Chapter Text

Chapter 1 - The Gala

Dean Winchester is going to kill his brother. He is going to knock down the big clumsy moose and chop him into little bits. And then he is going to do the same to his girlfriend Sarah. Why didn’t they warn Dean that visiting this week would include attending a stuffy gala, where all the socialites went to show off their obscene wealth in the form of diamond necklaces, gold cufflinks, fake tans, and bleached teeth? And why is Sam forcing him to attend instead of leaving him in his posh hotel room with pay-per-view porn and delicious room service?

“You work too much, Dean” Sam said. “You deserve a night of free canapes, an open bar, and beautiful art to admire”.

And when he tried to protest and bow out, they played the ace up their sleeve. “It’s for charity, Dean!” Sam pleaded with the biggest puppy eyes that should be impossible on a 30-year-old, 6’4”, long-haired hippie. “And it’s Sarah’s big break as an event organizer! The mayor is going to be there, and so will all the clients that can take Sarah’s business to the next level”.

Dean has never been able to say no to the guy. Not when he was a snotty-nosed brat, and not now.

He looks at his reflection in the massive mirror in the room and sighs. At least he listened to their suggestion and brought one of his designer suits. “…Just in case they were going to a fancy restaurant…” he mumbled in a mockery of his brother’s voice. He is more of a t-shirt, flannel, and ripped jeans kind of guy, but when his classic car restoration business started attracting a wealthier kind of customer, he found himself having to put his toolbox on a shelf and attend meetings in fancy mansions and luxurious garages where first impressions made the difference between getting to restore a Shelby GT500 and make 100 grand, or sell his soul and do oil changes on fucking Hondas to have enough money to pay bills.

This is the first week off he has had in over 3 years, and the decision to travel across a couple of states to spend it with his brother in the big city was a no-brainer. He badly misses the kid, and a couple of days at Thanksgiving and Christmas or a weekend here and there do little to fill the empty hole left in his chest when Sam moved away for college and then stayed for good. He understands the decision, of course he does, the career opportunities here are way better than anything he could get back at their hometown, but he misses the easy daily banter and the pranking, the Sunday dinners, and the ever-present steadfast faith Sam had in Dean. If not for that belief, Dean would still be a grease monkey working out of their uncle’s junkyard.

A knock on the door interrupts his musings and, with a final check on the mirror, Dean walks and opens the door to find his brother on the other side.

“Look at you so dashing,” sniggers Sam.

“Shut it, Samantha,” growls Dean. “I’m going to be completely out of place in that crowd. Are you sure I can’t just stay here in my room? I’ll be fine by myself for one night, I swear”.

Sam’s smile fades a bit. “Come on, Dean, I’m sure you would be fine here, but I promise this is going to be really cool. Some of the auction items are awesome and rare. And you won’t have to interact with anyone besides myself and Sarah,” and with a smirk adds, “And did I mention free expensive booze?”

Knowing the difficult relationship Dean has with alcohol, it’s a testament to how much Sam wants him to do this to try and bribe him with this argument.

“OK bitch, let’s do this.”

“Jerk.”

And both walk to the elevator that will take them to the hotel conference room.

~*~

Castiel Novak wants to kill Balthazar. No, he wants to pummel his face first, wipe the ever-present smirk off with his fists. He wants to strangle him with his bare hands although, knowing the asshole, that would just give him a hard-on and he would die happy. And that is not what Castiel wants. No, no, and no. Castiel wants him to suffer as if fire ants have crawled up his horny cock and made themselves cozy in his balls so he could never get hard again. He rues the day he met the obnoxious Brit, struck up a friendship, and agreed to participate in what has now become his worst nightmare.

As Castiel walks into the hotel conference room where the auction is taking place, he stands in the shadows, looks around, and takes a moment to assess the crowd. He recognizes several faces and prepares mentally for the ‘handshake - air kisses - fake adulation dance’ he knows is coming his way as soon as he is noticed. He is regarded as a very aloof person, with a face that shows little emotion and that is great when you are the star prosecutor at the DA’s office. But not so good when you want to have a chance at being elected DA when his boss retires. And despite his rusty people skills in social environments, people are attracted to his side like moths to a flame, and that can work in his favor for his aspirations.

What is also not so good is having a painting of him naked being auctioned at the Annual Charity Gala organized by the mayor’s office. He is definitely going to kill his best friend. Who better to get away with murder than a prosecutor with a 99% success rate in locking up the vilest of criminals?

Balthazar has argued that no naughty bits show, and no one will be able to tell it’s Castiel since the blazing eyes blur the rest of the face. Maybe, and that is a very unlikely possibility, a former lover might recognize the combination of mole/nipple on his right pectoral, but Balthazar is sure that’s not going to happen. They fought over the artist’s decision to give the painting up for the auction, but in the end Bal won. Castiel might be a shark in a court of law, but he is unwaveringly loyal when it comes to his friends. And Balthazar is desperate. His last showing was a bust, and his inspiration to paint has waned. He needs a win, and if that means giving what he considers his most private and adored painting to be auctioned at the event of the year, then what is Castiel to do but to support him?

