Chapter Text
Dean re-reads Cas’s letter at least two more times after Bart quietly leaves. He’s incredibly tempted to put Bart in the hospital as a parting gift, but knowing his luck, he’d end up in solitary and screw up Cas’s time line. No. It’s better if he just packs his necessary belongings and says discreet goodbyes to the men.
Cas had to leave without notice, but he has the luxury of patting his new friends on the back and thanking them for their help.
The first stop is to Yevgeny, his patient teacher. If Dean were to line up all of the Bratva members in the prison, and pick the one who most defies the stereotype of a mobster, it would be this man.
“Don’t stand in the doorway, Vrach. Come in.” (Doc)
Dean smiles fondly at him and takes a seat on his bunk. Yevgeny is tinkering with a whetstone at his desk, and doesn’t look up until the moment stretches out without words. Finally, he turns to Dean.
“What is it?”
In Russian, just in case they are overheard, Dean tells him, “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Dropping his project, the man stares dumbfounded. “He is coming?”
Dean nods curtly, and he can’t help the satisfied smile from creeping up.
Yevgeny seems to consider the news for a long moment and then gives his nod of acceptance. Gathering two small glasses, he pours shots of vodka, and then stands and approaches Dean, who stands as well. After they toast each other, they meet in a brotherly embrace, which the older man uses to hide his warning.
“Be careful with the Pakhan. His Avtoritet has never defied his orders. Never. He will be angry, and I would hate for you to pay the price for Krushnic’s rebellion.”
“Thank you.” Dean says quietly and they part. “Thank you for everything.”
“You are good student,” Yevgeny brushes off the praise humbly. “It is easy to teach you.”
“Where will you go when you get out?”
“I have only one year left. Perhaps it will be time to go home.”
“Will I see you there?”
“I would like that very much, Malysh.” (young man - term of endearment)
The other goodbyes are much the same. They cannot celebrate for fear of calling attention to their wing of the prison, but he does drink a toast with each man. Thankfully, several of them are housed together, so he’s only partially shit-faced by the time he gets back to his room. Immediately, he starts coffee and drinks a full water bottle. It won’t do to be too drunk.
He is usually careful to follow the Theives’s Code, which is the ethical code the Bratva is ruled by. He has already broken one of the few rules by being a former member of the military, so he knows he has to tread lightly on the rest, including not to lose himself to drink.
*****
At what amounts to the middle of the night, his door clicks and slides open just before Alexei wakes him with a gentle shake. There is a guard standing by outside of his cell, but he is obviously there to assist. Alexei hands him street clothes to put on, and then they are on their way.
In an unhurried walk, they wander down hallways, go through normally inaccessible doors, and climb stairways Dean has never seen. It is driving him mad to know that Cas is so close and be forced into this snail-like gait. Psychically, he is forcing their escort to feel his urgency. It doesn’t help in the slightest. In fact, the asshole might actually be moving slower. Finally, they emerge on the roof, and with only a gesture of the hand, Dean is prompted to walk over to the helicopter sitting on the helipad.
It is surreal to try to make out figures in the dark and misty night. Each step clarifies his path though; brings him closer to Cas. When he does catch sight of him, he recognizes the shock of dark hair first. His steps quicken, his heart races. Cas is standing there looking like a king. He’s wearing a very fitted gray suit with a blood red shirt, the edges of his tattoos peeking from the collar. He is gorgeous, and Dean is overcome.
He’s been strong through the past weeks, put on a brave face and thrown himself into study. He knows the entire organization of the Solntsevskaya Bratva, understands their rules and his Russian is getting passable. His course of study has been a great deal different than what he could have picked up in school. He might not know some common words, like those for animals and plants, but he knows the terminology of medicine, the names of weapons, and the vocabulary of banking in great detail.
So when he reaches Cas, when he is pulled in for a tight hug, he falls apart. His scent is different. There is something rich and spicy overlaying the natural wood smoke and honey of his skin. Of course. Cas has been out in the world, not confined to the prison. He’s wearing cologne. Dean breathes it in and it makes his mouth water even through his trembling.
“I’ve missed you, Dean.”
That voice is even deeper than Dean remembers. He speaks his own mind in the language he’s come to use more often that his native tongue. “Vy prishli za mnoy! Spasibo.” (You came for me! Thank you.)
