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... )
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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Instead, those fingers are slipping up to the tip of Cas' chin, keeping his head tipped back as he leans in, pressing lips against the other man's throat. It's not a kiss, more a drag of lips that scrapes against that stubble. His mouth drags down, a soft nip of teeth and lips against the hollow of his throat, a hum of quiet pleasure, trying to not move too hot or too fast, keep it here... where ever exactly that might be.]
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Sterling's mouth slips lower, tracing the path his fingers had been moving over and he moans, a low vibration against Sterling's lips. It's a slow-burning kind of pleasure, one that he rarely indulges in just because quicker is easier, and he's more than willing to enjoy it while he can.]
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His fingers tugging that shirt up to expose the other man's stomach, because he wants to feel skin, and somehow that idea doesn't seem as dangerous as it probably should. A hot moan muffled into skin as his fingers trace over his ribs, like he's mapping out Cas' body with his hands -- he is.]
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He's a bit distracted by that to notice Sterling's hand pushing his shirt up to palm over his stomach and ribs; he definitely feels that moan against his neck, though, and he arches his back into the press of fingers against his skin. His fingers curl loosely in Sterling's hair and he gives a gentle tug, testing, trying to work out what makes the other man tick. Strictly for curiosity's sake, of course...]
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