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Title: Merry Men
Kinks: first time, adrenaline, desperation, oral, anal, rimming, mild exhibitionism, voyeurism, dirty talk, frottage, masturbation
Summary: Dean Winchester is a modern-day Prince of Thieves, with Charlie and Bela as his crew of merry men—er…women. When a robbery at the Novak mansion goes sideways, Dean finds himself face-to-face Castiel, the youngest son of the infamous Wall Street tycoon, Luc Novak. But Cas has a humanitarian streak and he finds himself strangely drawn to the young thief. Before he knows it, he's using his high-society connections to assist the Merry Men. Meanwhile, Dean just may be pulling another heist; this one on Cas’s heart.
[This story is part of the Intermittent Fill set, meaning that it is expected to be a longer work and has been assigned a day for updates each week. This story’s updates are slotted for Sundays.]
Chapter One: Oo-de-lally
“Robin Hood and Little John, walkin’ through the forest, laughin’ back and forth at what the other one has to say… Oo-de-lally oo-de-la-lally golly what a day…” Charlie was singing quietly as she typed away at her computer. She was seated at the kitchen table, barely seeming to actually put any weight on her chair as she practically floated with excitement. She got like this on the days of a job, as she was cementing the last bricks of the plan into place, performing test run after test run on the involved security systems and her planted surveillance network.
The light floating buzz of early adrenaline always hit her first. For Dean, it would hit when he reached the target, slipped inside under cover of night. For now he wrinkled his nose as he pulled a beer from the fridge. “What's that?”
“What's what?” Charlie's return question was muttered absent-mindedly as she clicked away, taking in the live video feed of all angles of the Novak mansion, checking for any blind spots along the outer walls.
“That oh-da-lolly thing you were doing.” Dean sat down across from the redhead, propping his feet up on the edge of the table as he took a drink of the beer.
“It's oo-de-lally. And don't tell me you seriously don't know that song. You, of all people.” She sighed when Dean shrugged. “It's the Robin Hood song. Pretty much the theme of the Prince of Thieves himself, and his merry men. Every child in the free-speaking world has heard that song; it's classic Disney.”
Dean shrugged. “Never heard it.”
Charlie looked appalled. “What a sad, sad childhood you must have led.”
“Wait, I think I remember now. The week that movie came out I was a little busy—” Dean’s words were cut off by a long-suffering moan from behind him.
“We know.” Bela Talbot came into the kitchen and flopped down in the chair beside Charlie, running her hand through her sleep-tousled curls. “Poor little Dean; forced to spend his whole childhood stealing to keep food in his stomach, never having time to be a real child; bow-legs from nutrition, daddy issues from here to Sunday, blah blah blah.”
“She's not a morning person.” Charlie’s eyes were apologetic as she looked at Dean.
“Oh, she's barely a person,” Dean shot back as Bela reached over and took his beer. “Wish I could say it’s good to see you, Bela; but I'm a thief, not a liar.”
Bela shot him a nasty look as she took a drink of the beer. “You want to broker your own deals, that's fine with me.”
And there was the rub; the catch that kept Dean tolerating the presence of Charlie’s girlfriend. Dean was the hands-on expert of the operation, the one who actually did the dirty work of the robbery. But stealing money had quickly gotten risky. His reputation had preceded him and police started planting marked bills in the safes of many high-profile households around New York City. It had only been Charlie’s quick thinking and hacking skills that had pulled Dean’s ass out of the fire then.
So they had changed up the game, switching from liquid asset to what Bela called “unique items of special interest to a select clientele.” Bela would put out her feelers—like the giant bug she was, Dean though—and locate an item of particular interest. She'd tip Dean off, and he and Charlie would execute the heist. Then Bela would contact her select—very wealthy—clientele, and arrange the sale. Charlie would take over then, covering their tracks and burying any possible paper trail as she filtered the liquid electronically through multiple bogus online bank accounts before distributing it throughout the city, where it was really needed.
Bela, never one to be accused of possessing any scruples whatsoever, kept a cool ten percent for herself, citing the fact that it was only ten percent as her contribution to charity.
But still, the fact remained that Dean and Charlie didn't have the kind of knowledge or connections necessary to broker such deals. So Dean tolerated Bela. Besides, Charlie was Dean’s best friend, and Bela was her girlfriend. And as much as Dean had hoped and prayed in the beginning, that didn't seem likely to change any time soon.
“So what's in the Novak mansion that's so special?” Dean asked. Rich people had a lot of crap; a few of their jobs had even been carried out without the owners ever seeming to notice.
