The End of the World Affair Supernatural/Man from Uncle XOver PT 1
The sun was setting low in the horizon when the French doors to the patio of the mansion opened and two people spilled out to the sounds of laughter and the tinkle of music. The man was tall, suave with thick dark hair and smooth tanned skin. He laughed again sliding an arm around the young lady at his side. She shivered as a breeze picked up ruffling the gauzy material of her dress.
“Oh, Mr. Solo,” she bubbled and the man turned fixing a smarmy grin on his face. The girl leaned in close puckering as if she expected him to kiss her, but Solo dodged her waving a passing waiter over.
“Oh boy…over here and snap to it.”
The waiter’s jade green eyes narrowed and he hefted the heavy tray of glasses he bore walking smoothly and quickly over to the couple. But just as he reached them some, unseen, thing on the patio caught his foot and the tray dipped glasses toppling splashing champagne all over the man. He jerked back as the cold liquid soaked his jacket hissing, “You clumsy fool!”
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” the waiter said horrified. Quickly he produced a white bar towel from the waistband of his dark trousers and began wiping at the soiled jacket. Solo slapped at the waiter’s hand.
“You’re making more of a mess. You’ve ruined my jacket!” Solo snapped vehemently and the waiter shot him a grin, winking. Solo frowned. Stepping back the slightly taller man bowed gallantly.
“Perhaps if you come inside, sir? I think some club soda will work on the stain.” the waiter said smoothly. Now the girl looked miffed. Frowning she touched Solo’s arm, but the waiter intercepted her bumping her away with a hip. “Just inside the kitchen, sir.”
Solo offered the girl a sorrowful glance raising her hand to his lips he kissed it briefly, “I will bid you adieu, for the moment, my dear. I fully intend to have Dr. Lambert discharge this unruly brute.”
The waiter followed along mimicking Solo’s outranged expression behind the girl’s back. Solo’s lips clamped together in a thin line of disapproval. As the girl turned the waiter’s face morphed into a suitably distraught expression. Solo grasped him by the arm tugging him along. “Come along now my good fellow. Don’t make this any worse than it already is.”
As the two men marched through the living room of the huge house they disappeared around the staircase leading upstairs to the bedrooms. The girl fell behind as both men turned down the hall toward the kitchen. But as soon as the girl wandered back to the party, Solo released the waiter’s arm. “Upstairs, Dr, Lambert’s study is on the right. The safe is behind a painting.”
Dean Winchester followed his partner up the stairs stripping off the red waiter’s coat and turning it inside out so that a black tux jacket now covered his trousers. “I don’t suppose you know which painting.”
Napoleon Solo, UNCLE agent, smiled at the younger man. Shrugging, Dean rolled his eyes. And Solo scoffed, “Hey, even I can only work so fast. His niece was a tough cookie to crumble.”
“Oh I bet, Napoleon, you sure look like you’re suffering.” Dean grinned scurrying up the stairs. Solo sighed following along after the taller man. Dean ducked around the corner at the top of the staircase glancing around before he slipped into the study. Napoleon followed along behind. They split up moving to different walls before beginning the process of moving each framed painting looking for the wall safe hidden behind. Panting Dean moved quickly from one framed piece of art to the next. Solo glanced over his shoulder, “You’re breathing hard there, partner mine. Maybe you’re out of shape.”
“Out of shape?” Dean snapped, “I’ve been lugging boxes and crates all day. Next time you get to be the waiter and I’ll seduce the girl.”
“Each to his talents,” Solo said airily, “I’m the suave one; you’re the one good for brute force.”
“Suave my ass.” Dean hissed. Now Solo snorted.
“And a fine ass it is, but be that as it may. Hold on here.” Napoleon quickly tugged the painting in front of him from the wall, “Bingo!”
Dean hurried over to his partner, “Okay I’ll show you some of that brute force now.”
