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There it is again, a flash of white at the corner of Dean’s vision, but when he turns, there is nothing worth seeing. He lets out a frustrated hiss between his teeth. This whole damn caper is fucking with him.
“You have to calm down.” Kevin’s quiet voice in his ear cuts into his thoughts, “ Are you sure you can do this? Sam’s willing to suit up if fighting Fallen Angel is going to screw with you tonight.”
Dean grumbles under his breath, “The mic is way too sensitive now, you have got to stop screwing with it. I can do this, today is just a date now, it’s not our anniversary anymore. Why am I here like dressed like this anyway. I can’t just show up in a tux and a silly mask?”
"You’re going to have to ask the Commander, I don’t understand how his head works. Also, the sensitive mic lets you talk to me without looking like a crazy person.”
Dean snorts. “The Commander? Did Sam ask you to call him that?”
“Stop using real names on the line, dammit. I’m ninety-nine percent sure no one can hear us, but… no, he didn’t, I came up with it. He hates it. “ Kevin grumbles defensively, “We need code-names, dammit.”
Dean snickers under his breath. He already knows why he’s here as The Righteous Man instead of in plainclothes. Sam’s idea for Dean to hide at the Museum’s annual costume ball as himself was a stroke of genius, and probably the only time he could go through a crowd like this in his full kit without raising a single eyebrow. He’d reserved the right to amuse himself with it, though, having Kevin make a steam-punk version of his outfit. Sam had been deeply sarcastic but let it go; no one would suspect the guy wearing this fannish interpretation of his outfit to be the real thing. He was safe wrapped in two layers of deceit.
“There’s like, three Fallen Angels here just within sight,” He grumbles. “If he’s here, how am I supposed to know which one he is? If he’s even dressed as himself tonight, and not wearing, like, a Zorro costume.”
Kevin does not answer that, which Dean thinks is probably wise. They both know Dean will know him no matter how he’s dressed. Snagging a champagne flute, he tries to seem casual, winding his way through a whole room filled with the city’s riche elite, all dressed in custom tailored costumes.
His skin crawls, and he turns quickly, but nothing is there. All the same, he can feel eyes on him, and the pressure in the base of his spine tells him who it is. Dean slowly travels to the center of the room, where the main attraction for this year’s gala sits under a glass case. A fist sized ruby carved into the shape of a bleeding heart sparkles under the bright lights. Part of a collection of crap owned by some long dead prince, kept in his bedroom where he murdered several women before his wife took matters into her own hands. Every person who had owned it since had died a violent death, leaving a trail of bodies a hundred years in the making. It is exactly the kind of thing Fallen Angel would love to own: one of a kind, steeped in murder, and viciously beautiful. Like him , his mind supplies unhelpfully.
“Why hasn’t he made a move?” he murmurs. He’s talking to himself, but Kevin responds anyway.
"Maybe he’s waiting for a dramatic moment? You know he loves being showy sometimes.”
Dean shakes his head, biting his lip and staring at the gem. “Only when he’s feeling a certain way. If he was feeling dramatic, it’s almost the middle of the event, and still nothing. If comc-book was how he was going to go with this, he would have already stolen it, scared a few people and relieved them of their jewelry. There’s something I’m not getting.”
He stands and watches the gem as the crowd moves around him, surging like a current, their voices and presence fading into white noise. He’s missing something, suffering under his usual blind spot when it comes to the Angel, and if he could only think…abruptly he turns and starts moving in the opposite direction of the party, towards the staff area, breaking into an outright run most of the way there.
“Sir?” Kevin breaks into his reverie, “While you were standing there, I analyzed the gem using the scanners in your mask, and --”
“Yeah, I know,” Dean breaks into a grim smile, “It isn’t real. Do you remember the tour Sam went on with the rest of the lawyers when the museum was loaned the thing?”
“You know I do, but I’m not sure I get where you’re going with this.”
“The prince had the ruby made to punish his wife. He loved her in the most horrible and possesive way possible. It was hers, that ruby, passed down from her mother, but he took it and had it carved like a bleeding heart when he thought she might be sleeping with someone else. Then he raped and murdered servants until she killed him.”
Kevin makes a distressed noise over the mic that he quickly tries to muffle.
