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... )
His lips curl into a grin as Sterling's fingers trail down his chest, just barely moving into his open fly before pulling away and reaching for that infernal suit jacket. He rather obediently moves his arms into position to facilitate the process, honestly wanting nothing more than to get this whole thing over with.]
I guess it's more authentic, who would travel alone now?
[Crazy people, probably. Not that they don't fit horribly into that category themselves. He really should stop reminding himself of how insane this is, because the more he lets himself think about it, the more ways he can think of for him to fuck it up and get them all killed. He truly isn't cut out for this sort of thing; it's not exactly cowardice, more the fact that he knows his own strengths and they certainly don't lie in things like this.
Sterling leans in, presses a kiss to his lips, and Cas picks his hands up to rest them at the other man's hips, pulling him just a bit closer and murmuring into the kiss. It's quick, but when they pull apart a bit he grins against Sterling's lips.]
I'm a classy guy.
[The classiest, really. He does up his pants, and alright, he supposes they're not so bad. Not as uncomfortable as he remembers them being, perhaps because they're maybe a size or two bigger and sit lower on his hips.]
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Sterling pulled back a few steps, reluctance easily discernible in his body language. It was as much to remove himself from the immediate temptation, as it was to survey his handiwork. And fuck but Cas looked lovely. As much as his hippy shirts suited him, the lines of the dark fabric, the crisp white dress shirt and that blue tie at his throat made Sterling want to forget they were leaving soon. He was seriously pondering the idea of trying to get him back in those clothes later, when they weren't about to run off on a do-or-die errand and would have the time to properly enjoy the occasion.]
I was right, that tie really brings out your eyes.
[Sterling smiled, his dark eyes still bright with want, though he was doing his best to ignore it. It wasn't working in the at least, but he was managing to not do anything about it. He leaned in again, smoothed out the lapels of the coat and then nodded to himself. As tempting as it was to stay, maybe just jerk him off or some other small sexual dalliance he could justify the time for, he should really go check in on Dean and Risa, check with That Hunter and make sure there hadn't been any unusual radio chatter on the military's frequency.]
You have to shave. And then put the shoes on; we should be heading out soon.
[He kissed him again, this time it was slower, hotter, his hands lingering at his hips and transmitting all that pent up desire that really wanted to be taking that nice suit off. His hands caressing through fabric that had likely been expensive back when things like that still mattered.]
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His lips quirk downward in what may be a small pout as Sterling steps back and takes his roaming hands with him, though it's quickly replaced with a roll of eyes that apparently match the tie. He can think of a number of uses for a tie, none of which involve actually wearing them, regardless of what they do for his eyes... But then Sterling's hands are back, smoothing over his lapels and he supposes it's not really so bad.
...Not until he mentions the need for a shave. Dammit, he'd known it was coming, but that doesn't do much to soften the blow. He hates shaving, almost as much as he hates the suit. It doesn't suit him anymore, Jimmy Novak's five 'o clock shadow, because he isn't Jimmy Novak. Fuck, he's not looking forward to this.]
Yeah, yeah, I'll get right on that.
[And he will. Just as soon as Sterling's moved away, taken his mouth and hands and tongue to somewhere less distracting and more conducive to readying himself for this suicide mission. He supposes it'd make sense, leaving this body in the same condition he found it in, give or take a few scars here and there...
His hands clutch at the sides of Sterling's suit briefly before he pulls away, moving to locate that godforsaken razor.]
Shouldn't take too long. Provided I don't nick myself and bleed out, of course.
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[There's an unsaid implication that it would be slow and very painful. Of course, Sterling isn't entirely certain how he'd actually manage the resurrection bit, but it's mostly a joke. Mostly. Irony a cool wrapping over the fact that losing Cas isn't something he plans on having to deal with for a while yet. He takes one last look at Cas, a smirk curving his lips, before Sterling slips off to check on other things. Everything is in order, impossibly. He does note that Dean looks surprisingly good in military uniform. He grabs his trenchcoat, given that the weather's starting to turn colder, and the black coat over his suit earns him an undefined look from Dean that Sterling doesn't bother thinking about too much.