Napoleon moved away from the painting as Dean pulled a small plastic baggie out of his trouser pocket. Smoothing the baggie against his thigh Dean drew out a small metal tab and a ball of clay-like plastic explosive. Glancing at his partner he nodded, “Get ready with the smoke alarm.”
Nodding Napoleon drew a cigarette lighter from his pocket and clambering onto of a solid looking end table held the lighter to a tiny sliver of cardboard. The rough brown fibers of the cardboard caught flame and the UNCLE agent blew gently causing the flickering ember to pour out a small stream of white smoke. He hefted the smoking mass to the white smoke detector in the ceiling.
The alarm blared into life just as Dean popped the detonator cap onto the Plastique smashing the explosive to the face of the safe on the wall. There was a muffled blast barely audible over the fire alarm and the safe door sprang open.
Coughing Napoleon waved the smoking cardboard under the smoke alarm then jumped down from the table glancing behind him to make certain that Dean had relieved the safe of its contents. The other agent was just tucking a manila envelope into his trouser waistband as he scurried across the room following his partner down the hall to the staircase.
They joined the res t of the partygoers heading out the front door to the lawn. Both men faded into the crowd of revelers milling around on the grass as the fire engines pulled into the driveway. Dean strolled casually across the yard to the small parking area behind Napoleon as the other man fished a Valet ticket out of his jacket pocket and thrust it at the bored looking young man standing at the far end of the driveway. The valet took the ticket and appeared a few minutes later with Napoleon’s classic Austin Martin idling beside the two men. Grinning at his partner Napoleon shrugged a shoulder at Dean, “Do you mind tipping the lad, Deano?”
Grumbling under his breath Dean fished his wallet out of his trousers tossing a ten to the valet and sliding into the front seat beside his partner. Napoleon pulled the car out of the driveway past the fire truck before anyone noticed that the two men were gone. Smiling Dean tucked the envelope of papers into the glove compartment as his partner pulled the car onto the main road back into the tiny upstate New York town of Neville.
Napoleon sighed as he cast a glance over at the other man. Dean was a good looking guy, a few years younger than solo’s thirty-six, but not his type. Besides Napoleon was a senior agent and he didn’t want any relationship he had to taint that professional bond he had developed with Winchester over the past ten years they had been paired together at UNCLE. Ever since Dean had come out of survival school at twenty-three still wet behind the ears and so earnest it made Napoleon cringe.
As the Lambert estate fell behind them the two agents surveyed the road, but no sign of any vehicle appeared, no headlights behind them; nothing marring the still quiet of the night. Dean finally settled back in the seat, still watchful but not as on edge as he had been. Napoleon shot his partner a smarmy grin, “Another task, well in hand. We just need to pop by the UNCLE office in Neville and drop these documents off and we are free for the evening.”
Dean shrugged, “I’m way too keyed up to call it a night. How about we go by the Abbey and get a drink.”
The senior agent considered the idea and found it to be satisfactory. Still he couldn’t help a teasing little wink at his partner, “Are you sure a drink is all you want to partake of”
Dean flushed crimson, knowing he had been caught out by his perceptive older partner. Napoleon could not have failed to notice that Dean had been paying more than a passing amount of attention to one of the many more than attractive members of the Abbey’s extensive staff of ‘personal companions’.
It was a short trip to the local UNCLE office in Neville, and then Napoleon turned off the main road onto a side street up a tree lined boulevard into a more prosperous and rural area. Smiling at his partner Dean rolled the window down and let the night air wash over him as they drove. The road was still and silent and Dean thought he might have dozed off, but his partner didn’t seem to mind. When they pulled Napoleon’s car into the driveway for the huge old building Dean leaned back taking in the sedate, elegant surroundings.
The Abbey had, at one time, actually been a monastery. It was an imposing edifice of four wings, three of which comprised the commercial areas and one wing which housed two apartments for the building’s two owners, Francis Crowley and Balthazar D’Anjou.
