Fic - Project iPod - Meg
He actually knocked on her door. If he didn’t, there was no telling what sort of Hell he’d find. Angel or not, Meg was still a demon and a clever one at that. She answered in her knickers, a sleepy smirk peeking out from behind the cracked, deadbolted door.
“To what do I owe this dubious honour?” she asked.
The deadbolt broke as soon as he shoved the door. Meg was clever, but if she really wanted to keep him out, she’d have learned Enochian. When he shoved her up against the wall and kissed her, she laughed and bit his lip.
“Does this make me the Margaret to your Nucky?” she teased.
He didn’t know what she was talking about, so he silenced her with his tongue, pushing in and just taking what he wanted. What was needed. Meg tasted like ashes and raspberry syrup. He knew the latter was only because he was trying to shield himself from what he could really see - the very thought of it would’ve given him chest pains if he were as powerless as he’d been during the Apocalypse.
But that didn’t stop her. “Fallen from favour and fallen outta grace,” she murmured, lapping at his lower lip.
Wrong words - he knew it was another reference, but that one was as infuriating as it was true. It would be a miracle if he didn’t fall from this, but there was nothing else to turn to. Not the friends he’d betrayed, not the liquor store he could drink and still feel nothing from because of his new grace. He doubted the pills Dean had once told him to take all of would help either.
He bit her back in retaliation as he yanked her legs up around his waist. “Shut up, Meg.”
I wanna shoulder all the blame, I wanna shoot out all the lights. I wanna call you names and start a fight.
She gasped when he rocked his hips against her, that uncomfortable and alien tension in his trousers becoming difficult to ignore. He didn’t know what to do about it, but his vessel certainly seemed to. Meg moaned, with laughter following as her fingers carded through his hair. Especially when he bit into her shoulder. “Mm, there’s my boy.”
The fact that he didn’t correct her in favour of her nails raking lightly over his scalp sent feelings of sheer terror down his spine.
Because you make me nervous tonight
“Uh, Cas…I think you just got a text.”
Castiel had been afraid of that. In retrospect, he decided he probably should’ve found a better place on his person to keep his mobile, strictly because his leaving it in his trench was the whole reason Meg had his number in the first place. Now he didn’t know whether to blame himself or Dean, who was currently on his knees in the loo, spitting up black sludge thanks to a curse. Obviously, Castiel had greater considerations than his mobile while shucking everything to his shirtsleeves - Dean wasn’t in danger so to speak, just in a lot of pain that Cas was doing his best to alleviate for the time being.
He also should’ve known better than to think Sam would remain at his laptop, consulting various sources for a cure. Because sure enough, the over-sized abomination was standing in the doorway, phone in hand.
Standing up, he tried to appear as if he didn’t know about anything Sam was talking about. “I don’t know how to text,” he admitted honestly. “If you’d be so kind, please remove it.”
Leave it to Sam to not accept that answer. He looked visibly confused and suspicious at the same time. “You don’t wanna read what it says?”
Dean gave another pained heave and cursed loudly, averting Castiel’s attention for a moment. “Why would I want to do that?” he asked.
Sam shrugged. “I dunno. I just think you probably ought to.”
“I’m trying to make certain none of your brother’s organs end up in the bowl.”
“Yeah thanks a lot, Cas,” Dean griped weakly from his spot on the floor. “How about that part where you can’t do nothing to mojo it outta me?”
Castiel turned his attention back to Dean. “As far as I can tell, the spell needs to run its course, Dean. You should consider yourself fortunate. There are others in which we would have to engage sexually or you would die.”
Another pained groan and heave that sounded oddly like ‘oh god,’ followed, but at least that small truth seemed to be helping Dean expel more of the unclean fluid. And yet Sam was still looking at Castiel as if he’d consumed another liquor store. He sighed. “Let me see what it says, Sam.”
He got a headache as soon as he saw what the screen read.
Hello, hello baby, you called, I can't hear a thing - I have got no service in the club, you see see
“They’re actually song lyrics,” Sam pointed out. “It uh…it was kinda popular a year or so back.”
Castiel said nothing - he was no good when it came to lying, but admitting that he actually knew what song lyrics they were and what he and Meg had done to said song lyrics in the past was a conversation he was not about to have with the recently re-ensouled Winchester. Or his best friend, who was currently ill.
