, shoving back onto Dean's fingers like his life depends on it.

Dean removes his fingers again, this time to slick himself up. He's careful about it, sure that he'll come if he strokes a mite too hard. Then he shifts closer and drapes himself over Cas, the thick rod of his cock sliding along Cas's crack.

"Thought you were God, Cas," he murmurs into Cas's ear even as he grinds himself against Cas's ass.

"Dean—"

"Wonder if you fooled those townspeople, preacher. Y'think they're scared for their lives?" Dean says, voice lowered to a whisper now. "Should they be scared of you? A slut for cock, no better than a common whore."

Dean remembers when this was new, when Cas had begged to be degraded, smock rucked up around his waist, clerical collar still around his neck, and Dean had had no clue what to say. He knows now, knows just the right words to make Cas shiver beneath him.

"Who's your god, Cas?"

"You," Cas answers. "You, always you. Dean, please. Please."

Cas always begs so prettily. Dean's sure a saint wouldn't be able to resist him, and Dean sure as hell ain't a saint.

So he lines himself up and presses in, in, in, and it's tight, Jesus, it's tight, hot and smooth as Dean remembers. Fuck, better than he remembers.

Cas makes a bitten-back sound each time Dean sinks in, and he tries to shove back, but his position gives him little leverage. Dean brings his hands down to Cas's hips, jutting wings of bone that were made to fit like this in Dean's hands, and drags Cas back to meet each of Dean's thrusts, ass slapping against Dean's thighs, and yeah—yes, this is heaven.

As Dean gets into a rhythm, he makes sure to strike Cas's prostate each time he slides home, and the bitten-back cries turn into full-on moans, pleas for more, for harder, for faster. He drives into Cas mercilessly, relishing the unrelenting clench all along his length when he bottoms out, and it's not long before Cas is crying out beneath him, spasms wracking his frame.

The added pressure around Dean's cock is too much, and he comes, fucking Cas through it. It's bliss, heaven, nirvana, and if the law were to come through the door, guns blazing, Dean wouldn't give a shit.

He collapses over Cas's back, sweaty and tired, and Cas just grunts, taking his weight because he has no other choice.

"Dean," he says eventually. "Off. Now."

Dean straightens and pulls out, watching his come trickle back out of Cas's hole and down his thighs. Then he unties Cas's hands and removes the noose from Cas's neck before pulling him into his lap.

"Hmm, Dean," Cas murmurs, stretching the length of his body against Dean's and reaching his arms up to scratch at the back of Dean's neck.

"Cas," Dean says, turning his Cas's head so that he can kiss his lips, lips that preach and blaspheme in equal measure, lips that lie as often as they tell the truth, lips that part around Dean's name and fingers and cock in eager worship.

Dean eventually pulls back and presses gently at Cas's back, and Cas goes without complaint, climbing off the bed and walking toward the bucket of water on the other side of the small room. Dean follows, taking the rag from Cas and taking a knee to clean Cas's body, hands gentle as they pass over the raw, red marks on Cas's ass and the newly forming bruises on his hips.

After Dean is satisfied, Cas takes his turn cleaning Dean, wiping away sweat and come and pressing light, playful kisses to Dean's shoulders, wrists, hips, and knees. They never speak during this part.

When they're both clean, they fall back into bed, limbs tangled together, and Dean pulls Cas close.

"Never again, y'hear me? Never again."

"I hear you."