As it turns out, the name Sam Novak doesn't flow Dean's fist into Cas' face, though there is a bad-tempered quip about his missing trenchcoat. The four of them load up into the jeep, Chuck offers them an expectedly pessimistic send-off, and they head off for the military base. Sterling vaguely gets the feeling that there's something about Cas and suits and trenchcoats that he isn't aware of. He makes a mental note to ask him the next night that they're both too drunk for tact to be worried about. Which will probably either be very soon or not at all, he figures grimly.
As it turns out, the military doesn't shoot them on sight, so it seems the first part of their plan worked, at the least. In Sterling's opinion, the most important part: you can't con people that aren't interested in letting you get close enough to hear what you have to say. When Sterling hopped off the jeep, his demeanor was entirely different. His smile was sharp and humorless, his eyes intense and judgement, meeting the gaze of the man that came down to greet them as if he was somehow left wanting. He held himself in a way that said he was aware the military had more guns and it wasn't in his job description to care.]
James Sterling, Interpol.
[His voice was smug, but with an edge of something dangerous. He flashed his badge in a way that was languid, a lift of his eyebrow as if he'd been expecting something more. The man in uniform bristled, clearly disliked Sterling from the moment he'd said his name, but, that was part of the plan. Which was a good thing, considering that he tended to rub people the wrong way so well it was pretty much a skill.]
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[He really doesn't. If anyone could find a way to bring someone back from the dead just to kill them themselves, it'd be Sterling. Or maybe Dean.
Once Sterling's gone off to do his thing, Cas is forced to resign himself to the horrible task of shaving. Which he does, of course, and with minimal blood loss to boot! There will be no need for resurrection and re-murdering today. It's not long after that that they pack up and hit the road, make their way to their horribly suicidal death mission... He spends the trip staring out at the passing scenery, thinking of all the ways this could go horribly wrong, and running his fingers along his clean-shaved jaw. He feels naked.
Things had actually gone surprisingly well, Dean's comment about his trenchcoat and the resulting moodiness excluded: they hadn't been shot at, quarantined, or otherwise harassed when they'd arrived at the makeshift base. It seems this part of Sterling's plan had been well thought-out; they'd been accepted with open arms.
Alright, maybe that's stretching it a bit, he's trying to be optimistic here.
Sterling introduces himself; Cas does the same... And then keeps quiet, because he doesn't want to be the one that fucks this up. He settles for looking slightly disinterested, hands shoved in his pockets as if he's not bothered at all by the armed personnel totally surrounding them. In actuality, it's more than a little bit nerve-wracking. He does his best not to look around, make it seem like he doesn't know exactly what's going on here... He hopes Dean's getting a good look though, the more they know about how the military's operating these days, the better...]
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I was under the impression we were supposed to be meeting with the General.
-- The General is otherwise occupied and cannot be disturbed, sir.
[Sterling arched an eyebrow rather artfully, and that retort did not go over particularly well. Sterling proceeded to inform the man that he really didn't give a rat's ass about military protocol, and that he was here to figure out what fuck up was responsible for the spill of Croatoans to the south. There was also a threat of demotion for anyone that happened to get in his way; Sterling actually managed to be rather intimidating when he raised his voice. With a brief, sharp follow me look at Cas, Sterling managed to walk them through the front doors of a military base.
Everything had seemed to be going according to plan until Sterling talked them into where the general was. Sterling lit up as soon as he laid eyes on the man. Sterling looked like it was Halloween, Christmas, and his birthday all rolled into one. He was gleeful, excited, and almost glowing with anticipation. He stopped the Seargent when the man went to introduce them. Instead, Sterling just walked up behind the man that was pouring over tactical maps, and stopped just out of arm's reach. He stood casually, hands at his side.]
Hello, Spencer.
[It was easy to see the way the color drained out of the general's face at the simple sound of Sterling's voice, and then that pallor was replaced with a flush of clear and apparent rage. The man spun, closed the slight distance and planted his fist into Sterling's face fast enough you could have blinked and missed it. He seemed to be on par with Dean when it came to physical combat. Sterling had been waiting for it. One could guess they knew each other.]
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He understands he's supposed to follow and so he does, still glancing around as subtly as he can manage as they make their way to the general's tent. Cas can't help but notice that it looks a great deal nicer than the rest of them, and he scowls. Dean doesn't do that; if anything his quarters are the most barren, the least comfortable in the entire camp. Whoever this general is, Cas has decided he doesn't care for the way he operates.