The remaining three wings contained the fifty private rooms of the staff, a large gourmet kitchen, and a five star restaurant and bar, and a casino. The Abbey was a legal brothel, and was strictly regulated by the State of New York. The commercial areas were all non-smoking and no one under the age of twenty-one was allowed into the casino or bar. And no one under the age of eighteen was employed at the Abbey or made use of it professional services. All the ‘attendants’ were examined by a doctor and could provide medical certification as being free of disease.
While many people had tried to shut the doors of the business over the years, and more than one right-wing nut job in congress derided the place on many occasions, it stayed open…prosperous and infamous.
The valet, a pretty tiny girl in dark pants and a white dress shirt took the keys to the Austin Martin as Napoleon and Dean climbed out of the car. The front door was guarded by an imposing man with chocolate colored skin and a smoothly gleaming bald head. Dean nodded, “Uriel.” He said.
The bouncer frowned giving Dean the stink eye, but stepped aside, “Remember I’m watching you, Winchester.”
“Now, now gentlemen,” Napoleon said offering Uriel a gallant smile. The other man rolled his eyes. Dean had gotten on his bad side by paying just a tad bit too much attention to one of the prostitutes, whom Dean thought the other man might have a thing for.
As they stepped into the room Dean caught sight of the man in question. Castiel Novak would have stood out in any crowd, although he was not an imposing man. He was of average height, slender build and maybe a couple of years older than Dean himself. But it was the dark mass of tousled brown hair that Dean noticed until the prostitute turned around and the agent was transfixed by Castiel’s blue, blue eyes.
Dean cast a glance at his partner and noticed Napoleon surveying the bevy of curvaceous beauties sitting in chairs in the front room. These were the on-call staff, who usually worked the Walk-in business. Castiel and his friends at the bar had to have their time booked well in advance. Dean had been aghast to find out that Castiel, and the other high-end talent, was booked at one thousand dollars an hour. And at a fifty-fifty split with the house Castiel usually made more money in a week than Dean made in a month.
Sighing Dean sidled up to the bar, caught the bartender’s eye, and ordered a beer. They had the good stuff on tap and Dean watched as the amber brew filled a well-chilled mug. No one could say they did anything half-assed at the Abbey. The perfectly pulled beer settled on a cocktail napkin and Dean reached for his wallet.
The bar-tender, herself, a more than attractive red-head smiled, “Mr. Crowley has arranged a tab for you and Mr. Solo. “
Dean tipped her anyway, and whirled around on his stool watching as Castiel disappeared up the stairs with an elderly man in an Armani suit. Before Dean had finished his glass the two men reappeared, the elderly man patting Castiel warmly on the arm as he headed for the door.
The prostitute spotted the UNCLE agent and smiled. Ambling over to the bar Castiel raised a hand and the bartender appeared almost as if by magic. “Anna, a club soda with a twist of lemon,” he said quietly.
The young woman smiled, “Sure thing, Cas.”
Dean huffed, “Sure you don’t want a beer?”
Castiel sighed, “No alcohol on duty. It interferes with my job performance.”
“Are you done for the night?”
Shaking his head Castiel sipped at his glass, eyes falling shut in appreciation. “No, I’ve got one more client tonight. In an hour. I need to shower, come up to my room with me?”
Dean thought about turning him down but they both knew that wasn’t going to happen so he didn’t even put up a token fight. Castiel leaned over the bar tugging out a bottle of beer, and another Perrier. Anna shot him a disapproving glare.
Dean paused only briefly to catch Napoleon’s eyes as his partner was holding court over the assembled girls giggling at his outrageous stories. Dean cocked his head at one of the blondes, “So anything catch your eye?”
Napoleon shrugged, “I was thinking of trying something a little more exotic tonight.”
