Fic: Groped by an Angel [RPF/SPN]
Title: Groped by an Angel
Fandom: RPF/Supernatural
Pairing: Misha Collins/Castiel
Rating: R
Word count: aprox. 1100
Notes: Written as part of the porn battle, for the prompt "RPF/Supernatural, Misha Collins/Castiel, twitter, ponies, crack".
Summary: An actor, an angel, and twitter.
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction and is not in any way, shape, or form a representation of real events, nor should it be taken as such.
Of all the things Misha Collins never expected to wake up to in the middle of the night, it was safe to say that an angel sitting at the foot of his bed, hunched over his laptop, forehead creased in concentration as he hunted and pecked at the keyboard, was not even on the list. Because even he had some limits.
With no other sound in the room other than their breathing and the occasional clack of plastic as Castiel found the key he wanted, Misha stared at the obviously chemically-induced hallucination, willing it away. It was his own fault really, for drinking anything at a con. It seemed not even the water was safe from lacing.
"Why do you hate ponies so much?"
It took Misha several seconds to process that his hallucination had spoken at all, let alone what it'd said."Wha?"
"Ponies, they're one of my father's creation, they frolic in the fields and do no harm to any." The syllables rolled off of Castiel's tongue like portents, and he fixed Misha with an intense glare, which Misha absently filed away for when they started shooting again. "You should not bathe in their blood."
"Are you reading my twitter?" Of course his typing, glaring, angelic, hallucinatory doppelganger was reading his twitter, because made about as much sense as anything else. "Because that's just to fuck with people."
"I did think this room was rather palatial for a dungeon." Was that a joke? Misha thought that was a joke. It sounded like the intonation that he used for angel jokes. "So you didn't kill any ponies? Nor did you bathe in their blood."
"No, there were no pony deaths, at least none that I caused." Misha lay back down and closed his eyes, hoping that he'd be alone when he open them again. "And since I don't intend on killing any any time soon, I'm just going back to bed and you can go wherever hallucinations go when they're not... lucinating."
"I'm not a hallucination."
The temptation to smother himself with his pillow was incredibly strong, but somehow he resisted. "Of course not," he lowered his voice. "You're an angel of the Lord. You came to save the ponies."
"Exactly. Except I did not come about the ponies."
Misha sat up again, it seemed the only way he was going to get rid of him was to play along with whatever twisted fragment of his psyche he came from "Then what did you come for?"
Wordlessly, Castiel turned the laptops screen towards him. The browser was full of tabs. Tabs that looked familiar. Because they all came from that bookmark folder.
"Oh, those, they're for a...I'm doing a social experiment." Which was true in a sense, although to be honest, it's not like he really needed that many links. "You're here about my slash collection? Which I only read for the plot." Why was he justifying himself to a figment of his deranged imagination?
"I'm here about sex."
Misha looked down at the laptop, up at Castiel and then back down at the laptop.
"Sex with Dean?" That was it, he was cleaning out his browser history first thing in the morning. He might just throw out the computer too.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"There are certain gaps in my knowledge."
"You want me to explain the birds and the bees to you?" Misha was sure that at least one of the stories in the browser was anatomically accurate. "You've already got a whole internet for that."
"I'm familiar with the mechanics." There was a faint but palpable air of embarrassment about Castiel. "Theoretically."
Why did he have a bad feeling about this? "So what does any of this have to do with me?"
"I have no desire to play the part of the blushing virgin." And that would be why. Misha suddenly wished he'd worn a lot more to bed. Like maybe a chastity belt. "It would be unseemly, and I believe Dean would laugh."
"Hold on. Is this going where I think it's going?" That wasn't a squawk, because none of this could actually be happening. "Because if you're looking for practice, wouldn't Jensen be better? With the whole looking like Dean and everything?" And he could get some sleep if his hallucination was trying to get someone else to devirginise it.