Cas chuckles. “I would say that it was nothing, but we both know that isn’t true. I’m sorry that it took me so long to make everything work.”
Dean is losing the battle to his emotional state. Tears spring to his eyes, even though he clenches his jaw to try to force them back. It’s just too much. Yesterday, he was lost in despair. He never thought that he’d be able to see Cas again, let alone be held by him.
He had been making plans for what he would be required to do once his sentence was up. After all, he was a new member of the Solntsevskaya Bratva whether Cas was going to take him on as his Novobranets or not. He knew that his path would be hard on his own, much harder than his time in prison, to be honest.
Now, he is saved from that painful reality. He will start his career by Cas’s side, learning the organization from its upper echelons down. He will have the youngest Avtoritet in their history to give him advice and aid him in navigating the world of organized crime in Moscow.
The instant relief of a tremendous burden feels amazing, but it weakens his resolve. The first sob bursts from his lips while he buries his head further into Cas’s neck. He refuses to look up and let anyone see his weakness. He won’t give them the satisfaction.
“Shh, dorogoy. Everything is fine.” (sweetheart)
Dean slams the door on his emotions. ‘Lock it up, Winchester!’ he berates himself. Within a few deep breaths, he lifts his head, his face an impassive mask once more. He nods to Cas, who is still scrutinizing him. Dean opens the door to the helicopter and gestures for Cas to enter. When they are settled inside, Cas stops the pilot from starting the engine.
Cas is concerned about the emotion riding Dean. This isn’t happy to see him or happy to be out of prison. This is barely holding it together. Something did not go according to plan while he was gone. When he offers his hand for reassurance, Dean has a difficult time letting go of it.
They need to leave, but Cas wants to know what is wrong. “What is bothering you?”
Dean quirks that cocky smirk at him which pisses him off. “Nothing, Cas. I’m ready to get the fuck out of Dodge.”
“Bullshit.”
Dean’s eyes drop minutely, but he stays silent.
“Tell me.”
Dean sighs and rolls his eyes. Cas snatches his jaw and forces him to make eye contact. Low and deep, he warns, “Pokazhi mne uvazheniye!” (Show me respect!)
Dean softens and drops his eyes. “I didn’t sleep. I was getting ready to leave-”
“You’ve had weeks to prepare,” Cas interrupts.
“No, I’ve had hours, Cas.”
“Explain.”
Shit. Now he’s done it. “I’ll explain once we’re on our way. This can’t be smart to stay on top of the prison I’m escaping from.”
“You’ll explain now.”
There’s no getting around it. “Fine. I just got your letter yesterday. That’s why I’m such a basket case. Up until then, I thought you left without even a goodbye.”
Cas doesn’t say a word in response, so Dean peeks up at his face. The rage gathering on his brow is mighty. His fury can be felt like an electrical charge.
“I explained. Can we go now? Please, Cas?”
The sudden boom of Russian curses is the only thing preceding the door opening. Cas is on the tarmac before either he or the pilot can react, striding towards the door where the guard and Alexei still stand. Nervously, they glance at each other, both hoping that the other will handle the volatile situation. The guard takes his gun out of its holster, which Alexei recognizes as the exact wrong instinct.
In swift but deferent Russian, Alexei explains, “You can’t go back inside, Pakhan.” (boss)
“Get out of my way.”
“I cannot. I will not let you lose yourself in your anger and be captured in this prison again.”
“They will not dare keep me here, but I will kill you if you don’t move.”
Alexei crosses his arms over his chest and shores up every ounce of strength. “I will protect you, even if it is from yourself.”
Cas growls at him after a beat, but turns and paces away. Dean catches up to him and tries to speak. “Do not get in the middle of this, malysh.”
“I am in the middle of it. You’re upset because of me.”
“No, you did nothing wrong.”
Dean looks over at Alexei for support, but the man holds his hands up, placating his boss. The guard, who has been watching this tense conversation, finally speaks up. “What seems to be the problem? You were supposed to be gone before first light.”
Cas easily switches over into English, his tone and demeanor transitioning silkily. “I apologize. We forgot something very important. I need to speak to my lieutenant for just a moment and then we’ll be on our way.”