The painting is almost 20 years old and is part of the set that launched Balthazar’s career as an artist. But, at the time, Balthazar didn’t include it in the showing. Every single one of the paintings was inspired by Castiel, but this is the only one where he is facing the viewer and is undoubtedly sexual. Bal couldn’t bear to part with it at the time, so he kept it, his only excuse being that when he died the painting would be worth millions and neither would care if Castiel’s face and dangling bits were immortalized in canvas.

The rush of memories sends a shudder down Castiel’s spine. He can almost smell the sweet scent of burning weed mixed with the sour odor of sweating bodies, cum, and alcohol, feel the drain of holding his arms behind his back for hours, kneeling, the arch of his spine, tears rolling down his cheek when inevitably the emotions ran too high, too fast, too loose from the mix of drugs and alcohol, and all the colors swirling behind his eyelids. The weeks Castiel spent in Bal’s studio when the snow piled high and neither had a place or a family to spend the holidays with resulted in 13 paintings. In every single one the religious mixes with the profane, angel wings and fiery swords, demon horns and pitchfork tails, heads bowed in prayer, or faces raised in tormented soundless screams, arms raised to the sky black as ash, bodies littering endless fields. They were eerie and controversial, and much to their surprise, were picked by a gallery to do a showing that rapidly turned Balthazar into a sought-after painter.  All the paintings sold, all but one, kept behind, hidden. And is now being made public and sold at the biggest event of the year.

Castiel sighs and pulling his shoulders back walks into the room and starts the political dance expected of him.

~*~

Castiel has lost count of how many handshakes he has given so far. Between the mayor and his wife number 3, the District Attorney and her lovely husband, the university dean and his 20-year younger wife, who copped a feel of his ass with a wink behind her husband’s back, his patience is already wearing thin. Everywhere he turns someone is vying for his attention, men patting him on the back with congratulations for his last successful conviction, women with too much perfume standing too close, and of course, people that see him only as a commodity, either because being in the good graces of a prosecutor can come in hand in the future, or because they think fucking a desirable bachelor can be later capitalized on.

He manages to keep moving in the general direction of where the auction items are displayed. There are about 20 art pieces plus some envelopes with different offers, from spa sessions to an all-inclusive beach holiday on a private island owned by the obnoxious Dick Roman. The painting stands out, not just because of the theme, but also for the size of it. Castiel didn’t remember quite how big it was. He stops a short distance away and can’t help but absorb all the details that space and time had dulled in his memory. His mind is screaming “fuck fuck fuck… How will anyone that looks at it not recognize him immediately?”. His internal panic attack is suddenly interrupted by a grating voice.

“Delightful, isn’t it?” Roman says “I am fortunate enough to possess one of the 12 originals, but this one is clearly more enticing than any of those. Pity it was not put on sale back then”.

Castiel glances sideways at the man but doesn’t bother with any comment. He knows he should at least acknowledge him. The man is the most powerful one in the room, despite his lack of political position. He is extremely wealthy and that means he can buy most of what he desires, including people in the right offices and roles. He has been trying to catch Castiel in his net for years with no success, much to his frustration.

“But I don’t think I will make a bid for it.” Dick continues “Not worth the investment, now that the painter has fallen from grace, don’t you think?”. His oily smile is too calculated and clearly meant to disrupt Castiel’s inner balance. He doubts the man knows Castiel is the subject of the painting, but he is making clear he knows Balthazar is Castiel’s friend.

His boss signals from across the room and Castiel excuses himself and moves away rapidly. He grabs a champagne flute from one of the server’s trays and approaches the DA to be introduced to another couple that he doesn’t know and, if given any choice, wouldn’t bother knowing. The room is full but not packed and he finds a small table where he can rest his glass while keeping an eye on the painting and the crowd. It’s been just over one hour, and he is already exhausted from being here, where he feels either like an outsider or a prized bull. But he can’t leave, not before the auction is done. He runs his eyes around the room again, coming back to the painting once more.

And right in front of it, standing a little too close to the canvas is a man that Castiel knows he has never seen before. The man looks exquisite. Standing at over 6’, he is long-legged and V-shaped. His tailored suit accentuates his wide shoulders, muscled arms, and fit calves. Not to mention the small, but round, tight ass. He is talking to an even taller man who stands by his side and has an exasperated look on his face. They both glance at the painting again, and he extends a hand toward it like he is going to caress it. His hands look strong, with long fingers and Castiel briefly wonders how sinful they would look wrapped around a cock. The younger man slaps the hand before it touches the painting and is very obviously reprimanding his friend. The man laughs and Castiel can now see the full cupid bow lips, enclosed by a fashionable scruff, above a neck that is thrown back and that can only be described as biteable.