The staff door is locked, but Dean leans into it and shoves , breaking the lock. “I see you’re getting it now. The museum got his whole room on loan, they’ve got it set up back here to show as a part of a Halloween tour. Tacky, but whatever sells tickets. They had a replica made for the display, but…”
“He switched them. The replica is out on the floor. You really think he’s back there?”
Dean doesn’t answer because he’s here. The door to the display is left slightly ajar, and Dean can see lights inside. In his ear, Kevin is babbling something about getting Sam on the line, but Dean turns off his headset. He can smell Fallen Angel from here, and his head is swimming.
Inside the room, the finished display is lit like the set of a play, highlighting the massive bed made of a dark polished wood, carved with ivy vines. On a table beside it, the ruby heart is displayed, lit from beneath. It sparkles malevolently. Behind him, the door shuts with a click of a lock engaging. Dean closes his eyes, willing the shiver that travels down his spine to stop.
“Happy Anniversary,” Fallen Angel says behind him.
He walks up to Dean, the click of his boots deliberate and slow, stopping just behind him, close enough to feel the heat of his body. How does he smell so good? Unable to move, Dean opens his mouth, but gets interrupted.
“You were a fast learner, but always so bad with the rules . Do you need a reminder?” His voice is deadly-soft, dripping with promises, and Dean’s mouth snaps shut without his permission.
“Good boy. How long do we have before Sam comes barging in here like a bull?” A finger traces the lines of Dean’s shoulders, and his brain misfires, making him scramble to think of an answer, even as he knows he should turn and punch instead. Stuck in a feedback, he stays quiet, an inner stillness and warmth spreading through him the more he's touched.
“You may speak.” He sounds pleased.
“You can’t tell me what to do now. I should arrest you.” Dean says desperately.
A chuckle. “You absolutely should. Do you think you can? If so, I’m here, subdue me and take me in.”
Dean starts shaking, conflicted to his core. When he speaks, it sounds too close to pleading for his comfort, “I can’t do this again. Don’t make me hurt you.”
He snorts. “Dean, get on your knees.”
Dean falls to his knees without thinking, and then drops his face into his hands. Fallen Angel comes around to crouch down, cupping Dean’s chin in his hand to look into his eyes. Dean notices that he’s wearing the version of his costume that almost always goes with the worst of his crimes. The one he wears when he leaves a bloodbath behind him. He hopes against hope that there were no museum employees working on this display tonight.
“Cas,” Dean whispers, “I have to arrest you.”
Castiel shakes his head. “Dean, you’re not a cop. You’ve done enough, let go.”
“You’re a murderer.”
Cas smiles and leans in, ghosting a kiss across Dean’s lips. “So are you. Since you’re not going to arrest me, get back on the comm and tell Kevin everything is fine.”
As if in a dream, Dean reaches up and turns the mic back on. “Kevin.”
“What’s going on!” Kevin’s voice is squeaky with panic.
“Nothing. It’s a false alarm. I found the real gem back in the staff area with some security guards. They made a fake one for the gala. I actually don’t think he’s going to show, so I’m going to go get some fresh air. I’ll turn the mic back on later.” Dean is distantly surprised at how easy it is to lie to Kevin.
Cas smiles, dangerous, his eyes glittering. He reaches out and turns the comm off himself, cutting Kevin off mid-protest.
Dean looks at the bed, and then back at Cas. “Cas, are you going to fuck me on that bed?”
“Shhh. Don’t make me punish you first.” Cas runs a thumb over Dean’s bottom lip, pulling a guttural groan of need and loss from him.
Cas nods. He rises, pulling Dean with him. “I like the costume change, by the way. Quirky. Weird. Kind of… golden age hero.”
Dean rolls his eyes, but doesn’t speak. Cas is rubbing his back in circles, and it’s making him sink further down into the calm headspace he’s always craved where there is nothing to do but what he’s told. He encourages Dean to walk with a subtle change in hand pressure.
They reach the bed, and Cas tilts his head to look at Dean. “That being said, take it off. Every last stitch, Dean.” He leans against a bedpost to watch, eyes sharp.
Dean starts with his armor and boots, carefully removing each piece and placing it on the floor. Then his under-armor, and the clothing beneath that. He keeps eye contact with Cas as he does, knots in Dean’s shoulders finally relaxing. Finally, he kneels, naked and quiet at Castiel's feet.