“I see,” he said finally. “In which case, they are irrelevant.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Suddenly, Castiel really didn’t want to look up. He’d already seen Sam’s knowing look before and it sort of looked as if Sam pitied him at the same time. Either way, he was clever enough to figure it out and there was nothing Castiel could do about it. At least, he wasn’t going to. The look also said Sam wouldn’t say anything to Dean, which was a small favour to ask for.
He handed his phone back over as Dean tried to very eloquently tell them to shut it. “Yes, Sam, I’m sure. If you must, tell them I’m busy.”
Later, when he figured out how to view his ‘Sent’ folder, he would see that Sam had texted back:
Sorry, I cannot hear you. I’m kinda busy.
At least Meg would have something to laugh about for months.
“You like it?”
Are you ready to start the night and do you feel all right?
Castiel didn’t care one way or another about how she’d gotten it into her head to string thousands of tiny white Christmas lights around her motel room. Or why Meg had even acquired a motel room. He even sort of wondered how she’d found that many outlets offhandedly.
However, it did light her in a certain way. It made her vessel’s doll-like skin glow as much as it cast harsh shadows over her true face.
“I…I don’t understand the point of this. If the ultimate goal is to fornicate, why should the surroundings matter?”
Meg climbed off the bed, smirking that smarmy little smirk that made him want to backhand her through a wall as much as he wanted to notice how her dark hair framed her face in a pleasant way. He really hadn’t taken notice of the falsely innocent implications of the Hello Kitty tank and knicker set she appeared to be wearing for the occasion. He was pretty sure if he asked, her answer would be ‘I look good in pink.’
She pulled him down to her level by his tie, forehead touching his and lips barely ghosting. “All about the ambiance. And I wanna see just how many of these you can accidentally break when I blow you.”
To a night you won't forget, but that you might regret
Meg didn’t quite get it, herself. She felt like she should be wanting to take a bath in bleach or something, but that was just the problem - she sort of had. If kissing him made her feel clean (metaphorically only, thanks), then being pinned down and fucked from behind by him sort of made her feel immaculate. Again, just in the sense of the word. She wasn’t about to bear any holy children to him - if that were to happen, she’d cut it out herself and make him watch.
I can't decide which one of us will leave here alive
Her fingers clenched reflexively in the sheet as his teeth sank into the meat of her back, her core giving a sympathetic throb. The way his body was pinning her down made her feel just how tiny her meatsuit was. Meg had never felt helpless a day in her existence, even when she was the one tied to Alastair’s rack, but damn if Castiel couldn’t make her feel that way and actually like it. As far as torture went, he got a gold star.
He drove into her relentlessly, leaving finger-shaped bruises on her hips as he growled and she cursed over the slapping of flesh on flesh.
It was amazing what the word ‘fuck’ could do to him.
There’s nobody here and no one to find you. Tonight is forever.
She even had to have music on in the bathroom. Before she even disrobed, Meg had to set up the speakers and the iPod, switching it to a hard-driven cacophony that Castiel couldn’t have told apart from the others if his existence depended on it.
And neither of them was very pleased to find the other in the shower.
The rush of water against his skin was oddly comforting. He’d enjoyed this from a time when his powers had been temporarily drained. He even sort of missed the clanging of Bobby Singer’s old pipes and having to wait for the water to warm up - it was easily superior to the war he currently had no hope of winning. If Meg thought she was going to edge him out of there, she was sorely mistaken.
He leaned heavily against the tile wall and let the water run down his face, doing his best to ignore her smirk. And the fact that she was covered in something black. Whatever it was, he got the feeling she was fighting a losing battle of her own somewhere.
“I never figured you for the cold shower type.”
She whipped her top off as if to flaunt and present her small body to him. As if that had been a good consideration in the first place.
“Do as you like. I’m not going anywhere.”
He continued to ignore her as she wriggled out of her clothes. “And what makes you think I even want to share a shower with a pathetic little tin soldier like yourself?” she purred.
Castiel glared out of the corner of his eye. “That does appear to be why you’re here.”
Meg gave a tiny, self-satisfied chuckle, her smile sickening him to the bone. “Hey, Dumb and Dumber booked the room ‘til Tuesday - no reference to Aimee Mann, they’re long gone, and I just had to see you. Looks like I’m seeing more than I figured I would. Not bad with the lights on, Clarence.”
He quickly grabbed her hand and roughly twisted it away from his rear end. “And it’s not because you’re covered in someone you disagreed with?” he asked.
How can you blame yourself when I did everything I wanted to?