His scrutiny is suddenly interrupted by a few more dull peers who feel the need to shake his hand and exchange meaningless pleasantries. He loses sight of the man in the crowd. Castiel sighs and ignores the pull to try and find him and introduce himself. Thankfully Bal is somewhere else in the room and hasn’t picked on Castiel’s interest. He would push his friend to go after the guy and try to relieve the stress that tenses his shoulders with a good fuck.

But Castiel can’t afford to do something so reckless as to pick up a stranger at an event that can make or break his career ambitions.

~*~

As soon as Dean enters the conference room where the gala is taking place, he regrets his decision to indulge Sam. The room reeks of expensive perfume and haughtiness. He is pretty sure he never saw so much bling in one place, outside of the Grammy’s ceremony on the TV he insists he doesn’t watch. Sure, his business deals with wealthy people, but at least they have an interest in common, that is classic cars. They don’t go prancing around in floor-length dresses and penguin suits when they meet to discuss a car restoration. He feels so out of his depth he immediately turns to the closest bar and asks for a double on the rocks. Sam, God bless his soul, refrains from comment.

As is ingrained in his brain from a very young age by a paranoid ex-marine father, he scans the room for potential dangers first and exits next. He evaluates the event’s security by taking note of the hidden camera’s locations and the number of guards present. None seem to be packing firearms, only batons, and most look bored out of their minds. If John was here, he would be compiling a list of potential threats lurking in the shadows. Dean forces down the instinct to do it and determinedly relaxes his body.

Sarah approaches them with a smile on her face. “Hi boys. So, what do you think?”

“It looks amazing,” Sam smiles at his girlfriend, quickly hugging her. “You did an amazing job”.

“What do you think, Dean?”

“Well, the booze is top-shelf quality. So, congrats on that” he grunts. But before her face could fall due to his curt reply, he adds “It looks like everyone is enjoying themselves. The décor is very classy. Great job Sarah.”

“You should go and have a look at the auction items. There are some interesting ones” she grins. Looking at Sam she adds “Sorry I can’t be with you, but I need to make sure everything runs smoothly.”

“It’s OK babe. Go and dazzle the money high rollers and get some future event business bookings”.

Standing by themselves again, they decide to go and have a look at what the masses will be spending their money on. The items are listed on leaflets carefully located in strategic places around the room, and Dean picks up one out of curiosity.

“Are you going to bid on a spa package that, and I quote: ‘soothes the spirit, rejuvenates the body, and enriches the mind’, through yoga, Pilates, organic juices, and treatments that use fruits straight from the garden?” He smirks at Sam.

“Very funny Dean. We have donated some money anonymously to the charity.” Sam replies “Since Sarah is organizing the event we didn’t want to be bidding during the auction. Besides, some of these people will try to outshine each other by offering small fortunes just so they can brag they are more sympathetic with the cause”.

They approach the exposition and Dean is immediately drawn to the massive painting that stands at one of the ends. It is identified as item number 24. He looks at the leaflet and reads the description:

“Rapture” by Balthazar Dante

A previously undisclosed painting is now added to the set of 12 paintings known as Eden’s Corruption

Noticing Sam is perusing some of the other items, Dean takes the time to appreciate the painting. It’s of an angel, half kneeling on blackened grass. The angel has massive black wings, raised above his head, but feathers are missing in some places or bent out of shape, and some have drops of bright bluish light dripping from them. His face is looking straight into the observer, but most of his features are cloaked by the intense bright blue light coming off his eyes. Dean can only discern a mouth twisted in mild amusement and a mop of unruly black hair on his head.

He is essentially naked, because whatever kind of vest was covering him has been ripped to shreds. And the angel is brawny, with well-defined muscles and an impressive set of thighs. The only thing stopping the painting from belonging in the centerfold of a skin magazine is the weird sword in his left hand hanging right in front of his crotch. The small white and red splashes of paint on the angel’s torso raise the question if the angel has been fucking or fighting, or both.

Dean’s pants are suddenly tighter than before. He pockets his hand and discretely adjusts himself. He starts to imagine the painting hanging on the wall facing his bed and what a rush it would be to go to sleep every night under that gaze. He suddenly remembers that his mom used to say angels were watching over him. He is sure this is not what she meant at all. But what a view it would be.

He is so fascinated by the painting he fails to notice Sam standing by his side looking at him with a confused gaze.

“Dean, have you been standing here all the time it took for me to go around the room?” Sam asks. “What is so special about the painting?”

“Well, I was kind of wondering if I could flick the sword aside and take a peek at his cock” Dean answers with the brashest smile he can produce, internally cringing that he was caught so unaware of his surroundings. “Should I try it?” he continues while extending a hand towards the painting.

Sam slaps his hand away immediately. “Don’t do that. You will get us both in trouble.”

Dean laughs “Come on Sammy, let’s go get a refill before this shindig starts.”