"That was my first thought as well." Misha hadn't been aware angels could blush, he'd have to bring that up with the writers next time he saw them. "He declined, and asked that you refrain from certain kinds of behaviour when not at a panel. Only in much cruder language."
"I'll bet. So then you decided on me?" It was irrational to be hurt that he was his hallucination's second choice, especially since he'd just tried to get rid of him, Misha told himself.
"Yes." Castiel leant forward, his gaze intense and earnest. "You are my only hope."
There was a hand on Misha's thigh. A very warm, solid, corporeal hand. A hand that was doing very little for his conviction that he was having an incredibly bizarre dream-cum-hallucination-cum-acid-trip. Just barely resisting the urge to yell about bad touches, Misha eyed the hand in case it started sliding any higher. Gradually, his gaze was drawn to the attached wrist, then up the arm, eventually ending on a face that was identical to his own, but also indefinably Other.
He didn't know whether it was curiosity, ego, or pure blind terror, that prompted his next words. "Well, when you put it like that, sure, why not?"
A blink, a heartbeat, and before he'd even formed the thought about how one actually went about deflowering an angel, Misha found himself flat on his back, hands pinned against the mattress. Castiel might have been inexperienced, his mouth clumsy and hard against Misha's, but he was about as tentative as a freight-train.
The sarcastic comment Misha wanted to make about shy, blushing angels vanished in a gasp as Castiel's mouth dragged along his collarbone, a sensation not quite like static electricity thrumming wherever skin met skin, and by the time Castiel's mouth closed over his dick any convictions he'd harboured about the angel's hallucinatory nature were well and truly gone.
Back arched, Misha came with images of wings imprinted against his eyelids.
________________________________________________
"Holy fuck," was really the only thing Misha could think of to say as his breathing returned to normal.
Castiel hadn't so much as loosened his tie, although Misha could see that his pants no longer fit nearly so well. "I believe we're still working up to that."
"Hold that thought." Misha leaned over the side of the bed to retrieve his fallen laptop. "There's just one thing I need to do first."
Fandom: RPF/Supernatural
Pairing: Misha Collins/Castiel
Rating: R
Word count: aprox. 1100
Notes: Written as part of the porn battle, for the prompt "RPF/Supernatural, Misha Collins/Castiel, twitter, ponies, crack".
Summary: An actor, an angel, and twitter.
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction and is not in any way, shape, or form a representation of real events, nor should it be taken as such.
Of all the things Misha Collins never expected to wake up to in the middle of the night, it was safe to say that an angel sitting at the foot of his bed, hunched over his laptop, forehead creased in concentration as he hunted and pecked at the keyboard, was not even on the list. Because even he had some limits.
With no other sound in the room other than their breathing and the occasional clack of plastic as Castiel found the key he wanted, Misha stared at the obviously chemically-induced hallucination, willing it away. It was his own fault really, for drinking anything at a con. It seemed not even the water was safe from lacing.
"Why do you hate ponies so much?"
It took Misha several seconds to process that his hallucination had spoken at all, let alone what it'd said."Wha?"
"Ponies, they're one of my father's creation, they frolic in the fields and do no harm to any." The syllables rolled off of Castiel's tongue like portents, and he fixed Misha with an intense glare, which Misha absently filed away for when they started shooting again. "You should not bathe in their blood."
"Are you reading my twitter?" Of course his typing, glaring, angelic, hallucinatory doppelganger was reading his twitter, because made about as much sense as anything else. "Because that's just to fuck with people."
"I did think this room was rather palatial for a dungeon." Was that a joke? Misha thought that was a joke. It sounded like the intonation that he used for angel jokes. "So you didn't kill any ponies? Nor did you bathe in their blood."
"No, there were no pony deaths, at least none that I caused." Misha lay back down and closed his eyes, hoping that he'd be alone when he open them again. "And since I don't intend on killing any any time soon, I'm just going back to bed and you can go wherever hallucinations go when they're not... lucinating."