She proceeded to climb into the shower without missing a beat. He tensed when her hands found his hips, but he didn’t move. Even though there was barely enough room in the stall as it was.
“Wanna budge up, Clarence? Or is this your way of telling me you’re assuming the position for a little blasphemous angel-demon peggi…?”
As soon as he felt the finger trailing down his tailbone, he was shoving her against the wall, placing both hands on the tiles on either side of her head and blocking her with his body. It had the opposite effect of the one he was hoping for.
He brought his face close to hers. “I don’t want anything from you.”
Why did you dress me down?
As she always did, Meg tilted her head for a kiss. And Castiel pushed off the wall and turned away in anger. No matter what he did when it came to Meg, neither of them could win. So he did the right thing and stepped out of the stall.
It wasn’t often that Meg lost her cool. In fact, she’d rather have gouged out her own eyes and worn them as a necklace than stand around looking so damn vulnerable, but she couldn’t help but have a seriously horrible feeling about his going back to cloud-hopper central.
She wasn’t interested in begging him - begging would imply that she cared about him, which she totally didn’t, so she simply put slung her arms around his neck and gave him that slow, mischievous smile. “Stay with me tonight,” she said.
Of course, the angel was way more clever than she wanted to give him credit for. He frowned immediately and began looking into her for the truth. He needed to stay the hell out of her head. “You know I’m at war,” he said simply.
Meg shrugged. “So? That ain’t never stopped you before, Clarence.”
She thought perhaps putting the moves on him would work - he tended to respond favourably to being felt up. Generally with hair pulling, shirt-tearing, and ohmygod yes, which to Meg seemed like the perfect antidote to…whatever it was she was feeling at the moment. Except he grabbed her wrists and held them away from his body - he didn’t even grip hard enough to hurt. “And you’ve never so vehemently tried to get me to stay,” he pointed out. “What are you planning, Meg?”
Instead of telling him the truth and saying ‘nothing,’ she smirked, twisting to escape. ‘Oh, c’mon Clarence. Hurt me and lemme know you care.”
He gave her a look. The kind that said it was the last thing that he wanted to do, and that totally burned her arse. Sex was no fun if it didn’t hurt and his getting all weepy-faced about a little bruising made her feel sick to her borrowed stomach. It was pathetic. “I am needed amongst my brothers,” he said quietly. "However, if it's any consolation...Dean was impressed I recognized a...Cutting Crew song."
And that was all he said. The halo-polishing bastard just flew off, leaving her to stumble backwards without so much as a red mark on her body to let her know he’d been there. Except he’d left her with that crappy feeling - one that made her think of his wings being chopped off or burned or whatever the hell else those feathery, demented saps did to torture each other. It was kind of…hurty. Meg had a sudden urge to go kill and torture something just to feel like herself for a minute.
She sighed. “Was I supposed to cry?”
When it comes on through the speaker, Meg smirks from the chair she’s leaning back in and runs her bare foot up his leg. “You ever been to Japan, Clarence?” she asks.
She sounds genuinely interested, which is rare for her. “No,” he says nervously. “I’ve been to many places on Earth, yet never have I had a reason to go there.”
“Mm,” she interrupts with a dangerous smile. “They got sex toys in the gumball machines right next to the soft kitties and plastic necklaces. Out in the open on the street. If that ain’t iniquity, I dunno what is.”
He glares at her. “And I assume you’ve experienced this?”
She climbs into his lap, and despite the displeased look on his face, he doesn’t fight it. “Through the eyes of a cute little schoolgirl,” she slurs. “Those perverted businessmen know how to show a girl a good time. I came so many times without even being touched - you could’ve taken note.”
She leans down to kiss his neck, taking advantage of his sensitivity there while her other hand dips below his waist to feel his cock fill again. “I don’t see what that has to do with this song,” he manages to choke out.
“Then allow me to translate,” Meg replies, biting his lower lip.
Without warning, she sinks down onto him, causing him to gasp unabashed. His hands dart to her hips to steady her. “After you do it,” she recites. “I’ll never need another word from you.”
Meg was drunk. Castiel knew Meg was drunk, mostly because his coordination during his temporary loss of sobriety hadn’t been much better and the bottle in her hand was labeled Jack Daniels. He’d been fond of it for a time himself, which made him wonder if demons couldn’t actually read minds. They lied about everything else, after all. It was in their nature to.
