Title: Long Road to Ruin
Rating: NC-17 (For later Chapters)
Word Count: 2148 (WIP)
Summary: Dean Winchester is right-hand man to mafia boss Michael Di Angeles. Dean is unfailingly loyal to his boss and completely trustworthy… except maybe when it comes to Michael's blue-eyed lover.
It's a fundamental fact of human nature that being told not to do something automatically makes it suddenly irresistible.
It was a constant irritation to Dean growing up, when he was told to watch his little brother, and the damn kid did the opposite of everything Dean said. Don't put that twig in your mouth Sammy... Sam, don't dare touch that dead bird... Dude, don't put your spoon in the power socket…
But now- well, Dean is a little perturbed to find that he apparently has the same basic traits as a five-year old.
Dean's not an idiot, it's not like he isn't used to being around Castiel, measuring all his words and actions to make sure he doesn't slip up. Keeping his eyes averted and his hands to himself despite all his instincts telling him to do otherwise has become practically second nature to him.
Usually it isn't this difficult.
The driver up front has a good view of everything that goes on in the car, and Dean's fully aware of what the consequence could be for one stray touch, or a gaze that lingers a little too long. Nevertheless, the more he reminds himself that he isn't allowed to just reach out and lay his hand on Castiel's thigh, the more appealing the idea becomes.
Damn that stupid negative suggestion shit.
Castiel himself appears oblivious to Dean's internal struggle. He sits quietly, with his body angled slightly away from Dean, gazing contemplatively out into the dark night. His hand rests on the dark leather of the seat between them, and every so often he drums his fingers lightly, unwittingly drawing Dean's attention to the long pale appendage.
Narrowing his eyes as though the hand is personally mocking him, Dean casually allows his own to fall to the seat, and subtly shifts it until it rests gently against Castiel's.
He doesn't look at Castiel, but he hears the other man's quiet intake of breath, and after a few moments Castiel fidgets slightly. The movement is tiny, but Dean cannot mistake it as a cool finger deliberately traces the back of his hand before Castiel folds his arms into his lap.
Dean bites back a sigh, wondering if Castiel knows just how much affect he has on him.
He steals a glance at the other man, and swallows heavily when he finds himself trapped by an assessing blue stare. He holds the gaze for a second too long, his throat working dryly. He is just about to break away when Castiel smirks slightly, a barely there twitch of his lips, then Dean's eyes catch a flash of pink, and the glisten of Castiel's tongue as he wets his lips.
Dean turns abruptly and glares out of the window.
Bastard knows exactly what he's doing.
The excessive early evening traffic means the journey takes a little under an hour, and by the time they arrive, Dean is more than ready to be out of the enclosed space. He makes a lousy passenger at the best of times, preferring instead to be the one behind the wheel, and the addition of Castiel sat less than two feet away, looking ridiculously hot in his custom tailored suit has only served to compound his discomfort.
When the car pulls up outside the opera house, it takes him a moment to remember that Castiel has spent all this time not knowing where they were headed.
"Oh, so we're going to the opera," Dean turns his head at the other man's pleased sigh to see him gazing out of the window with a contented smile.
"Oh yeah… um… surprise," Dean chuckles awkwardly, glancing over Castiel's shoulder to the impressive image the theatre makes outlined against the night sky, it's tall arches lit from within.
"La Traviata," Dean follows Castiel's gaze to the promotional signs outside the theatre, "It's the opening night."
"Is that… good?"
Castiel hums in pleasure and turns to Dean, his eyes bright and a small smile gracing his lips. "It's one of my favourites."
Dean grins affectionately at the look on Castiel's face; for a man usually so expressionless, he looks about as close to a kid at the gates of Disney World as you can get. Suddenly Dean is struck by a sharp pang of jealousy at the thought that Michael is the one who has put that look on his face.
"Come on," he prompts gently, "It's starting soon and we'll want to be in our seats by then."
Castiel nods and exits the car whilst Dean makes arrangements with the driver to collect them later.
"Enjoy the opera Winchester," the kid snickers.
"Shut it, loser," Dean claps him round the head good-naturedly, before sliding out of the car and joining Castiel on the sidewalk.
"Ok Pavarotti," he smirks, "Let's go."
Castiel appears to be well known in the opera house. The second they pass through the grand double doors into the foyer, the chief usher rushes over to greet him by name.
Dean hangs back awkwardly whilst they fall into easy conversation about the upcoming performance. He has no idea what they are talking about, but he's pretty sure most of it isn't in English.
Eventually Castiel turns to catch his eye, seeming surprised that Dean isn't still beside him.
"Come on Dean," he beckons, "George is going to show us to our box."
Dean's eyes widen as he falls into step beside Castiel, following the short greying man through the theatre's narrow hallways, softly lit by flickering imitation candles in intricate brass holders. Somehow, he never equated Michael's mention of theatre seats, with Di Angeles' own private box.
If he had, he may have been more inclined to try his hand at refusing the man for once.
The chief usher, 'George' apparently, finally leads them into a corridor different from the others. All along one wall are the heavy red curtains that enclose the boxes. At the very last one, they stop, and the old man pulls the drapes aside for them.
"I hope you enjoy the performance gentleman," he bows slightly, waiting until they step inside, then allows the heavy curtain to fall back into place... and they are alone.