The elder UNCLE agent cocked his head toward a small, slender blonde figure also sitting at the bar. Dean followed his glance and shivered. Illya Kuryakin was one of the high-end talents along with Castiel. But unlike Cas Illya was a ‘specialist’ although Dean had yet to work up the courage to ask exactly what that entailed. Just the fact that the small Russian was nicknamed the Ice Prince gave Dean pause.
Dean surveyed the smaller man. Illya was as beautiful as Castiel. Barely five-eight and slim of build Illya had a thick shock of platinum blonde hair and eyes that rivaled Castiel’s in their blue depths. Dean would have gone for him if Castiel hadn’t so thoroughly captured the younger agent’s heart.
“You’re a braver man than I, Napoleon.”
Dean followed Castiel meekly up the wide staircase to the second floor. The prostitute’s room was mid-hall on the right side and Dean was pretty certain he could find it blindfolded. He paused wondering if the other man would do that if he asked. Castiel was fairly liberal in his leanings although not a ‘specialist’ in the professional sense of the word. Dean was going to man up and asked Cas just exactly what that meant considering the words ‘fetish provider’ had never been in the agent’s vocabulary before he had met the other men.
Pushing open the door Castiel began stripping out of his clothes as soon as he entered the room. Dean followed along watching appreciatively. Castiel turned smiling, beckoning Dean over. “Do you want anything, Dean?”
“I can wait,” the agent said stiffly but Castiel whirled running his hands up Dean’s arm.
“How about a quickie? A blowjob to tide you over.” Before Dean could say anything in return the prostitute dropped to his knees working the fastenings on Dean’s trousers. He had the agent’s dick in his hand and then his mouth before Dean could even draw a deep breath. Castiel worked him like he was the most delicious delicacy he had ever eaten, and Dean was gasping and coming so quickly it was little embarrassing.
Rising up Castiel planted a firm kiss on Dean’s lips letting the agent lick the taste of himself off the prostitutes lips. “How about you?”
Shaking his head Castiel stepped back, “No I need to save it for the judge.”
“Judge?” Dean queried. But the other man back away with a smirk.
“You know I can’t kiss and tell.”
“I’m pretty sure that john-whore conversation is not covered under Client privilege laws.”
“What did I tell you about that word?’” Castiel said with a frown. Dean flinched. It was one of the things that had gotten him firmly at the top of Uriel’s shit-list. No one in The Abbey was merely a whore. It was gauche.
Finally the prostitute settled on a chair glancing at the clock on the bedside table. “You have to wait downstairs. My client will be here in twenty-five minutes and I need to clean up.”
Dean sighed pulling his pants up and tucking in his shirt, “So judge…huh? Anybody I know?”
“Probably, but you won’t hear his name from me. I’ll tell you he’s a New York Supreme Court judge though. A nice elderly man.”
“They’re all elderly men.” Dean said drily. Castiel shushed him.
“He’s, in the common vernacular, a cock-sucker. He gets off on having another man’s dick in his mouth. So basically I’m getting paid five hundred dollars for a guy to give me a blowjob.”
Dean glowered and Castiel flipped him the finger. Shaking his head Dean sighed moving toward the door, but the other man grabbed his arm, “Come back at eleven, okay? Sleep with me tonight.”
“I don’t know…”
“Hey, that you can have. I never take all nighters. You’re the only one I sleep with on a regular basis.”
“Okay, but tell me one thing,” Dean said then held up a hand at Castiel’s glare. “What does Illya do? I mean besides the obvious. What’s his specialty?”
“Oh they call him the Ice Prince for a reason. Think dominatrix, but male…lots of black leather and a riding crop.” Castiel even giggled. “Some of the big ones he rides like a horse. He even makes them whinny!”
“And they pay him for that?” Dean asked incredulously. Castiel cocked his head then grinned.
“Hey, one of Illya’s regulars, a cop by the way, pays him to piss on him.”