Cas reaches out to stroke Dean’s cheek. “Sam never understood this. No one but me understands what you need. You broke both of us when you kicked me out. When you allowed Sam to kick me out.” Dean watches Cas, silent and receptive, pushing into the touch with a soft needy sound.
“Yes,” Cas crouches down to kiss him. “I like you like this, but I’m going to make you pay. Not today, today I want to fuck you on that bed. Color?”
Dean answers dutifully, “Green.”
“Good. Get up and on all fours on the bed.” Cas stands and walks away from Dean, towards the back of the display.
Dean stands, wobbly, and carefully gets on the bed. He winces, hoping they aren’t about to destroy something irreplaceable, but he does as he was told. Hands and knees, legs spread a little. He feels incredibly exposed like this, in a museum, out in the open. He shivers in the cold air, hard and wanting. This is his last chance. He should get up and disable Cas. Fallen Angel.
He feels Cas’ eyes on him, hears his breathing. Watching Dean struggle with himself. Dean closes his eyes and makes himself wait, carefully dismantling his own inner warning bells. The bed dips behind Dean, and then Castiel's hands are on him, running up the backs of his thighs. A quiet sound of frustration escapes Dean at the touch of gloves.
As usual, he already knows everything. “What’s that, Dean? Are the gloves making you wish for more skin? Hands behind your back.”
Cas is going to handcuff him, and it’s the point of no return. Sam will be so fucking pissed later, but Dean is so past caring at this point that he’s does as he’s asked without hesitating, dropping his face and shoulders into the bed. The sound of approval fills him with a warm glow.
“Good. You have no idea how delicious you are like this" Cas takes the gloves off, grabbing both of Dean's wrists with his hands tightly before letting go. "I’m not going to handcuff you, despite how beautiful you look in restraints. No matter what happens, your hands stay here until I tell you otherwise.” He hears the slippery sound of Cas’ costume sliding to the floor. His breath catching, Dean grabs each forearm in the opposite hand, waiting.
“I bought you a gift,” Cas gets off the bed to tie a blindfold over his eyes. “But I never got to give it to you, because you -- well, you didn't want to break up with me. You listened to Sam, didn’t you?”
Dean opens his mouth, and then shuts it, waiting.
Cas licks up the back of Dean’s neck in one long stripe and then whispers to him, “Good. Such a good boy for me today. You may answer.”
“Cas, I’m sorry.” Feeling the loss of warmth, Dean cranes his head to hear where Cas has gone, but there’s nothing.
“I don’t want sorry.” Cas growls to his left.
He turns his head that way, “Yes, you do. I regretted it immediately, but you were gone.”
From his right, “Lies. You’re weak. You let your brother tell you what to do. Admit it.”
He turns his head again, confused. Why can’t he hear him move? “It has nothing to do with my brother, Cas, please forgive me.”
“I said stop apologizing ,” Cas’ furious voice is to his fucking left again before he surges forward to hiss in Dean’s ear, “I don’t want that. I want the truth .”
Dean’s head swims, and the first blow to his ass comes without warning. He’s never surprised, he can’t be surprised, and yet he is, the sting of something heavy and leather jolting him out of his head again, spreading pleasure up his body. The second blow is just as hard and fast as the first, making him yelp and laugh both. Then the third, and the fourth, and he loses count, submerging in how it feels, the electric thrill of arousal and pain.
Just when he feels like he’s floating an inch off the bed, Cas stops, panting. “You know what I want to hear, Dean. Admit it to me.”
All he can do is groan, biting back the need to apologize, Cas said not to, but he can’t say what Cas is asking, he can’t tell him that, he’ll…”Can’t. You’re angry.”
Cas clicks his tongue, running nails over the welts on Dean’s ass and thighs, making them burn. “I see. You think that if you admit to doing Sam’s bidding, when we are done here, I kill Sam. I have to say that it’s tempting, but okay, hero. I will make you a promise. Tell me the truth, and Sam is free of all consequence.”
Dean stays silent, listening to Cas’ breathing, trying to think, but he can’t, because he’s... he’s..Cas pushes Dean’s legs apart even more, licking one long, slow stripe up the back of Dean’s balls, all the way up to his hole. Dean loses all sense of time as Cas gently and firmly opens him, using his tongue and his fingers.
When he’s finished, they’re both panting, and he can feel Cas shaking against him. Into the quiet, Dean whispers, “I missed you,”
Cas jolts as if he’s been hit. “No, you do not get to say that to me !”