Before Alexei and Dean have a chance to argue, Cas pins them with a murderous glare. Alexei, an enforcer with decades of experience, takes a step back before he catches himself. Dean has to admit, the authority and conviction of that look make him want to drop to his knees.
The guard leaves to go get Bartholomew, and now they wait. Cas continues pacing, stopping to ask Dean questions as they cross his mind.
“Did you ask Bart if I left word for you?”
“Yes, when they told me you were gone and explained that I couldn’t talk about you.”
“Who else was there?”
“I was. As was Grigory.” Alexei jumps in. Cas stops and lunges toward him like a strike of lightning. Alexei’s throat is in his hand before he can react. “You knew that I planned to come back. I confided in you.”
Alexei is turning a deep, worrisome red, but he tries to speak. “I apologize, Pakhan. You were gone, and I was forbidden from speaking of your plans.”
“So you let him suffer?” is asked between clenched jaws, just inches from his face. His grip must tighten, because the color of Alexei’s face is heading toward purple. Struggling to form the words, he says, “It was not my place.”
“Your place? Your place is to take care of those I leave in your care. Your place is to know when orders must be ignored to keep from making a situation worse.”
Alexei is losing consciousness, but looks to Dean. “I am sorry. If I had told you, he would have killed me.”
“Are you satisfied, dorogoy?”
“Yes,” Dean says somberly. Alexei disappointed him, but he understands why he kept the truth from him. He remembers several times over the past few weeks where the man tried to cheer him up and give him hope. He sees now that he was hinting at the truth, hoping that Dean would pick up the hints. He had been too devastated to even look up from his place at the bottom, though. He couldn’t even lift his head high enough to think that there was another fate in store for him.
“He has always been a friend.” Alexei tries to smile at him, just as he sags in Cas’s grip. Cas guides him down to the ground and turns to look worriedly at Dean.
“He is fine. He will sleep and wake up with a headache, nothing more.”
“Cas?”
The Russian stands and brushes his hands off before taking Dean’s jaw gently in his fingertips. “Yes, vozlyublennaya?” (sweetheart)
“I don’t want you to do anything that will cause problems for you. I know that you’re already going against orders.”
Cas brushes his lips tenderly against Dean’s, wishing that he could get lost in the feel and taste of his love. Instead, he has to mete out swift justice that most likely will raise the heat on the already boiling pot he’s put himself in with Moscow. Backing up just enough to see Dean’s eyes, which are as filled with lust as his own, he murmurs. “Don’t worry about me, dorogoy. You can trust that I will do what is appropriate.”
Dean claims another chaste kiss just as the door swings open. The guard is shoving Bart through the door, looking disheveled and cautious. Once he sees Alexei on the ground, and the malicious sneer on Cas’s face, he starts babbling.
“Let me explain.”
“Oh, there is no need to explain,” Cas begins with saccharine sincerity. “I know exactly why you chose to keep the truth from Dean.”
Glancing back and forth between the two men, he finally stops on Dean. “You couldn’t wait to cry to your daddy, now, could you, little mouse?”
The crack of Cas’s hand cuts off his last word, and knocks Bart to the ground. Leaning down to grab the man by the hair and pull him up, Cas rebuts, “He didn’t say a word about you. Once I figured out why he hadn’t slept, he tried to convince me that you weren’t worth my time. I thought otherwise.”
“I’m sorry. I thought I was doing him a favor.”
“Why?” he snaps and shakes the man.
“I didn’t think that you would actually disobey Mikhail. I thought it would hurt less if he didn’t have that hope to begin with.”
“You fucking coward.” Cas snarls and shoves him down again. “You were jealous of him, so you made him pay, didn’t you?”
“No!”
Cas straddles him and brings down a fist with as much torque and force as he can muster. Then he does it again. Dean watches silently, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Liar. I’ve watched you stare at him, envy and hatred in your heart. You couldn’t just do the simple thing I asked of you.”
“I did. I had him training this whole time.”
With another strike, one of Cas’s knuckles splits, but he hardly notices. “You pitiful insect. Did you once offer him the comfort of truth? Did you remind him that he carries my mark? Did you tell him the plans I have for him?”
Bart cries out in agony, knowing now that Cas is not going to discount his crimes because of their years of friendship. It is too personal. He recognizes that his life is all but forfeit.