“Come on, Clarence, I know you’re gonna love this.”
Even as he allowed himself to be pushed down onto a chair, he stared up at her in concern. While he knew she didn’t need a reason to be drinking - she usually did so just because she got bored so easily, but he still felt he had the right to make sure she was all right. She could barely select the song she wanted from the dreaded iPod’s menu.
Do you think you’re sinking or falling into something deep?
“How many bottles did you drink?” he asked promptly.
Meg gave him a dopey, not at all Meg-like grin. There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in sight, which was admittedly an interesting change of facial expression. “Six or seven,” she said, speech still impressively even. “Dunno why it’s affecting me. The Masters girl could choke down twelve or thirteen like a pro.”
Castiel found himself momentarily distracted by the sway of her hips. As unsteady as Meg was, she still knew exactly how to move herself to get his attention. That and the fact that she was standing over his lap.
“Perhaps it has something to do with the size of your current vessel.”
He wasn’t sure how she managed to both seductively rub up against him and clamp a small hand around his throat at the same time. “Are you calling me short?” she asked.
“I’m simply stating a possibility. The size of her liver is consistent with the size of her body. You’re further damaging the girl you chose to contain you.”
He didn’t feel threatened so he didn’t move. If he’d felt threatened, she’d have been smote on the obnoxious carpet.
She automatically backed off, a slow, sly smirk spreading over her features. Now that was the Meg he’d become acquainted with. “Like you really care about any of that.”
She turned her body so her back was to him, undulating slowly. Castiel didn’t understand why it was supposed to be arousing. He was more impressed that she was keeping her balance. She did look attractive, however. Dean had told him to tell her she looked ‘hot’ once - she’d laughed hysterically.
Instead he asked, “What is the point of this?”
“I’ve had this stuck in my head all day - it’s the perfect lap dance song, so suck it up. I’m all over this like Felix Cane.”
Well nothing makes sense anyway.
Castiel supposed that was as good an answer as any.
That one stupid line from a song - it was the only thing she knew they’d ever agree on. He’d go on pressing his palm to every demonic forehead he could find and she’d do her very best to fuck over his beloved humanity every chance she got - he’d still love her for it.
When push came to shove, it was still her bed he chose to appear next to, undress next to, and finally climb into. Her Clarence had his ways of waking her up - first it would be the gentlest press of his weight on her bare back, unnaturally warm. Then the press of his lips on her neck and shoulder blades, the stupid romantic wannabe bastard.
Still, it always happened the same.
“What time is it?” she mumbled.
“Late,” he growled. “Much too late to be sleeping.”
He pulls her up onto her hands and knees like it’s nothing, and Meg only pretends to be annoyed - after all, it’s only a matter of time before they hit the proverbial wall. “Not my fault you get horny in time for a nooner,” she replied slyly.
Meg relished the feeling of him giving her an admonishing bite on her left shoulder blade. “No excuses,” he grunted.
Oh yeah - best way to wake up. Ever.
When Castiel found her, he actually expected her to look worse than she did. The other demons hadn’t been kind to her, though seeing as they weren’t capable of kindness, Meg was decidedly fortunate. She was sliced to pieces everywhere he could see, left to bleed out on the floor of some warehouse. Her clothing was impossible to salvage - for a demon. When he got her to safety, he decided he would at least repair her jacket. She seemed fond of it in the same sense he was now fond of his own trench.
You and I are like oil and water
He got a whinge of protest when he scooped her up, carrying her out of the trap bridal-style. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
He noted first that her eyes were closed and her arms had gone around his neck. Her vessel was so damn light in the first place, it was hard for him to discern how much pain she was really in and whether or not she was enjoying it. “Taking you home,” he said simply.
Meg snickered, a sickly smile gracing her bloodied features. “Can’t take me home if I ain’t got no home to go to. If this is a line, I dunno if I’m up for it, Clarence. I’m not some D-I-D.”
And we’ve been trying to mix it up.
While he had no idea what that was, he wasn’t about to ask. It could mean anything from her not wanting his help to a reference to a sexual act they hadn’t yet attempted. “No one said you were. I was…concerned for you. I haven’t received your texts in days.”
“What was the last one I sent you?”
“Something about a Spongebob Squarepants.”
She laughed again, resigning herself to being carried. Castiel was just surprised she hadn’t fought him. Much. There’d been some initial struggling when he first lifted her, but that was before she realized it was him. “I’m figuring you’re mentally about twelve. You should love cartoons.”