"I'm not a hallucination."
The temptation to smother himself with his pillow was incredibly strong, but somehow he resisted. "Of course not," he lowered his voice. "You're an angel of the Lord. You came to save the ponies."
"Exactly. Except I did not come about the ponies."
Misha sat up again, it seemed the only way he was going to get rid of him was to play along with whatever twisted fragment of his psyche he came from "Then what did you come for?"
Wordlessly, Castiel turned the laptops screen towards him. The browser was full of tabs. Tabs that looked familiar. Because they all came from that bookmark folder.
"Oh, those, they're for a...I'm doing a social experiment." Which was true in a sense, although to be honest, it's not like he really needed that many links. "You're here about my slash collection? Which I only read for the plot." Why was he justifying himself to a figment of his deranged imagination?
"I'm here about sex."
Misha looked down at the laptop, up at Castiel and then back down at the laptop.
"Sex with Dean?" That was it, he was cleaning out his browser history first thing in the morning. He might just throw out the computer too.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"There are certain gaps in my knowledge."
"You want me to explain the birds and the bees to you?" Misha was sure that at least one of the stories in the browser was anatomically accurate. "You've already got a whole internet for that."
"I'm familiar with the mechanics." There was a faint but palpable air of embarrassment about Castiel. "Theoretically."
Why did he have a bad feeling about this? "So what does any of this have to do with me?"
"I have no desire to play the part of the blushing virgin." And that would be why. Misha suddenly wished he'd worn a lot more to bed. Like maybe a chastity belt. "It would be unseemly, and I believe Dean would laugh."
"Hold on. Is this going where I think it's going?" That wasn't a squawk, because none of this could actually be happening. "Because if you're looking for practice, wouldn't Jensen be better? With the whole looking like Dean and everything?" And he could get some sleep if his hallucination was trying to get someone else to devirginise it.
"That was my first thought as well." Misha hadn't been aware angels could blush, he'd have to bring that up with the writers next time he saw them. "He declined, and asked that you refrain from certain kinds of behaviour when not at a panel. Only in much cruder language."
"I'll bet. So then you decided on me?" It was irrational to be hurt that he was his hallucination's second choice, especially since he'd just tried to get rid of him, Misha told himself.
"Yes." Castiel leant forward, his gaze intense and earnest. "You are my only hope."
There was a hand on Misha's thigh. A very warm, solid, corporeal hand. A hand that was doing very little for his conviction that he was having an incredibly bizarre dream-cum-hallucination-cum-acid-trip. Just barely resisting the urge to yell about bad touches, Misha eyed the hand in case it started sliding any higher. Gradually, his gaze was drawn to the attached wrist, then up the arm, eventually ending on a face that was identical to his own, but also indefinably Other.
He didn't know whether it was curiosity, ego, or pure blind terror, that prompted his next words. "Well, when you put it like that, sure, why not?"
A blink, a heartbeat, and before he'd even formed the thought about how one actually went about deflowering an angel, Misha found himself flat on his back, hands pinned against the mattress. Castiel might have been inexperienced, his mouth clumsy and hard against Misha's, but he was about as tentative as a freight-train.
The sarcastic comment Misha wanted to make about shy, blushing angels vanished in a gasp as Castiel's mouth dragged along his collarbone, a sensation not quite like static electricity thrumming wherever skin met skin, and by the time Castiel's mouth closed over his dick any convictions he'd harboured about the angel's hallucinatory nature were well and truly gone.
Back arched, Misha came with images of wings imprinted against his eyelids.
________________________________________________
"Holy fuck," was really the only thing Misha could think of to say as his breathing returned to normal.
Castiel hadn't so much as loosened his tie, although Misha could see that his pants no longer fit nearly so well. "I believe we're still working up to that."
"Hold that thought." Misha leaned over the side of the bed to retrieve his fallen laptop. "There's just one thing I need to do first."