671. There Are Different Types of Love....
(Taken shamelessly from mememaker's 126. I can love you in so many different ways. Because I looooove mememaker and this was one of my favorite memes.)
This meme deals with three types of love, angsty, sweet, and twisted! Please note that there are triggers abound!
- Post your characters and include preferences (if any!)
- Others reply.
- Go to RNG and enter numbers 1-3 ( Read more... )
This meme deals with three types of love, angsty, sweet, and twisted! Please note that there are triggers abound!
- Post your characters and include preferences (if any!)
- Others reply.
- Go to RNG and enter numbers 1-3 ( Read more... )
This also means more nights at Cass' cabin, more drinking, more talking. It's dangerous. Sterling knows that as certainly as he knows that Dean's fists leave bruises, but it never seems to stop him from knocking on the door frame and stumbling through that beaded curtain.
This time? Well. It's something he really should have expected stumbling across one of these days. Some curvy brunette moving beneath Cass' body, and Sterling is left with a variety of options. He picks the worst one, of course, when they either don't notice or don't care about his presence. And so he finds a bottle of scotch and pours himself a glass. He means to ignore them, lounge on the couch and act put out and better than this all.
He's not, despite his claims to Cass to the contrary. It's a much simpler, human reason that keep him from tumbling through beds like everyone else in the camp. He likes Cass. And sleeping with the man would make him just like everyone else. And so he doesn't.
But his eyes are drawn to him, and the glass of scotch dangles ignored between his fingertips. Hot greys on the line of his back, the flex of his hips, the way his shoulders curl and the line of his biceps. Unable to keep from watching, he's not quite sure he remembers to breathe until after she leaves.]
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Sterling's sudden appearance hasn't escaped his notice, but it hasn't managed to provide him with enough reason to stop either, not with his name on her lips and her nails digging into his back, deceptively strong hands dragging him closer, marking him, maybe, but he doesn't mind, not at all. He's also aware of Sterling's eyes on him; it gives him a sick thrill, enough to send him over the edge and he buries his face in the crook of her neck with a low groan, fingers slipping between them to bring her off with him. It's more for her benefit than for his, though he'll admit to perhaps a bit more showmanship than is really necessary-- his pride won't allow him any less.
She does notice Sterling eventually, lips parting in a surprised Oh and then a quick excuse to leave once she realizes he isn't going anywhere; Cas is sad to see her leave so quickly… He doesn't know her name but he'd have liked it if she'd stayed, just for a little while… It's not the intimacy he's after, it's the contact comfort of another body next to his, the physical contact he craves-- not everything he tells the people who come to him is a lie, after all.
He has the decency to pull on a pair of denims and a loose sweatshirt before moving over to the couch to see if Sterling's fallen asleep. He finds the man sitting rather comfortably with a glass of scotch-- Cas can't remember where that had come from-- and looking mildly bored, as if he's above all of this.]
Sorry for keeping you waiting.
[There's a lift of his eyebrows and he doesn't sound particularly sorry.. Amused, if anything-- this isn't the first time he's had an audience of some kind and he's sure it won't be the last.]
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It's fine. You were.. occupied.
[Sterling immediately regrets saying anything at all, but tries to play it off with a shrug of his shoulders and a drink of the scotch he'd stashed here for rainy days (he's always in Cass' cabin when he wants a drink; it had only made sense). His voice is breathy, low, heated and almost fluttering as it whispers over his lips, and Sterling sits there and tries to look aloof and like it doesn't mean anything. Considering that he had on more than one occasion protested that he doesn't feel the need to shag other people in camp, his reactions are distressingly transparent.
Watching the way he moved made him want to touch, made him almost want to forget his resolution to not be just another face of the list of people that Cass slept his way through. And so he was going to sit here and fidget with his glass of scotch and pretend that his heart wasn't pounding in his chest because he wanted to feel flesh, taste and warmth and pleasure. It had been too long since he'd been with another person, which of course made this whole situation even worse.
Sterling cleared his throat and hazarded a glance at the other man, trying to gauge Cass. The man seemed to know arousal well enough to pick it up in the air.]
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You're not wrong.
[Cas is all too aware of the change in Sterling's voice, the way his skin's flushed and the way he's sitting up just a bit straighter… He doesn't really think much of it, passes is off as a totally normal reaction to the situation-- he doesn't doubt he'd be feeling the same way if their situations were reversed.