“You’re right. I let my emotions cloud my judgment. Surely you see how differently you treat him. You have never given anyone preferential treatment, and suddenly, he is given status above us all. I don’t understand how you could pick him above all of us. He is not Russian. He worked for the U.S. government. He should not be allowed to be called my brother.”
“It is you who are not worthy of him, not the other way around.” Cas spits and inflicts more damage to the other man’s face. “You have been with the Bratva for over a decade, and you have never once contributed anything unique. You sit back and follow orders. You use me to elevate your status, because you couldn’t do it on your own. You don’t have any ideas of your own. This is the best situation you could hope for, and now you’ve destroyed that with your pettiness.”
Bart is whispering, pleading with Castiel to stop. He won’t receive any more mercy than he showed to Dean. “Did you watch him grieve? Did you delight in his pain? You did, didn't you?”
“Yes. I wanted him to hurt for taking my place.” Bart slurs the words; his contusions swelling and making his words thick.
“He didn’t take your place, Bartholomew. The second he showed interest in joining us, he catapulted to the top. He’s so far above your level that you aren’t worthy of licking his boots.”
“He will reign by my side, not because of what I give him, but because of who he is. I’m opening the door, but he will set the world on fire all on his own.”
Misery and pain look up at Dean. “I’m sorry.”
Dean shakes his head. “No, you’re sorry that you got caught.”
“Are you satisfied, Dean?”
“No, but we need to leave, Cas. I can hear guards coming in. Shift change is about to happen, and then we’ve got a whole other crew to deal with.”
“What would you do in my place?” Cas’s eyes never leave Bart’s.
“I would bust him down to the lowest position in your organization. Make him earn his way up again.”
“No,” Bart wails. “Please, no.”
Cas nods. “That’s merciful compared to what I had planned, but it is fair.”
With Bart still sobbing, Cas drags him back to his feet and shoves him toward the guard who has been anxiously watching the entire scene. Alexei is awake again, warily watching as well. Cas nods to Alexei, who bows to him formally. It isn’t a common occurrence with the Russians, but an unmistakable show of respect.
Dean puts his hand on Cas’s shoulder to guide him away, but Bart isn’t quite done. “What did you have planned for me? I would rather take your punishment than let him get to decide my fate.”
Cas turns and states flatly, “I was going to toss you off the roof.”
Without another word, Bart storms to the edge, and with a nasty sneer of defiance lets himself fall backwards. They hear the sickening thump below, the chaos of people reacting to the grisly sight, and a second later, the alarm locking down the prison.
“Go,” Alexei says. “I will handle this.”
Cas and Dean run for the helicopter, which has its rotors spinning long before they start in its direction.
*****
Cas lets Dean stew in his thoughts on the trip to the small charter airport and once again on their trip to New York City. He is content to simply sit next to the lovely man and soak in his warmth, his presence. They will have the rest of their lives to reconnect.
From New York, they will have to take a commercial flight to Moscow, but it won’t leave until later in the evening, so Castiel has booked a hotel for them to stay in until their flight leaves. When they deboard the small plane, Dean follows along behind him, shouldering his bag and staring at the ground. When they get into the town car that’s waiting for them on the tarmac, Dean finally speaks.
“Why would he make that choice?”
“I don’t know, malysh. It seems a waste.”
“Yes! Fuck.” Dean lets his head drop back against the plush seat back.
“You have nothing to feel guilty for.”
“I don’t.”
“Don’t you?”
Dean meets his eye, his lips pursed and plump. Cas shouldn’t be distracted by something so simple. He most definitely shouldn’t be getting hard while Dean is distraught over a man’s death, but it has been weeks of near constant work all without this gorgeous creature by his side. He’s only human.
Thinking of the most hideous diseases he can fathom, he actively tries to suppress his body’s inappropriate reactions.
Scratching his thumb over his brow, Dean confesses, “Well, it is partially my fault. If he hadn’t been so pissed off at me, maybe none of this would have happened.”
“If he hadn’t been pissed at you, he would have found another target, someone else to blame for his failings. It is no more your fault than it is mine.”
Dean nods his head, but looks down at his hands.
“Dean, smotri na menya.” (Look at me.)