If she could speak, then she’d probably be riding his lap within an eighteen-hour window. That just seemed to be how they did things.
“To what do I owe this dubious honour?” she asked.
The deadbolt broke as soon as he shoved the door. Meg was clever, but if she really wanted to keep him out, she’d have learned Enochian. When he shoved her up against the wall and kissed her, she laughed and bit his lip.
“Does this make me the Margaret to your Nucky?” she teased.
He didn’t know what she was talking about, so he silenced her with his tongue, pushing in and just taking what he wanted. What was needed. Meg tasted like ashes and raspberry syrup. He knew the latter was only because he was trying to shield himself from what he could really see - the very thought of it would’ve given him chest pains if he were as powerless as he’d been during the Apocalypse.
But that didn’t stop her. “Fallen from favour and fallen outta grace,” she murmured, lapping at his lower lip.
Wrong words - he knew it was another reference, but that one was as infuriating as it was true. It would be a miracle if he didn’t fall from this, but there was nothing else to turn to. Not the friends he’d betrayed, not the liquor store he could drink and still feel nothing from because of his new grace. He doubted the pills Dean had once told him to take all of would help either.
He bit her back in retaliation as he yanked her legs up around his waist. “Shut up, Meg.”
I wanna shoulder all the blame, I wanna shoot out all the lights. I wanna call you names and start a fight.
She gasped when he rocked his hips against her, that uncomfortable and alien tension in his trousers becoming difficult to ignore. He didn’t know what to do about it, but his vessel certainly seemed to. Meg moaned, with laughter following as her fingers carded through his hair. Especially when he bit into her shoulder. “Mm, there’s my boy.”
The fact that he didn’t correct her in favour of her nails raking lightly over his scalp sent feelings of sheer terror down his spine.
Because you make me nervous tonight
“Uh, Cas…I think you just got a text.”
Castiel had been afraid of that. In retrospect, he decided he probably should’ve found a better place on his person to keep his mobile, strictly because his leaving it in his trench was the whole reason Meg had his number in the first place. Now he didn’t know whether to blame himself or Dean, who was currently on his knees in the loo, spitting up black sludge thanks to a curse. Obviously, Castiel had greater considerations than his mobile while shucking everything to his shirtsleeves - Dean wasn’t in danger so to speak, just in a lot of pain that Cas was doing his best to alleviate for the time being.
He also should’ve known better than to think Sam would remain at his laptop, consulting various sources for a cure. Because sure enough, the over-sized abomination was standing in the doorway, phone in hand.
Standing up, he tried to appear as if he didn’t know about anything Sam was talking about. “I don’t know how to text,” he admitted honestly. “If you’d be so kind, please remove it.”
Leave it to Sam to not accept that answer. He looked visibly confused and suspicious at the same time. “You don’t wanna read what it says?”
Dean gave another pained heave and cursed loudly, averting Castiel’s attention for a moment. “Why would I want to do that?” he asked.
Sam shrugged. “I dunno. I just think you probably ought to.”
“I’m trying to make certain none of your brother’s organs end up in the bowl.”
“Yeah thanks a lot, Cas,” Dean griped weakly from his spot on the floor. “How about that part where you can’t do nothing to mojo it outta me?”
Castiel turned his attention back to Dean. “As far as I can tell, the spell needs to run its course, Dean. You should consider yourself fortunate. There are others in which we would have to engage sexually or you would die.”
Another pained groan and heave that sounded oddly like ‘oh god,’ followed, but at least that small truth seemed to be helping Dean expel more of the unclean fluid. And yet Sam was still looking at Castiel as if he’d consumed another liquor store. He sighed. “Let me see what it says, Sam.”
He got a headache as soon as he saw what the screen read.
Hello, hello baby, you called, I can't hear a thing - I have got no service in the club, you see see
“They’re actually song lyrics,” Sam pointed out. “It uh…it was kinda popular a year or so back.”
Castiel said nothing - he was no good when it came to lying, but admitting that he actually knew what song lyrics they were and what he and Meg had done to said song lyrics in the past was a conversation he was not about to have with the recently re-ensouled Winchester. Or his best friend, who was currently ill.
“I see,” he said finally. “In which case, they are irrelevant.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Suddenly, Castiel really didn’t want to look up. He’d already seen Sam’s knowing look before and it sort of looked as if Sam pitied him at the same time. Either way, he was clever enough to figure it out and there was nothing Castiel could do about it. At least, he wasn’t going to. The look also said Sam wouldn’t say anything to Dean, which was a small favour to ask for.