He takes a seat next to Sterling, patting his pockets to see if he'd left anything in them-- it's only been a few hours and he's already forgotten… But to be fair his mind was occupied with much bigger and better things. He frowns and pulls out a joint; it's bent, totally useless unless he wants to re-roll it which just doesn't seem worth the effort. He glances over at the bottle on the table and the glass conveniently sitting next to it-- had he left it there? It seems likely enough and so he reaches for both of them, pouring himself a bit before settling back against the couch.]
Did you and Dean knock the shit out of each other again?
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He crosses his legs in an attempt to obscure just how hard he is in those suit pants that had once been a statement of fine fashion, but now, more than anything, are just part of the symbol of Sterling being separate from the rest of them. He might have tossed on clothes, but Sterling can still see the way his body looked, naked, graceful and beautiful.]
Mm. I swear it takes even less for him to start throwing punches these days.
[Sterling had bloodied knuckles, bruises, aching ribs and a bloody mark just above his collar. Pain had never been something he'd been a stranger to, and it's likely part of what makes it so that Dean and he always come back to this. Sterling will never back down from a fight no matter how many times Dean beats him, or how badly. His voice is still the low, rumbling timbre of sexual suggestion, thinking more about Castiel than Dean no matter what words his lips happen to be saying.]
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[Rough, rough is how it's been lately. Failed missions, failed rescue attempts... Hell, even failed supply runs; there are just too many croates and not enough survivors. Not to mention the army-- they're moving closer, within a day or two's drive from the camp and the closer they get, the more displaced croates the survivors here have to put up with. Even Dean's been reluctant to lead groups out of the camp for very long; the result has been an extremely irritable albeit fearless leader and a camp full of people itching to do something. Cas has his ways of scratching that itch...
Normally it's the drugs, but since they've been strapped for manpower and some old supply routes are now unavailable, he's used up most of his stores; he still has a small amount of pot and some pain pills, but he's been trying to save them for when they're absolutely necessary and as a result he isn't as chilled out as he'd like. He can only drink so much cheap alcohol before he just can't stand it anymore; he's almost at the point now, only making an exception because Sterling, for some reason, always seems to have better quality liquor.
He takes a drink, picking his feet up to sit crosslegged on the couch-- he could use a stretch.]
You might want to ease up on provoking him, for both of your health.
[Cas is, for the moment, totally oblivious to Sterling's discomfort.]
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[Because Cass had been witness to some of the occasions when he went out of his way to needle Dean. Although, in Sterling's opinion, that happened when Dean was being a low-level jerk and it simply got to the point where he couldn't help being snarky in reply. The fact that things have been rough has been heavy on them all, after all. Sterling doesn't have the diversionary tactics of sex and drugs, and so it just leads to more fights, which in turns leads him back to Cass, which is ever more dangerous.
Sterling has better quality liquor because he takes the good stuff when he sees it and saves it for a rainy day. He seems to remember his drink when Cass takes a sip off of his own, and Sterling follows suit, bringing his glass to his lips and sipping at the much more pleasant alcohol than the cheap whiskey most of the hunters seem to prefer.
He's not really thinking about it when his body shifts just those slight smidgens of space so that their thighs touch together. But it's electric, even through the layers of fabric, and Sterling tenses, a rattle of breath over his lips as his free hand whispers against the side of the other man's knee. There's that distant thought that he should leave before he has more bruises to add to skin already generously colored in blue and purple, but he can't quite bring himself to do it.
It's hardly intentional, but that hot, sharp knife-edge of arousal is only deepening with Cass next to him.]
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[And Cas understands, he does. Hell, it's not like he's never intentionally pushed Dean's buttons before. But he knows when he can do that without it becoming a true problem, without causing Dean any more strain than the energy it takes to shoot him a dirty look or reply with an equally below-the-belt remark. It's the way of things, and Cas wouldn't change it for the world.
Sterling, it would seem, hasn't quite worked out those limits, though to be fair Cas has had a lot more time and practice and also the benefit of Dean actually enjoying his company. He'll learn, Cas supposes. Or perhaps not.
He takes another drink, letting the flavour sit on his tongue just a bit longer than he might have with the cheaper variety and because he's still feeling the warmth of his post-orgasmic rush; things haven't yet sunk back into the horrible sharpness of reality quite yet. Even Sterling's thigh bumping against his and the other man's hand on his knee aren't bothering him... Not that they would be especially irritating anyway, but right now any touch just seems more pleasant. He hums quietly and leans back against the couch.]