“And that’s my cue to leave.” Dean said leaning in he kissed Castiel on the cheek, “I’ll be back. Oh, and Cas, would you piss on me if I paid you?”
“I’d piss on you even if you didn’t pay me.”
Dean smirked, “Now that’s true love.”
Part Two
“Oh, Mr. Solo,” she bubbled and the man turned fixing a smarmy grin on his face. The girl leaned in close puckering as if she expected him to kiss her, but Solo dodged her waving a passing waiter over.
“Oh boy…over here and snap to it.”
The waiter’s jade green eyes narrowed and he hefted the heavy tray of glasses he bore walking smoothly and quickly over to the couple. But just as he reached them some, unseen, thing on the patio caught his foot and the tray dipped glasses toppling splashing champagne all over the man. He jerked back as the cold liquid soaked his jacket hissing, “You clumsy fool!”
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” the waiter said horrified. Quickly he produced a white bar towel from the waistband of his dark trousers and began wiping at the soiled jacket. Solo slapped at the waiter’s hand.
“You’re making more of a mess. You’ve ruined my jacket!” Solo snapped vehemently and the waiter shot him a grin, winking. Solo frowned. Stepping back the slightly taller man bowed gallantly.
“Perhaps if you come inside, sir? I think some club soda will work on the stain.” the waiter said smoothly. Now the girl looked miffed. Frowning she touched Solo’s arm, but the waiter intercepted her bumping her away with a hip. “Just inside the kitchen, sir.”
Solo offered the girl a sorrowful glance raising her hand to his lips he kissed it briefly, “I will bid you adieu, for the moment, my dear. I fully intend to have Dr. Lambert discharge this unruly brute.”
The waiter followed along mimicking Solo’s outranged expression behind the girl’s back. Solo’s lips clamped together in a thin line of disapproval. As the girl turned the waiter’s face morphed into a suitably distraught expression. Solo grasped him by the arm tugging him along. “Come along now my good fellow. Don’t make this any worse than it already is.”
As the two men marched through the living room of the huge house they disappeared around the staircase leading upstairs to the bedrooms. The girl fell behind as both men turned down the hall toward the kitchen. But as soon as the girl wandered back to the party, Solo released the waiter’s arm. “Upstairs, Dr, Lambert’s study is on the right. The safe is behind a painting.”
Dean Winchester followed his partner up the stairs stripping off the red waiter’s coat and turning it inside out so that a black tux jacket now covered his trousers. “I don’t suppose you know which painting.”
Napoleon Solo, UNCLE agent, smiled at the younger man. Shrugging, Dean rolled his eyes. And Solo scoffed, “Hey, even I can only work so fast. His niece was a tough cookie to crumble.”
“Oh I bet, Napoleon, you sure look like you’re suffering.” Dean grinned scurrying up the stairs. Solo sighed following along after the taller man. Dean ducked around the corner at the top of the staircase glancing around before he slipped into the study. Napoleon followed along behind. They split up moving to different walls before beginning the process of moving each framed painting looking for the wall safe hidden behind. Panting Dean moved quickly from one framed piece of art to the next. Solo glanced over his shoulder, “You’re breathing hard there, partner mine. Maybe you’re out of shape.”
“Out of shape?” Dean snapped, “I’ve been lugging boxes and crates all day. Next time you get to be the waiter and I’ll seduce the girl.”
“Each to his talents,” Solo said airily, “I’m the suave one; you’re the one good for brute force.”
“Suave my ass.” Dean hissed. Now Solo snorted.
“And a fine ass it is, but be that as it may. Hold on here.” Napoleon quickly tugged the painting in front of him from the wall, “Bingo!”
Dean hurried over to his partner, “Okay I’ll show you some of that brute force now.”
Napoleon moved away from the painting as Dean pulled a small plastic baggie out of his trouser pocket. Smoothing the baggie against his thigh Dean drew out a small metal tab and a ball of clay-like plastic explosive. Glancing at his partner he nodded, “Get ready with the smoke alarm.”
