"He's in there."
Castiel looked at his partner, Balthazar, in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. The power of those few words, the way they filled him with both dread and elation, was astounding. Dean Winchester, the iconsigliere/i in one of the most illustrious iCosa Nostra/i families in the States, was right here, under his roof. After all these years, after all the near-misses and the long hours spent investigating countless of crime scenes, Castiel would be able to find a little peace. Finally, Dean Winchester would be brought to justice and put behind bars.
It was bittersweet, Castiel realized then while idly straightening his blue tie. As a detective, he had obsessed over Dean for years. He had learned everything about him down to the minute of details; his patterns, the way he thought, even where he ate on Friday mornings. Always searching for that one loophole, always trying to think three steps ahead of him. Without that, without that constant challenge in his life, that bone-deep obsession, Castiel felt an odd sense of… disappointment.
Castiel shrugged it off. Instead of dwelling on that loss, he embraced pride, the pride of knowing he had caught such a well-known criminal. Surely, this was going to be a new chapter in his life. Fame, advancement in his career. He should feel incredible, invincible. iAlive/i. But he didn't. Emptiness began to creep into the spaces where exhilaration couldn't touch. The momentary thrill of catching Dean Winchester would pass, leaving him aimless. Soon, Dean would be replaced with another hooligan off the streets. Less intelligent. Predictable. iBoring/i. In actuality, nothing would change. Everything in his life would still be meaningless.
"Cas?"
Castiel snapped out of it, glancing over his shoulder at Balthazar. For a moment, he simply stared at him, lost in the after-burn of his thoughts. If nothing more than to break the silence, he announced, "I'm going in alone."
"I wouldn't advise that—"
"Balthazar," he intoned more firmly. "I'm going in alone."
"Fine," Balthazar conceded with a sigh and the outstretch of helpless hands.
Castiel nodded and looked at himself in the mirror one last time, finding that he despised the haunted visage that stared back at him. It was of a man who had known little sleep, had spent far too long in another man's head, a mind that belonged to a ruthless killer. Castiel was a shell of what he once was. Nothing more than a corpse with dark circles under his eyes and a face that was worn and hollow. Still, despite his haggard appearance, he was a striking and imposing figure, all tucked in tight and proper as dictated by the style of the times. Just another puppet to society.
Castiel smoothed down the six-buttoned vest with jittery fingers before shrugging into his fine suit jacket. Leaving Balthazar behind, he made his way over to the interrogation room; a four-walled cell that held his five-year-long obsession; Dean Winchester. Castiel found Dean sitting in the chair on the other side of the table when he opened the door. He was handcuffed, fingers laced together, with a smug smile across over his lips. Castiel couldn't help looking him over, noticing the crisp suit he wore with smooth, perfect hair swept to one side. He looked—Castiel clenched his jaw. He couldn't dwell on how Dean looked; gorgeous with those green eyes and just the right amount of stubble shading his jaw line. If this had been another place, another time. If they hadn't been on the opposite sides of the fence… It didn't matter. That was neither here nor there.
"Cas," Dean greeted with the flash of a smile, devastating with charm. "Looks like you finally caught me."
He didn't sound angry or surprised, Castiel noted. His tone of voice was matter-of-fact, like he expected this outcome. Immediately, Castiel's sixth sense kicked in. Something wasn't right and his skin tingled in anticipation. He steadied himself with a soft exhale, cautiously stepping closer to the caged predator. Castiel looked him over to note anything out of place and came back with nothing. Everything was as it should be. Dean was cuffed securely, that much he could tell, yet those green eyes twinkled mischievously. Under that careful scrutiny, beneath the crushing weight of the wink Dean gave him right then, Castiel wanted whatever Dean was planning to just… happen. The thrill of it was too much to bear.
"Dean Winchester," Castiel whispered, sounding a little breathless. "We finally meet face-to-face."
To that, Dean just smiled. It was disarming as it was unnerving. Castiel couldn't help but just stare, trying to calculate his next move. He had rehearsed this conversation time and time again, the speech he'd recite once he had finally caught him. His mind came back with nothing, blank as a sheet of paper. It frustrated him, putting him on edge. This was his moment of triumph after all these years, his moment to shine. How could he concentrate with those green eyes staring at him like they were?