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[It's said as admittance and confirmation, one of those things he doesn't admit to other people; most of the time Sterling acts put upon about the whole thing. However, there's always been the fact that when he stumbles into Cass' cabin, it almost never has anything to do with fixing his injuries unless there's something bleeding particularly garishly (rare since their first fights, before they'd started to learn strength and limits). It's all about drinking and languid conversation, idle aggravation of bruises.]
Sex with people I don't know the names of isn't my kind of vice.
[Violence was. Specifically violence from people better than him. Getting roughed up by bordering-irrational, attractive men that walked just the wrong side of being invincible, and seemed set on courting the impossible. Sterling supposed it was a very select stress-release mechanism.
His fingers slowly trail up from Cass' knee to press against his thigh, and Sterling is certain this is a bad idea, but can't bring himself to stop, either. Violence is too easily mutated into sex, and walking in on Cass, who he'd already been struggling with wanting pretty much kicked over hopes of controlling that.
Sterling is usually very good at control, but tense shoulders and swirling his glass of alcohol don't do much to dampen it, and the way he casually shifts his position to try and his erection only makes it worse.]
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[His eyes drift closed as Sterling's hand slowly travels up from his knee, fingers just barely skimming and then pressing more firmly against his thigh. It feels good, and Cas is nothing if not a hedonist these days.]
And I do know her name...
[He doesn't, and he doesn't know why he's bothering to defend himself, especially to Sterling when they both know better... But without the lazy pull of drugs him his system keeping him calm, keeping him distracted, he supposes he just likes to argue.
His drink is resting on his other knee, and he lets his thumb stroke absently over the rim of the glass.]
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[It's said with a smile, with a quirk of his lips and a slow drag of his hand as there's more pressure now starting to massage into his hip. Sterling's body shifting closer so their bodies press together at their sides in a way that is at least a slight temper to the heat that skips along his skin. Cass isn't telling him to stop, not that he'd really expected he would. He almost wishes he would, however.
It would be easier. Desire would shift into indignity and anger, and he'd pull away and find a way to shove things back into the way that he liked them, because this was Sterling, and that was what he did. Instead, he's watching Cass, tongue sliding to wet slightly parted lips as he watches the way Cass' finger strokes against the rim of the glass. Sterling finishes his own and sets it down, doesn't bother going for a refill when he doesn't really want it. Instead, he watches Cass like he's evaluating, gauging, always plotting, now-free fingers brushing against his shirt.
Nothing about liking Cass was easy. James Sterling wasn't a man that had ever been attracted to easy.]
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[His lips part at the added pressure and he really should stop this, because--
Because why? He can't think of a compelling enough reason, really, not with the way the touching feels so good against his still-charged skin, even through the rough denim. Not that he hadn't felt good before, but it hadn't been enough, it's never enough; touch is an addiction just like any other, his body seemingly as dependent on it as it is on the drugs he's so sorely lacking right now.
No, he's not about to turn down the only high that's really available to him at the moment aside from the broken joint in his pocket. His eyes slit open and he leans into the fingers brushing over his shirt just slightly, bending to drop his half-finished drink onto the table.
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Unable to resist that urge to touch, he settles for simply trying to make sure this doesn't get out of hand. If it had been a different life, he might have thought about going to far, but that's a concept that doesn't really seem to exist any longer. His hand against his chest slowly traces up, over a shoulder, fingers trying to slip behind him to trace over that gorgeous line of his spine.
A low hum ghosts on his lips, grey eyes watching blue with intensity. There's heat in Sterling's eyes, warmth, something that might actually be honest for a breath or two.]
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There's something new in Sterling's gaze, something heated and interesting that Cas can't quite place. Humming quietly, he lets his hand splay, fingers creeping up Sterling's inner thigh slowly. He's half-hard again, already in that dizzy pleasure-driven place, and as he derives just as much pleasure from touching as he does from being touched, it seems like the only logical thing to do. He likes the way the expensive fabric of his dress pants feels under his fingers, even if they are totally non-functional and only serve as a barrier between him and the rest of the camp; it's soft and warmed by skin.]
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His breath catches as the other man's hand splays against his leg, slowly slipping up his thigh. Grey eyes watching blues as his other hand traces against his collarbone, dips into the hollow of his throat. Touching, and it's almost platonic, despite the shiver of want in his hands. Shifting closer, a smile curving his lips as he presses into how he feels under his fingertips.]
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If there's one thing that Cas excels least at, it's lines, where they are, how to avoid crossing them. He hadn't concerned himself with them much when he'd been an angel and he typically outright ignores them now. His hand continue to move, fingers tightening, squeezing gently at the join between hip and leg. He doesn't move any closer though, fingertips just shy of taking this any further.]
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