He handed his phone back over as Dean tried to very eloquently tell them to shut it. “Yes, Sam, I’m sure. If you must, tell them I’m busy.”
Later, when he figured out how to view his ‘Sent’ folder, he would see that Sam had texted back:
Sorry, I cannot hear you. I’m kinda busy.
At least Meg would have something to laugh about for months.
“You like it?”
Are you ready to start the night and do you feel all right?
Castiel didn’t care one way or another about how she’d gotten it into her head to string thousands of tiny white Christmas lights around her motel room. Or why Meg had even acquired a motel room. He even sort of wondered how she’d found that many outlets offhandedly.
However, it did light her in a certain way. It made her vessel’s doll-like skin glow as much as it cast harsh shadows over her true face.
“I…I don’t understand the point of this. If the ultimate goal is to fornicate, why should the surroundings matter?”
Meg climbed off the bed, smirking that smarmy little smirk that made him want to backhand her through a wall as much as he wanted to notice how her dark hair framed her face in a pleasant way. He really hadn’t taken notice of the falsely innocent implications of the Hello Kitty tank and knicker set she appeared to be wearing for the occasion. He was pretty sure if he asked, her answer would be ‘I look good in pink.’
She pulled him down to her level by his tie, forehead touching his and lips barely ghosting. “All about the ambiance. And I wanna see just how many of these you can accidentally break when I blow you.”
To a night you won't forget, but that you might regret
Meg didn’t quite get it, herself. She felt like she should be wanting to take a bath in bleach or something, but that was just the problem - she sort of had. If kissing him made her feel clean (metaphorically only, thanks), then being pinned down and fucked from behind by him sort of made her feel immaculate. Again, just in the sense of the word. She wasn’t about to bear any holy children to him - if that were to happen, she’d cut it out herself and make him watch.
I can't decide which one of us will leave here alive
Her fingers clenched reflexively in the sheet as his teeth sank into the meat of her back, her core giving a sympathetic throb. The way his body was pinning her down made her feel just how tiny her meatsuit was. Meg had never felt helpless a day in her existence, even when she was the one tied to Alastair’s rack, but damn if Castiel couldn’t make her feel that way and actually like it. As far as torture went, he got a gold star.
He drove into her relentlessly, leaving finger-shaped bruises on her hips as he growled and she cursed over the slapping of flesh on flesh.
It was amazing what the word ‘fuck’ could do to him.
There’s nobody here and no one to find you. Tonight is forever.
She even had to have music on in the bathroom. Before she even disrobed, Meg had to set up the speakers and the iPod, switching it to a hard-driven cacophony that Castiel couldn’t have told apart from the others if his existence depended on it.
And neither of them was very pleased to find the other in the shower.
The rush of water against his skin was oddly comforting. He’d enjoyed this from a time when his powers had been temporarily drained. He even sort of missed the clanging of Bobby Singer’s old pipes and having to wait for the water to warm up - it was easily superior to the war he currently had no hope of winning. If Meg thought she was going to edge him out of there, she was sorely mistaken.
He leaned heavily against the tile wall and let the water run down his face, doing his best to ignore her smirk. And the fact that she was covered in something black. Whatever it was, he got the feeling she was fighting a losing battle of her own somewhere.
“I never figured you for the cold shower type.”
She whipped her top off as if to flaunt and present her small body to him. As if that had been a good consideration in the first place.
“Do as you like. I’m not going anywhere.”
He continued to ignore her as she wriggled out of her clothes. “And what makes you think I even want to share a shower with a pathetic little tin soldier like yourself?” she purred.
Castiel glared out of the corner of his eye. “That does appear to be why you’re here.”
Meg gave a tiny, self-satisfied chuckle, her smile sickening him to the bone. “Hey, Dumb and Dumber booked the room ‘til Tuesday - no reference to Aimee Mann, they’re long gone, and I just had to see you. Looks like I’m seeing more than I figured I would. Not bad with the lights on, Clarence.”
He quickly grabbed her hand and roughly twisted it away from his rear end. “And it’s not because you’re covered in someone you disagreed with?” he asked.
How can you blame yourself when I did everything I wanted to?
She proceeded to climb into the shower without missing a beat. He tensed when her hands found his hips, but he didn’t move. Even though there was barely enough room in the stall as it was.