Nodding Napoleon drew a cigarette lighter from his pocket and clambering onto of a solid looking end table held the lighter to a tiny sliver of cardboard. The rough brown fibers of the cardboard caught flame and the UNCLE agent blew gently causing the flickering ember to pour out a small stream of white smoke. He hefted the smoking mass to the white smoke detector in the ceiling.
The alarm blared into life just as Dean popped the detonator cap onto the Plastique smashing the explosive to the face of the safe on the wall. There was a muffled blast barely audible over the fire alarm and the safe door sprang open.
Coughing Napoleon waved the smoking cardboard under the smoke alarm then jumped down from the table glancing behind him to make certain that Dean had relieved the safe of its contents. The other agent was just tucking a manila envelope into his trouser waistband as he scurried across the room following his partner down the hall to the staircase.
They joined the res t of the partygoers heading out the front door to the lawn. Both men faded into the crowd of revelers milling around on the grass as the fire engines pulled into the driveway. Dean strolled casually across the yard to the small parking area behind Napoleon as the other man fished a Valet ticket out of his jacket pocket and thrust it at the bored looking young man standing at the far end of the driveway. The valet took the ticket and appeared a few minutes later with Napoleon’s classic Austin Martin idling beside the two men. Grinning at his partner Napoleon shrugged a shoulder at Dean, “Do you mind tipping the lad, Deano?”
Grumbling under his breath Dean fished his wallet out of his trousers tossing a ten to the valet and sliding into the front seat beside his partner. Napoleon pulled the car out of the driveway past the fire truck before anyone noticed that the two men were gone. Smiling Dean tucked the envelope of papers into the glove compartment as his partner pulled the car onto the main road back into the tiny upstate New York town of Neville.
Napoleon sighed as he cast a glance over at the other man. Dean was a good looking guy, a few years younger than solo’s thirty-six, but not his type. Besides Napoleon was a senior agent and he didn’t want any relationship he had to taint that professional bond he had developed with Winchester over the past ten years they had been paired together at UNCLE. Ever since Dean had come out of survival school at twenty-three still wet behind the ears and so earnest it made Napoleon cringe.
As the Lambert estate fell behind them the two agents surveyed the road, but no sign of any vehicle appeared, no headlights behind them; nothing marring the still quiet of the night. Dean finally settled back in the seat, still watchful but not as on edge as he had been. Napoleon shot his partner a smarmy grin, “Another task, well in hand. We just need to pop by the UNCLE office in Neville and drop these documents off and we are free for the evening.”
Dean shrugged, “I’m way too keyed up to call it a night. How about we go by the Abbey and get a drink.”
The senior agent considered the idea and found it to be satisfactory. Still he couldn’t help a teasing little wink at his partner, “Are you sure a drink is all you want to partake of”
Dean flushed crimson, knowing he had been caught out by his perceptive older partner. Napoleon could not have failed to notice that Dean had been paying more than a passing amount of attention to one of the many more than attractive members of the Abbey’s extensive staff of ‘personal companions’.
It was a short trip to the local UNCLE office in Neville, and then Napoleon turned off the main road onto a side street up a tree lined boulevard into a more prosperous and rural area. Smiling at his partner Dean rolled the window down and let the night air wash over him as they drove. The road was still and silent and Dean thought he might have dozed off, but his partner didn’t seem to mind. When they pulled Napoleon’s car into the driveway for the huge old building Dean leaned back taking in the sedate, elegant surroundings.
The Abbey had, at one time, actually been a monastery. It was an imposing edifice of four wings, three of which comprised the commercial areas and one wing which housed two apartments for the building’s two owners, Francis Crowley and Balthazar D’Anjou.