“Bartholomew chose a cowardly death rather than face the humiliation of losing his rank. That is not our way. We are survivors.” Cas taps his hip where the tattoo DSS sits. “Remember, Dum Spiro Spero; While I breathe, I hope.”
Dean quirks an uneasy smile and gets side-tracked by the view out the window.
Cas adds, “He was lashing out at you because he couldn’t own his own mistakes. Don’t let him hand you a burden that isn’t yours to carry. You will have enough of them of your own.”
Their conversation ends while they depart the car and get checked in at the front desk.
Dean looks around the lobby, noticing the sparkling crystal above his head, the polished brass shining in the natural light from the wall of windows, and the scent of fresh cut flowers in several over sized vases. This place is spendy, and they will only be here for a few hours before heading to Moscow. He isn’t sure how he feels about this different side of Cas. Now that they are not limited to their penitentiary uniform, there really isn’t any level ground for them. Cas is superior in all ways, and he’s bristling at being confronted by that fact. He just prays that Cas doesn’t realize how out of his league he really is.
“Thank you, Mr. Novak. Enjoy your stay.”
Dean doesn’t react until they are safely inside their room. “Novak, huh?”
Cas shrugs and tosses the key on the coffee table. “I’m traveling without security, so it’s best to use a pseudonym. Also, I’m supposed to still be in prison, as are you.”
“Do I have a fake name, too?” Dean teases on his way to invade the other man’s personal space. Now that they are finally alone, Dean needs to have Cas under his hands. He wants to kiss every blessedly warm inch of skin. He won’t be satisfied until he can convince himself that Cas isn’t a mirage, that he won’t disappear again without warning.
“Our passports are real enough, but your identity had to be altered.”
Dean grins. “What name did you give me, Cas?”
Cas steps back and heads to the mini bar. Reaching into the small refrigerator, he pulls out two small bottles of decent vodka and pours them into heavy highball glasses. Dean scowls. His flirtation is being ignored. Cas doesn’t hesitate unless there is reason, so it’s enough to give him pause.
“Before I answer you, let’s have a drink.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
Cas makes the rude sound that always accompanies his displeasure. Shoving the glass into Dean’s hand, he grouses, “Just drink, and I’ll explain.”
Dean swallows a healthy gulp and waits. Fidgeting with his glass before he pours the entire drink to the back of his throat, Cas begins, “To be in the Bratva, you must be Russian. Obviously, the name Dean Winchester is about as Russian as Fidel Castro.”
Dean smiles and takes another sip. He hasn’t seen Cas nervous like this before, and it’s remarkably charming.
“I chose Kir for you because it means leader, just like Dean. It will be on all of your official documents, but I will still call you by your given name. It can be another nick name for all anyone needs to know. You can choose what you wish to be known by.”
“Kir,” Dean tries it out. With a shrug, he says, “I like it. It’s easy enough.”
Cas gives him a tight smile. “So why are you being all weird? That wasn’t a revelation that requires slamming two shots of vodka.”
Setting his glass down, Cas takes Dean’s hand. His features are a blank mask with the only hint of emotion sitting in his clenched jaw. “Now that you’re out of prison, you have no need of my protection anymore. You owe me nothing.”
Dean’s heart pounds with all of the open-ended directions that this conversation could fly in. This sounds very much like a parting of ways. But that can’t be. Cas is taking him to Russia. Dean tries to formulate words, but even his thoughts have abandoned him. He merely takes a step back and shakes his head.
“I will understand if you do not wish to continue our affair. I will still be your mentor. Nothing about that arrangement will change.”
Dean withdraws his hand, anguish in his eyes. “You don’t…you don’t want me?”
Leaping to correct the misconception, Cas interrupts him. “No! Dean. I want you desperately. You are everything that I desire. It has been torture to be away from you.”
“Then why would you say that?!” Dean yells, emotion riding high and pinking up his face. “Why would you worry me like that?”
“I want you to have the choice.”
“I made my choice, Cas. I chose you. I will always choose you.” Dean’s conviction is fierce, and Cas is humbled by the steadfastness of his pledge.
Cas sighs out his relief and sags into the couch behind him. Scrubbing his hands over his his face, he chuckles. “Thank all that is holy. I don’t know what I would have done if you had denied me.”