“So glad you asked.” Bela smirked as she grabbed a notebook beside Charlie’s laptop, opening it and taking out a sheet of paper to slide towards Dean. “Luc Novak happens to be in possession of one of the oldest known editions of the Hebrew Bible.”
“The Novak’s aren't Jewish.” Dean wrinkled his brow, thinking back to the time he had spotted the family at mass the previous Christmas. Dean had been there to meet with the priest, to discuss the needs of the church regarding their assistance to homeless kids and teens in the neighborhood.
“So?” Bela raised an eyebrow. “It's unique and worth more than most people will see in a hundred lifetimes. It's the rich man’s equivalent of ‘this is my toy and you can't play with it’.”
Charlie looked thoughtful. “The Hebrew Bible was also first. I mean, between it and the Christian Bible. I don't know where the Quran falls in all of that, but they're all children of Abraham so really…”
“Okay, okay, okay. I got it.” Dean huffed. “Nerds.” At Charlie’s agreeable shrug he continued. “Okay then, Little John. How do we do this?”
“Little John? I always thought in was much more of a Djaq type of girl; all ass-kicking and alchemy…” Charlie trailed off, her mind clearly drifting elsewhere.
Dean stared at her. “Who?”
“BBC, darling.” Bela smirked. “Try to keep up.”
At 7:14 that evening, when darkness had fallen over the city, Dean found himself crouched in the shadows of the west wall of the Novak Mansion. The faint buzzing of white noise told him that his earpiece was working, his connection to Charlie live and strong. At 7:20 the lights in the mansion all shut off, but still he waited until he heard the muttered, “All clear”. And then he was standing, staying close to the wall as he pressed his hands to the smooth surface of the window. It slid up easily, the electromagnetic locks disabled by Charlie, and he climbed inside.
The Bible was, according to Bela’s intel, inside the safe in the second-floor study. It was a straight shot up the stairs and then to the end of the hall. According to Charlie, all of the Novaks were out at some charity event; the irony of which made Dean laugh. The real charity event was taking place at their house, not at the Plaza ballroom with the Society for the Preservation of the Bengal Tiger, or whatever the chosen cause of the week currently was with the rich and ruthless of the city.
Still, he kept close to the wall, bathed in the shadows as he crept up the stairs and down the hall, ears pricked for the smallest noise.
Castiel Novak looked around as the power went out, frowning. New York City was no stranger to rolling blackouts, its overtaxed power grid periodically giving out under the weight of so many energy demands. But one look out the window told him that the distant neighboring property still had power. So that ruled out a blackout.
He sighed and stood up, deciding to check on the breakers. His bare feet made almost no noise on the plush carpets of his room or the smooth maple floors of the hall. He made his way to the breaker box at the end of the hall, which his mother had found to be an eyesore and hid behind a large Manet. He opened the metal door and frowned when he saw that not a single breaker was flipped.
He flipped the main breaker anyway, waiting a moment before flipping it again. Nothing. Maybe it was a problem with the grid, after all.
The next second he nearly jumped out of his skin, heart thundering up to cardio and beyond as the door to his father’s study suddenly swung open, a dark figure stepping out.
Cas opened his mouth to shout, but the figure moved forward, slamming him back into the wall as a hand moved to cover his mouth. Cas’s eyes locked with serious green ones, his breathing heavy against the strong hand.
“Shh…” The man hissed, bringing a single finger to his full lips. “Not here to hurt you.”
Cas nodded, trying to convince the man that he wasn't going to scream or fight.
The man leaned back, eyes sweeping over him. “You're Castiel. The youngest son.” He paused, waiting for Cas to nod in confirmation. The man laughed. “Your dad’s a special kind of evil jerk, you know that.”
Cas nodded, rolling his eyes before he could stop himself. He loved this dad in the way that you kind of had to love family, but the stranger was right—Luc Novak was ruthless and unscrupulous. The big joke amongst the higher-society groups was that his given name must be short for Lucifer, because the man was Satan in an Armani suit. Except the joke always seemed to be repeated with admiration, reverence. It turned Cas’s stomach.
“So. I'm gonna take this.” The man held up something heavy-looking wrapped in a protective dust cloth. “Even the score a bit.” With that he dropped his hand and stepped back, turning on his heel and starting down the hallway.
“Wait!” Cas called out as darkness swallowed his view of the man. “Who are you?”
There was a quiet chuckle in answer. “Call me the Prince of Thieves.”
Continue to Chapter Two