The remaining three wings contained the fifty private rooms of the staff, a large gourmet kitchen, and a five star restaurant and bar, and a casino. The Abbey was a legal brothel, and was strictly regulated by the State of New York. The commercial areas were all non-smoking and no one under the age of twenty-one was allowed into the casino or bar. And no one under the age of eighteen was employed at the Abbey or made use of it professional services. All the ‘attendants’ were examined by a doctor and could provide medical certification as being free of disease.
While many people had tried to shut the doors of the business over the years, and more than one right-wing nut job in congress derided the place on many occasions, it stayed open…prosperous and infamous.
The valet, a pretty tiny girl in dark pants and a white dress shirt took the keys to the Austin Martin as Napoleon and Dean climbed out of the car. The front door was guarded by an imposing man with chocolate colored skin and a smoothly gleaming bald head. Dean nodded, “Uriel.” He said.
The bouncer frowned giving Dean the stink eye, but stepped aside, “Remember I’m watching you, Winchester.”
“Now, now gentlemen,” Napoleon said offering Uriel a gallant smile. The other man rolled his eyes. Dean had gotten on his bad side by paying just a tad bit too much attention to one of the prostitutes, whom Dean thought the other man might have a thing for.
As they stepped into the room Dean caught sight of the man in question. Castiel Novak would have stood out in any crowd, although he was not an imposing man. He was of average height, slender build and maybe a couple of years older than Dean himself. But it was the dark mass of tousled brown hair that Dean noticed until the prostitute turned around and the agent was transfixed by Castiel’s blue, blue eyes.
Dean cast a glance at his partner and noticed Napoleon surveying the bevy of curvaceous beauties sitting in chairs in the front room. These were the on-call staff, who usually worked the Walk-in business. Castiel and his friends at the bar had to have their time booked well in advance. Dean had been aghast to find out that Castiel, and the other high-end talent, was booked at one thousand dollars an hour. And at a fifty-fifty split with the house Castiel usually made more money in a week than Dean made in a month.
Sighing Dean sidled up to the bar, caught the bartender’s eye, and ordered a beer. They had the good stuff on tap and Dean watched as the amber brew filled a well-chilled mug. No one could say they did anything half-assed at the Abbey. The perfectly pulled beer settled on a cocktail napkin and Dean reached for his wallet.
The bar-tender, herself, a more than attractive red-head smiled, “Mr. Crowley has arranged a tab for you and Mr. Solo. “
Dean tipped her anyway, and whirled around on his stool watching as Castiel disappeared up the stairs with an elderly man in an Armani suit. Before Dean had finished his glass the two men reappeared, the elderly man patting Castiel warmly on the arm as he headed for the door.
The prostitute spotted the UNCLE agent and smiled. Ambling over to the bar Castiel raised a hand and the bartender appeared almost as if by magic. “Anna, a club soda with a twist of lemon,” he said quietly.
The young woman smiled, “Sure thing, Cas.”
Dean huffed, “Sure you don’t want a beer?”
Castiel sighed, “No alcohol on duty. It interferes with my job performance.”
“Are you done for the night?”
Shaking his head Castiel sipped at his glass, eyes falling shut in appreciation. “No, I’ve got one more client tonight. In an hour. I need to shower, come up to my room with me?”
Dean thought about turning him down but they both knew that wasn’t going to happen so he didn’t even put up a token fight. Castiel leaned over the bar tugging out a bottle of beer, and another Perrier. Anna shot him a disapproving glare.
Dean paused only briefly to catch Napoleon’s eyes as his partner was holding court over the assembled girls giggling at his outrageous stories. Dean cocked his head at one of the blondes, “So anything catch your eye?”
Napoleon shrugged, “I was thinking of trying something a little more exotic tonight.”
The elder UNCLE agent cocked his head toward a small, slender blonde figure also sitting at the bar. Dean followed his glance and shivered. Illya Kuryakin was one of the high-end talents along with Castiel. But unlike Cas Illya was a ‘specialist’ although Dean had yet to work up the courage to ask exactly what that entailed. Just the fact that the small Russian was nicknamed the Ice Prince gave Dean pause.