Quietly, Castiel removed his hat and set it aside, sitting down across from him. They stared at each other for a long time. While Dean's eyes penetrated his skin and looked into his soul, Castiel found himself at a loss. He could barely talk, let alone breathe. Dean smirked, blowing out half a laugh out of his nose. That gesture told Castiel many things; that he had already lost, that Dean knew the effect he had over him. That Dean Winchester was about to one-up his opponent. It should have been Castiel's first warning, but it was already too late.
Faster than Castiel could react, Dean flipped opened his cuffs in a two deft, graceful movements. It took him no time and little effort to clasp one of the cuffs completely around Castiel's wrist and jerk him forward. Castiel tried to struggle, but Dean was stronger and quicker, securing both his wrists to the table. Here and now, Castiel was at Dean's mercy, draped stomach-first across that firm surface with his hips teetering along its edge.
"You think you've won?" Dean chuckled from behind him while Castiel struggled against the cuff's tight hold. "It looks like the tables have ijust/i been turned."
"Let me go," Castiel growled.
"Not so fast."
Castiel shivered when Dean stepped in closer behind him, angled hips bearing down against his rear. With hands flat against the table on either side of his shoulders, Dean leaned in to whisper into his ear. "I thought I'd have a bit of fun with you first... you know. Revenge for my brother; the one you put in the slammer."
Dean's breath tickled his skin, tumbled down his neck and made all the hairs stand on end. Castiel couldn't deny daydreaming about this very scenario, coming away every time feeling disgusted with himself. Disgusted and viciously aroused. Just like he was now. His cock pressed harshly against his own skin, trapped by the hard edge of the table. He knew then that he couldn't do anything to stop this. Half of him... didn't want to. Castiel could have screamed, could have done a number of things. But why? To what end?
The stale air against his naked skin brought him out of his mental escape. His suit pants had been pulled down and were now hanging just below his rear. The next thing he felt was the stinging sensation of a hand cracking against one of his cheeks. Once, twice. Castiel flinched and whimpered under the assault of one slap, moaning with the other. Dean noticed.
"You like it when someone takes control, don't you?"
Castiel didn't answer, but groaned when Dean slapped him again. Instinctively, wanting it, Castiel spread his legs apart as much as he could and tilted his hips back and up, surrendering his body. He didn't even have enough willpower to be surprised at himself. Right then, he just wanted to be fucked, needed it, and voiced it in the way he moaned. Filthy. Desperate.
Dean didn't hesitate and shoved his way inside, splitting Castiel in half without mercy. Castiel gasped in pain and held onto the edge of the table while Dean pounded into him, over and over again. The pain, the pleasure, all of it mixed together… Castiel pressed his head into the wood and groaned, spread his legs even further apart. The thrill of being dominated, of being iclaimed by his obsessioni... iGod/i. It was incredible and it left him trembling against the assault of Dean's hips. He could feel every inch of Dean slide into him, hitting every nerve ending and sending bursts of euphoria through his body. As much as he could, Castiel used the strength in his legs to help him slam back into Dean, meeting every single thrust with a hungry one of his own. With the increased friction ieverywhere/i, Castiel felt his orgasm building hard and fast. He was panting, almost breathless by the time Dean picked up the tempo. The sound of thighs slapping against him, Dean's hand in his hair, gripping tight and forcing his head down... It was all too much.
Within seconds, Castiel came untouched, calling out with a groan that was undignified. The way Dean gasped and jerked into him so fucking hard it almost broke him, Castiel knew that he had come too. And that was it. There was no time to trade harsh words or empty threats. No time to register what had just happened.
Just then, half of the precinct house barged in and separated them. There was too much shouting and struggling for Castiel to follow. He was too blown out of his mind after the encounter that Castiel couldn't care anything else. When he did have enough strength to look back past his own spent body, he saw Dean being dragged out. Right then, before Dean disappeared beyond the corridor, their eyes met.
"Don't think you've seen the last of me, Cas," Dean said with a wink. His smile was smug.
Castiel knew all too well that Dean would find some way to bribe his way out. That or escape. And he'd be ready for him in more ways than one.