The bed shakes as Cas gets off it, and then there’s silence. No, not silence, something muffled. Realization creeps over him, and Dean debates with himself for a moment before breaking the rules and getting off the bed. He leaves the blindfold on so he doesn't disobey all of Cas' commands, navigating towards the sound by instinct only. Carefully, he kneels next to Cas and slips his arms around him.
Cas leans into the embrace, and Dean holds him as he weeps, nuzzling a soft kiss to his hair. Quietly, he says, “I did listen to him, Cas. He could see the power you had over me, and he was worried. I would do anything for you. I think he saw what you were capable of, even then.”
Cas is muffled against Dean’s skin, “He wasn’t wrong. Look what I became.”
Dean doesn’t try to argue. The trail of blood and mayhem Cas has left in his wake is too big to ignore. Instead, he breathes the smell of his hair and squeezes him tightly.
Silently, Cas pushes him onto his back, onto the cold floor. He takes the blindfold off Dean, his unmasked face swimming into view as Dean blinks. Then they’re kissing, a slow, wet filthy kiss that takes an eternity. HIs hands travel up Dean, obsessively mapping every inch, kissing his face, his neck, his collarbone. Arching up into the touch, Dean cannot remember a time when he was this hard, this ready and wanting. Cas thrusts against him slowly as he whispers into his skin.
“All I can do is dream of you, but no fantasy, no precious memory can hold a candle to the taste of your skin, the sweetness of your submission.” He parts Dean’s thighs with gentle hands, slipping them under his ass and hoisting him up and pushing. Stopping just before he enters Dean, he waits, patiently holding him up, one eyebrow lifted in question.
Dean, mesmerized by the sound of his voice and the blue of his eyes, nods. “G..green,” he trips over his own tongue trying to get the word out fast enough.
Staring into his eyes, Cas pushes in. Despite earlier, he’s not lubricated, and it hurts. He presses against Cas, needing the pain, wanting more of him, every overclocked sense he has narrowing down to just one thing. Cas slaps him lightly, a warning on his face, and Dean settles. They do this at Castiel’s pace, not his.
Castiel’s pace goes to hell once he’s fully inside Dean, but they both want it fast and hard. He’s so full of Cas, his smell, his touch, his cock, riding the edge and pinned in place by his eyes. Dean so close, all he needs is…always a mind reader, Cas closes one hand on Dean's throat, and the other around his cock as he ruts into him, eyes wild, possessive. The edges of the world go fuzzy with lack of air and the relentless rhythm of the hand around his cock. He comes, obedient and helpless, the world whiting out around him. He hears Cas shout his name, thrusting savagely into him and holding there, shaking himself apart. Cas drops his forehead down onto Dean's, letting go of his throat. He pulls in lungfuls of glorious air while Cas gets off him. The last thing he registers before the world goes blank is the apologetic look in Castiel's eyes and the sting of a needle.
Dean wakes up to a thundering headache, but somehow feeling settled in his own skin in a way he hasn’t for a very long time. He’s dressed, though without the helmet, and he discovers as he tries to sit up, in a bed. A hotel bed, if the scratchy sheets and glaringly bad wallpaper is any indication. Well, this can’t be good
Sitting up takes a little of work because of the head. There’s a glass of water and a couple of aspirin on the bedside table, which he takes gratefully, hoping that they are what they seem. A box sits beside it, and Dean looks at it for a long time before picking it up and turning it over a few times. With a sigh, he opens it. Inside is a note written in familiar pretentious handwriting says only, ‘I made this for you before everything. If you want it, put it on and wait for me, clothing off, on the bed. If not, leave it here.’
Under the note is brightly colored tissue paper, and he moves it aside with an amused snort. Under that is something leather that makes his heart skip a beat. Lifting it out of the box, he can see that it’s a collar, shaped like angel wings, a big ring on the front. Forcing himself to calm down, Dean runs his finger over it and focuses his senses; the feel of something electrical and magnetic inside it confirms just how special this is, and he suspects that if he puts it on, he will never be able to take it off again without Cas’ help.
He sits heavily on the bed and looks at it, his whole world turning on such a small thing. Slowly, he takes off his shirt. Sam is going to kill him later. But, Dean guesses, he’s going to have to catch them both first.