Dean surveyed the smaller man. Illya was as beautiful as Castiel. Barely five-eight and slim of build Illya had a thick shock of platinum blonde hair and eyes that rivaled Castiel’s in their blue depths. Dean would have gone for him if Castiel hadn’t so thoroughly captured the younger agent’s heart.
“You’re a braver man than I, Napoleon.”
Dean followed Castiel meekly up the wide staircase to the second floor. The prostitute’s room was mid-hall on the right side and Dean was pretty certain he could find it blindfolded. He paused wondering if the other man would do that if he asked. Castiel was fairly liberal in his leanings although not a ‘specialist’ in the professional sense of the word. Dean was going to man up and asked Cas just exactly what that meant considering the words ‘fetish provider’ had never been in the agent’s vocabulary before he had met the other men.
Pushing open the door Castiel began stripping out of his clothes as soon as he entered the room. Dean followed along watching appreciatively. Castiel turned smiling, beckoning Dean over. “Do you want anything, Dean?”
“I can wait,” the agent said stiffly but Castiel whirled running his hands up Dean’s arm.
“How about a quickie? A blowjob to tide you over.” Before Dean could say anything in return the prostitute dropped to his knees working the fastenings on Dean’s trousers. He had the agent’s dick in his hand and then his mouth before Dean could even draw a deep breath. Castiel worked him like he was the most delicious delicacy he had ever eaten, and Dean was gasping and coming so quickly it was little embarrassing.
Rising up Castiel planted a firm kiss on Dean’s lips letting the agent lick the taste of himself off the prostitutes lips. “How about you?”
Shaking his head Castiel stepped back, “No I need to save it for the judge.”
“Judge?” Dean queried. But the other man back away with a smirk.
“You know I can’t kiss and tell.”
“I’m pretty sure that john-whore conversation is not covered under Client privilege laws.”
“What did I tell you about that word?’” Castiel said with a frown. Dean flinched. It was one of the things that had gotten him firmly at the top of Uriel’s shit-list. No one in The Abbey was merely a whore. It was gauche.
Finally the prostitute settled on a chair glancing at the clock on the bedside table. “You have to wait downstairs. My client will be here in twenty-five minutes and I need to clean up.”
Dean sighed pulling his pants up and tucking in his shirt, “So judge…huh? Anybody I know?”
“Probably, but you won’t hear his name from me. I’ll tell you he’s a New York Supreme Court judge though. A nice elderly man.”
“They’re all elderly men.” Dean said drily. Castiel shushed him.
“He’s, in the common vernacular, a cock-sucker. He gets off on having another man’s dick in his mouth. So basically I’m getting paid five hundred dollars for a guy to give me a blowjob.”
Dean glowered and Castiel flipped him the finger. Shaking his head Dean sighed moving toward the door, but the other man grabbed his arm, “Come back at eleven, okay? Sleep with me tonight.”
“I don’t know…”
“Hey, that you can have. I never take all nighters. You’re the only one I sleep with on a regular basis.”
“Okay, but tell me one thing,” Dean said then held up a hand at Castiel’s glare. “What does Illya do? I mean besides the obvious. What’s his specialty?”
“Oh they call him the Ice Prince for a reason. Think dominatrix, but male…lots of black leather and a riding crop.” Castiel even giggled. “Some of the big ones he rides like a horse. He even makes them whinny!”
“And they pay him for that?” Dean asked incredulously. Castiel cocked his head then grinned.
“Hey, one of Illya’s regulars, a cop by the way, pays him to piss on him.”
“And that’s my cue to leave.” Dean said leaning in he kissed Castiel on the cheek, “I’ll be back. Oh, and Cas, would you piss on me if I paid you?”
“I’d piss on you even if you didn’t pay me.”
Dean smirked, “Now that’s true love.”
Part Two