He is a prize, nothing more.
Breathtaking and draped in the finest silks, his lips as beautifully bowed as his legs, untouched in every way, pure and ripe and ready to be chosen. His father has had to wait twenty years for this, for him to come of age and gain a worth that extends beyond the prestige of hearsay and say-so. He may soon not be his father’s anymore, but with this, his father will benefit the most from him – by collecting his trophy money and freeing himself of the last vestiges of responsibility. And soon.
Because many a person has come to see and wonder, marvel at the most gorgeous of creatures, atop his intricate and flowery throne. Where Dean is doing nothing but keep his gaze dropped while he is being watched, all eyes on him, assessing him, appraising him, and whatever he might be worth to them. No one here would dispute his beauty, though some his purity, and all are in agreement that he would be a prestigious addition to any house and any name. Dean Winchester, the breathtaking one. The one who anyone would be humbled to be able to say about that they have him and have had him, however many times they please.
Certainly, Castiel would agree with any of the assessments about Dean’s beauty, and he could vouch for his purity, even. Because how many times has he been close to Dean, closer than either of them should have been, and has had his hands ghost over the teasing glimpse of skin and silk, his gorgeous body wrapped away by his father and any possible suitor for neither Dean nor Castiel to enjoy. Oh, how often has he longed to touch his childhood friend with no fabric obstructing their intimacy, how often has he wanted to press his trembling lips to Dean’s, has craved to bring Dean pleasure and a wisp of bliss and freedom by his hand or mouth or whatever part of himself that Dean could have need for.
But even then, despite his exquisite form and a face that seems carved out of marble, for the sole purpose to be marveled at, Castiel knows that Dean is so much more than just this. Brave and kind and loyal to a fault, to his own demise. Intelligent and gentle and witty. And giving. Is he ever giving! Undoubtedly the kindest of them all; even had he ever lain with Castiel, had ever broken his promises and duty to his father, he would still be the purest one out of anyone in the room. So pure, not even any of their tainted could be capable of tarnishing his soul. He is far above them, any of them. Will always be.
Not even Castiel is worthy of him. And yet, it is him who Dean would choose – who he has chosen a long time ago. With shaking hands and shimmering eyes and the shudder of, “We can’t,” and the unspoken of admission of ‘But I want to’.
So, it resides with Castiel to choose him in return. In the only way the can: without breaking Dean’s promises to his father, without shaming him who should only only ever be proud, without exposing him to the mockery and resentment of the upper class masses who have come to gape and gaze, already placing their prices and bets.
Subconsciously, Castiel’s hand wanders to his pocket, where he has carefully hidden it, the deed of ownership for his property and all of his possessions, except for the clothes on his skin and the little carriage waiting in front of the mansion. He will not need any more than that and he knows Dean will not, either. That they will soon not ever need for anything again – most of all, not for each other’s comfort and closeness.
The key for which is currently crossing his path.
“Mr. Winchester,” he greets with a smile that is sharp yet promising as he steps up to this father, this owner, and stretches out his hand. “Please allow me to make a proposal of my own.”