“Wanna budge up, Clarence? Or is this your way of telling me you’re assuming the position for a little blasphemous angel-demon peggi…?”
As soon as he felt the finger trailing down his tailbone, he was shoving her against the wall, placing both hands on the tiles on either side of her head and blocking her with his body. It had the opposite effect of the one he was hoping for.
He brought his face close to hers. “I don’t want anything from you.”
Why did you dress me down?
As she always did, Meg tilted her head for a kiss. And Castiel pushed off the wall and turned away in anger. No matter what he did when it came to Meg, neither of them could win. So he did the right thing and stepped out of the stall.
It wasn’t often that Meg lost her cool. In fact, she’d rather have gouged out her own eyes and worn them as a necklace than stand around looking so damn vulnerable, but she couldn’t help but have a seriously horrible feeling about his going back to cloud-hopper central.
She wasn’t interested in begging him - begging would imply that she cared about him, which she totally didn’t, so she simply put slung her arms around his neck and gave him that slow, mischievous smile. “Stay with me tonight,” she said.
Of course, the angel was way more clever than she wanted to give him credit for. He frowned immediately and began looking into her for the truth. He needed to stay the hell out of her head. “You know I’m at war,” he said simply.
Meg shrugged. “So? That ain’t never stopped you before, Clarence.”
She thought perhaps putting the moves on him would work - he tended to respond favourably to being felt up. Generally with hair pulling, shirt-tearing, and ohmygod yes, which to Meg seemed like the perfect antidote to…whatever it was she was feeling at the moment. Except he grabbed her wrists and held them away from his body - he didn’t even grip hard enough to hurt. “And you’ve never so vehemently tried to get me to stay,” he pointed out. “What are you planning, Meg?”
Instead of telling him the truth and saying ‘nothing,’ she smirked, twisting to escape. ‘Oh, c’mon Clarence. Hurt me and lemme know you care.”
He gave her a look. The kind that said it was the last thing that he wanted to do, and that totally burned her arse. Sex was no fun if it didn’t hurt and his getting all weepy-faced about a little bruising made her feel sick to her borrowed stomach. It was pathetic. “I am needed amongst my brothers,” he said quietly. "However, if it's any consolation...Dean was impressed I recognized a...Cutting Crew song."
And that was all he said. The halo-polishing bastard just flew off, leaving her to stumble backwards without so much as a red mark on her body to let her know he’d been there. Except he’d left her with that crappy feeling - one that made her think of his wings being chopped off or burned or whatever the hell else those feathery, demented saps did to torture each other. It was kind of…hurty. Meg had a sudden urge to go kill and torture something just to feel like herself for a minute.
She sighed. “Was I supposed to cry?”
When it comes on through the speaker, Meg smirks from the chair she’s leaning back in and runs her bare foot up his leg. “You ever been to Japan, Clarence?” she asks.
She sounds genuinely interested, which is rare for her. “No,” he says nervously. “I’ve been to many places on Earth, yet never have I had a reason to go there.”
“Mm,” she interrupts with a dangerous smile. “They got sex toys in the gumball machines right next to the soft kitties and plastic necklaces. Out in the open on the street. If that ain’t iniquity, I dunno what is.”
He glares at her. “And I assume you’ve experienced this?”
She climbs into his lap, and despite the displeased look on his face, he doesn’t fight it. “Through the eyes of a cute little schoolgirl,” she slurs. “Those perverted businessmen know how to show a girl a good time. I came so many times without even being touched - you could’ve taken note.”
She leans down to kiss his neck, taking advantage of his sensitivity there while her other hand dips below his waist to feel his cock fill again. “I don’t see what that has to do with this song,” he manages to choke out.
“Then allow me to translate,” Meg replies, biting his lower lip.
Without warning, she sinks down onto him, causing him to gasp unabashed. His hands dart to her hips to steady her. “After you do it,” she recites. “I’ll never need another word from you.”
Meg was drunk. Castiel knew Meg was drunk, mostly because his coordination during his temporary loss of sobriety hadn’t been much better and the bottle in her hand was labeled Jack Daniels. He’d been fond of it for a time himself, which made him wonder if demons couldn’t actually read minds. They lied about everything else, after all. It was in their nature to.
“Come on, Clarence, I know you’re gonna love this.”