Feeling the need to show Cas how very much he is wanted and appreciated, Dean sets his glass down and kneels between his legs. Silently, with only the flames of desire meeting in their gazes, Dean runs his hands reverently over the hard planes of his chest. Popping the buttons along the way, he parts the deep red shirt and then pulls the undershirt out of his pants and up over his muscled abdomen. The colorful chaos of inked images never fails to excite Dean, but he gives extra attention to the tiny scar that is left from the first time they met. He knew that he did a good job with the sutures, and he licks over the skin to feel the thin bump under his tongue.
Cas groans and sinks deeper into the couch, almost slouching to put his body within Dean’s grasp.
“I know that you did that for my benefit, to level the playing field, so to speak.”
Cas hums in agreement as Dean continues licking and nipping his way down. His head leans to the side to keep Dean in his sight. He rubs his thumb over Dean’s cheek, affection focused solely on him.
“But please don’t question my motivation for being here. I came because I could not bear to be away from you, not because of what you could do for me.”
“Khorosho, dorogoy,” Cas whispers back. (Okay, honey.)
Making quick work of the belt and button on Cas’s pants, Dean rushes to get his fingers around the half erection that is growing quickly. The velvety foreskin is still covering the head of his cock, so Dean grasps it under the frenulum and runs the tip of his finger around the edge until it slips under. His tongue joins the gentle exploration, bringing moans of pleasure to his ears. He sucks the tender skin into his mouth, wiggling his tongue along the place where the skin connects. It drives Cas wild, and Dean adores hearing him lose control. Bucking up into him, Cas curses.
“I don’t know if I’ve forgotten what a prodigy you are at sucking cock or if you’ve gotten even better.”
“You must have forgotten because I haven’t had my mouth anywhere near a cock for almost a month.” Dean smirks up at him under cover of his lashes and licks down to the base, letting his nose bump along the shaft as he goes.
“Christ. I am a lucky man.” Cas praises and drops a hand into Dean’s hair to fondle the soft strands.
Nuzzling into him, Dean sucks one of his testicles into his mouth and rolls it before letting it out with a pronounced pop. “I’m the lucky one, Cas.”
“Over the past weeks, I’ve had several friends question my sanity. They all worry that I am going against Mikhail’s orders because I am hung up on a pretty face. ‘Forget about him. Find a Russian beauty to bed,’ they tell me.”
Dean’s brow furrows. “What do you say to that?”
Cas pulls Dean up to his feet as he stands. Walking him back towards the bed, removing clothes as they go, Cas keeps him occupied with searching, possessive kisses. When Dean hits the edge, Cas growls into the crook of his neck. “I tell them to mind their own fucking business.”
Cas leans down and Dean goes with the guidance until he is flat on his back. Cas’s hands and mouth are everywhere, reacquainting him with the golden skin dusted with light freckles that he can’t quite make out in this light. Worshiping lips dip lower, sucking at his nipple until Dean gasps. “I tell them that I didn’t fall for simple beauty. I fell in love with a god who is as strong, smart, and loyal as he is gorgeous.”
Dean sucks in a harsh breath at the confession, and Cas lifts his head. “Chto ne tak?” (What’s wrong?)
After he swallows around his emotion, Dean asks, “You love me?”
Cas’s face relaxes into the most gentle smile. “Of course I love you, vozlyublennaya.” (beloved)
Dean’s eyes are wide with disbelief and yearning. “Say it again.”
“I love you, Dean.” Cas kisses him, melting his tense muscles into pliant putty. “Ya lyublyu vas.” (I love you.)
“I love you, too.”
Cas hums his satisfaction. Their kisses slowly heat up from tender adoration they are trading back and forth with soft lips to a frantic desperate need that is accompanied by bruising fingers and sharp teeth.
“Fuck, Cas. I need you.”
“Do you want my mouth or my cock right now.”
“Fuck me. Please, baby. I need it.”
Cas shivers at the shaky plea. A guttural animal sound falls from his lips as he flips Dean over onto his stomach and yanks his hips back and up. Pulling the perfect globes of his ass apart, Cas descends on him like a starving beast. Salivating at the taste and feel of Dean giving way under his tongue, Cas moans. “So fucking good.”