Dean swallows thickly as he gazes around the small intimate space, all rich velvet upholstery and muted lighting, the side panel and rail block out most of the audience and give the illusion of privacy.
Inappropriately, he is reminded of the booths at a brothel he used to frequent in his younger days.
Really not the kind of thing he needs to be thinking of right now.
Castiel remains silent, and Dean fidgets uncomfortably, struggling to find his usual confidence when he is so far out of his comfort zone. Glancing around uncertainly, he reaches for one of the chairs, mainly for something to do, and gestures for the other man to sit. Castiel stares at him for a long moment, then takes a deliberate step closer until their bodies are pressed lightly together, and their noses are mere inches apart.
Dean draws in a sharp breath at the sudden proximity.
"Thank you Dean," Castiel murmurs, holding Dean's blown gaze, whilst Dean's heart rate triples at the feel of the other man's warm breath skimming his face.
The moment drags on, and Dean finds himself unable to move. His senses are overloaded by Castiel's closeness, the scent of his skin, and the heat radiating through the Italian-spun fabric of his suit. Everything in him is screaming to reach out for the other man, so much so, his fingers tighten around the back of the chair, unable to let go for fear he will take hold of something else.
"Cas… please sit down," Dean's voice comes out strained and uneven, unsure how long he can keep himself in check if Castiel insists on testing his limits. People can see them here dammit! And Castiel is obviously well known in the place. Castiel sighs softly and backs away; he throws Dean a sheepish smile before stepping past and seating himself.
Dean lets out a long breath, and takes his own seat gratefully, rubbing his damp palms against his thighs. He inhales deeply, trying to calm himself, concentrating on his own racing heart, rather than the soft breaths coming from the seat beside him. He is well aware that Castiel is watching him, but he pushes it from his mind, focusing instead on the disjointed sound of the orchestra tuning up.
"I'm very grateful to you for bringing me here Dean," Castiel's soft words interrupt his careful concentration. "I realise that this is not exactly your idea of an enjoyable evening."
"Don't worry about it man." Dean chuckles, "It's your birthday, we do your thing. I just hope you have a good time."
Castiel considers Dean for a moment from beneath his eyelashes, then his lips part in a slow smile.
"Oh I have no doubt that you will show me a good time."
Dean splutters a little, whilst Castiel smirks, turning his eyes to the stage.
The opera turns out to be much more interesting than Dean had imagined.
Obviously not the bit with the people in dumb costumes wailing on the stage- Dean barely spares them a glance.
No, the really entertaining part comes from watching Castiel. The man is a performance unto himself… and Dean is riveted.
He had worried that he would have to endure a whole evening of mischievous smirks and suggestive comments, but the second the first note of the overture sounds, Castiel's attention is absolute.
Dean observes in amusement as the other man, usually so closed off and stoic, comes alive watching the performance unfold. His expressions mimic the performers'- the laughter, the horror, during the intermission he forgoes any opportunity to tease Dean some more, in favour of explaining the intricacies of the plot. Dean listens and nods politely, but the words wash over him without him really registering anything other than how Castiel's cheeks are flushed pink, and the way his usually rough voice softens to a warm caress when he is so animated.
When the final note is sung and the last chord has faded away into the ether, Dean is almost sorry that it's over. Castiel remains frozen for a moment before drawing a deep shuddering breath. His smile is blinding when he turns to Dean.
"Thank you Dean, that was wonderful."
Even over the rapturous applause of the audience, Dean hears the soft words clear as day. It's on the tip of his tongue to blurt that he hasn't done anything, it wasn't his gift and he's only doing his job. But in the face of Castiel's gratitude, the words die in his throat, and he can only nod dumbly.
Castiel turns back to the stage, adding his own appreciation to the standing ovation the cast are receiving. Dean can't help but be captivated by the small smile of pleasure that sits on his lips.
Eventually the applause dies down, and the crowd starts to file towards the exits. Like a spell has been broken, Castiel looks at Dean, and for the first time in hours, his attention is on him fully.
Dean fidgets under the weight of that stare, feeling as though he has been shown a secret part of Castiel tonight, something he has never seen before. He smiles awkwardly and runs his hands through his hair.
"So, we should probably head off now, the car will be waiting."
Castiel considers him a moment longer, then nods and stands silently, holding out a hand to Dean to help him up. Dean grips it and is tugged to his feet, but gasps when the other man doesn't let go, and he finds himself with Castiel right up in his personal space.
"I seem to remember you promising me the perfect birthday," Castiel murmurs, glancing up at Dean from beneath hooded lids.
Dean swallows nervously and glances around, finding gratefully that the theatre is almost empty.
"So I did."
Castiel's thumb snakes up to Dean's wrist, smoothing small circles into the sensitive skin.
"Well so far it has been excellent, but I don't think I could say it was perfect… yet."
"Is that right?" Dean croaks, his heart rate picking up as the tension from earlier returns, rushing up on him and stealing his breath. "And what would you like me to do about that?"
Castiel hums softly, pressing impossibly closer in the plush cocoon of their secluded retreat. His nose runs gently along Dean's jawline, inhaling softly and causing Dean's brain to short-circuit.
Soft lips press to his ear, and Dean groans when he feels the light scrape of teeth against his lobe. The rumbled words that are spoken into his skin send a wave of heat crashing through him, a rush of arousal hot on it's heels.
"Take me home Dean."