Even as he allowed himself to be pushed down onto a chair, he stared up at her in concern. While he knew she didn’t need a reason to be drinking - she usually did so just because she got bored so easily, but he still felt he had the right to make sure she was all right. She could barely select the song she wanted from the dreaded iPod’s menu.
Do you think you’re sinking or falling into something deep?
“How many bottles did you drink?” he asked promptly.
Meg gave him a dopey, not at all Meg-like grin. There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in sight, which was admittedly an interesting change of facial expression. “Six or seven,” she said, speech still impressively even. “Dunno why it’s affecting me. The Masters girl could choke down twelve or thirteen like a pro.”
Castiel found himself momentarily distracted by the sway of her hips. As unsteady as Meg was, she still knew exactly how to move herself to get his attention. That and the fact that she was standing over his lap.
“Perhaps it has something to do with the size of your current vessel.”
He wasn’t sure how she managed to both seductively rub up against him and clamp a small hand around his throat at the same time. “Are you calling me short?” she asked.
“I’m simply stating a possibility. The size of her liver is consistent with the size of her body. You’re further damaging the girl you chose to contain you.”
He didn’t feel threatened so he didn’t move. If he’d felt threatened, she’d have been smote on the obnoxious carpet.
She automatically backed off, a slow, sly smirk spreading over her features. Now that was the Meg he’d become acquainted with. “Like you really care about any of that.”
She turned her body so her back was to him, undulating slowly. Castiel didn’t understand why it was supposed to be arousing. He was more impressed that she was keeping her balance. She did look attractive, however. Dean had told him to tell her she looked ‘hot’ once - she’d laughed hysterically.
Instead he asked, “What is the point of this?”
“I’ve had this stuck in my head all day - it’s the perfect lap dance song, so suck it up. I’m all over this like Felix Cane.”
Well nothing makes sense anyway.
Castiel supposed that was as good an answer as any.
That one stupid line from a song - it was the only thing she knew they’d ever agree on. He’d go on pressing his palm to every demonic forehead he could find and she’d do her very best to fuck over his beloved humanity every chance she got - he’d still love her for it.
When push came to shove, it was still her bed he chose to appear next to, undress next to, and finally climb into. Her Clarence had his ways of waking her up - first it would be the gentlest press of his weight on her bare back, unnaturally warm. Then the press of his lips on her neck and shoulder blades, the stupid romantic wannabe bastard.
Still, it always happened the same.
“What time is it?” she mumbled.
“Late,” he growled. “Much too late to be sleeping.”
He pulls her up onto her hands and knees like it’s nothing, and Meg only pretends to be annoyed - after all, it’s only a matter of time before they hit the proverbial wall. “Not my fault you get horny in time for a nooner,” she replied slyly.
Meg relished the feeling of him giving her an admonishing bite on her left shoulder blade. “No excuses,” he grunted.
Oh yeah - best way to wake up. Ever.
When Castiel found her, he actually expected her to look worse than she did. The other demons hadn’t been kind to her, though seeing as they weren’t capable of kindness, Meg was decidedly fortunate. She was sliced to pieces everywhere he could see, left to bleed out on the floor of some warehouse. Her clothing was impossible to salvage - for a demon. When he got her to safety, he decided he would at least repair her jacket. She seemed fond of it in the same sense he was now fond of his own trench.
You and I are like oil and water
He got a whinge of protest when he scooped her up, carrying her out of the trap bridal-style. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
He noted first that her eyes were closed and her arms had gone around his neck. Her vessel was so damn light in the first place, it was hard for him to discern how much pain she was really in and whether or not she was enjoying it. “Taking you home,” he said simply.
Meg snickered, a sickly smile gracing her bloodied features. “Can’t take me home if I ain’t got no home to go to. If this is a line, I dunno if I’m up for it, Clarence. I’m not some D-I-D.”
And we’ve been trying to mix it up.
While he had no idea what that was, he wasn’t about to ask. It could mean anything from her not wanting his help to a reference to a sexual act they hadn’t yet attempted. “No one said you were. I was…concerned for you. I haven’t received your texts in days.”
“What was the last one I sent you?”
“Something about a Spongebob Squarepants.”
She laughed again, resigning herself to being carried. Castiel was just surprised she hadn’t fought him. Much. There’d been some initial struggling when he first lifted her, but that was before she realized it was him. “I’m figuring you’re mentally about twelve. You should love cartoons.”
If she could speak, then she’d probably be riding his lap within an eighteen-hour window. That just seemed to be how they did things.