Dean is panting, gripping the sheets and trying to contain the urge to shout his pleasure. “Yes, fuck,” he grits out, pushing his ass higher into Cas’s face. He is buried as deeply as he can get, his hands massaging the pert cheeks as he licks and sucks at Dean’s tight little knot of muscle. Pointing his tongue, he forces it to breach Dean, and a chorus of wails erupts in the room.
“Need you. Hurry.” Cas has never heard a sound so lovely in all his life. Dean is rocking back on his knees, arching his back in a delicious curve with eyes closed and lips parted, focusing on how wonderful Cas is making him feel. Pride bursts in the Russian’s chest. If he never does another good thing in his life, this one moment marks a life well spent.
It’s been too long since they’ve been together, so it takes more stretching to get Dean ready than it has since the first few times he fucked him. While Cas is impatient to have him, he would never hurt him, so he keeps working; listening to Dean beg and bargain, tightening the screws of his control.
When his hands start to shake, Cas finally touches his cock to the sweet pink hole. “Yes, Cas. Please, baby!”
“You want my cock, Dean?”
“You know I do. Please.”
“Hold yourself open for me, sweetheart.” Dean shuffles to get his hands around his cheeks. His face is turned to the side and resting on the bed. Cas can sense the spark of mischief in that laser-focused gaze.
Dean’s index finger runs around his rim, dipping into the open hole with a flirty rhythm. The tease does its job immediately. The Russian’s vaunted control snaps, and he is sheathed inside of Dean in a blink, releasing a filthy moan.
“Your body is heaven itself, Dean.”
Running his hands down the length of Dean’s spine, Cas starts a slow pace of thrusts, letting his hands curl over the powerful shoulders for more leverage. Every time he bottoms out, Cas circles his hips in a filthy grind against Dean’s plump ass.
“Fuck. Forgot how big you are,” Dean pants and lets his head hang between his shoulders. “I’ll going to be limping into Moscow.”
Cas chuckles. “That should start some rumors flying.”
“Like they don’t already know you’re a big swinging dick.”
Cas laughs out loud. He pulls out and taps Dean’s hip to get him to turn over.
When he’s on his back, Cas pulls on his legs to lift his ass up into his lap. He leaves one leg resting against his shoulder and sinks back into him with a sigh. Snapping his hips hard enough to force the air from Dean’s lungs, Cas lets himself feel the bliss of heat and constriction, of Dean’s body working his own into orgasm.
“Cas,” Dean keens, his hands dropped into his hair to tug, letting the pain offset the incredible, breath-taking pleasure. “Perfect. Oh, fuck. So good.”
With a brutal pace set toward release, Cas wraps his hand around Dean’s beautiful dick only to have it knocked away.
“You’re going to come just on my cock?”
“Fuck, yes. In about five more seconds. You’re so damn hot. Fuck.”
Looking down on Dean, eyes glazed with lust, face flushed and glistening, body bowed and tense but about to lapse into complete relaxation, Cas can’t imagine a more perfect vision.
“Show me. Paint me in it,” Cas commands.
Dean squeezes his eyes shut while higher, breathy sounds escape his slack mouth. “Yes, yes. I’m coming. Cas.”
Spurts of milky liquid shoot from the rigid, rosy cock. Cas’s mouth salivates as he watches. Slowing the pace, he focuses on the strong contractions milking him from within. Before the pulsing stops, Cas tips over the edge and fills Dean's inner channel with his own come. Collapsing onto his forearms, Cas licks up the underside of Dean’s spent cock and sucks on the head. Dean huffs out a curse as over-sensitivity sets in.
“That was amazing.”
“I think so, too, malysh.”
“Absence may make the heart grow fonder, but let’s not spend that long apart again.”
“Agreed.”
Cas kisses his nose and they fade into fucked out kisses until all of their exertions and panting catch up to them. Parched mouths win out, and Dean convinces Cas to bring him a chilled water bottle. The generous man also brings back an assortment of snacks.
Their mattress picnic devolves into trying to launch food into each other’s open mouths with mixed results.
After cleaning up, Cas turns out the rest of the lights and curls up around Dean’s warm, sated body.
“When do we need to be up?” Dean asks through a yawn.
“Don’t worry. Rest, my love. I will wake you.”
Dean is asleep before he can reply.