Aside from the being the enemy issue, of course, because that's really working against the guy, too. He does his best to keep his face as blank and authoritarian as possible, pleased with himself that he managed to avoid scowling at the general when they do finally make their way over to speak with him.
Sterling, on the other hand, seems nothing but delighted at the sight of him. If Cas isn't mistaken... Does Sterling know this asshole?
It would appear he does; knows his name, at least, and when the man- Spencer- turns around, it's clear he recognizes Sterling as well.
And isn't happy about seeing him again, if the fist to Sterling's face is any indication. Cas is impressed in spite of himself- the only person he's ever seen apply a fist to a nose that quickly is Dean... He flinches, but doesn't make any indication that he's especially bothered by this development-- these interpol people seem like bastards of the highest order and he doesn't want to blow their cover. He keeps his voice almost lazy, disinterested as he slides his hands into his pockets.]
That's not going to reflect favorably on you in our report.
[He glances at Sterling- who really doesn't seem too upset about this whole situation- and frowns.]
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The way that Sterling was beating the man about the ribs seemed to slide off of Spencer with a minimum of response. A hand curling in his shirt, and then Sterling was tossed flat down on the table, maps scattering to the ground as they scrabbled. Whatever the case, Sterling had apparently managed to piss the man off beyond good sense. But, there was something to the way they moved, if you were perceptive, that seemed to hint at the fact that they'd done this before. More than a few times. It had been years, but they still fell back into old patterns.
The fought like sex, but it was viscious, unrelenting. Until it wasn't. Until Spencer curled fingers around Sterling's throat and the man stilled. His pupils dilating, skin flushed in a way that wasn't about the violence. It was similar, but subtly different from how he fought with Dean. There was more understanding of where the lines were. And this wasn't a line. Fingers tightening around his throat, choking off air, and Sterling seemed surprisingly okay with it (okay was entirely the wrong word).
There were moments that passed like that, Sterling's face flushing deeper, and the world finally seemed to filter back in. Spencer finally asking what the Hell are you doing here, Sterling, and the man in his now thoroughly rumpled suit managing to gasp out business. Spencer snarled, straightening, and ordered Cas and Sterling locked in with guards outside the door. He was going to talk it over with Dean and Risa first, apparently.
Dean and Risa had seemed rather amused -- Sterling was of the opinion they hadn't been pretending. He settled for leaning against the edge of the table he'd been tossed on, rubbing fingers against his throat as the room emptied.]
That... could have gone worse.
[Sterling's voice was low, heated and suggestive as he tried to get his focus back. Failing, his eyes still hot as he looked over at Cas. Want and arousal he was trying to shrug off; Sterling had proven to be so good at that, after all.]
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Until the general'd had Sterling by the throat and slammed up against the table, anyway. Then it'd finally sunk in how dangerous the man was, and Cas had been hard pressed to keep from blowing their cover completely. For fuck's sake, he may as well have been a croate- Cas rarely sees anger like that in anyone other than Dean these days. Everyone else is too tired... Apparently the general doesn't have that problem.
It'd been a close call, Cas a half-second away from stepping in if Sterling's face had turned an even more unpleasant colour... But eventually the general'd let him go, in a way, releasing his throat and ordering Sterling- and Cas himself, much to Cas's irritation- locked into the room. With armed guards.]
How do you figure that?
[This whole operation is going to fall apart if this general person sees through Dean and Risa... Cas isn't worried about Dean keeping the charade going- Dean probably could have gotten away with being a professional con artist back before the world had gone to shit- but Risa... He trusts her, but he doesn't know her. Doesn't know what kind of liar she is, or if she's going to be able to pull one over on this general who already seems to have one very good reason to just have them all killed.
Glancing over at Sterling, Cas frowns.]
Old friend of yours?
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[Sterling's voice is low, flushed, and after those first few gasps where he'd had to catch his breath, it hadn't had anything to do with lack of air. The infuriating thing is that he knows that Spencer is aware of what this does to him. There had been that first fight, and then there had been other not so public ones. And he was certain that the man hadn't forgotten about what the way they collided in a way that was all unchecked aggression did to Sterling, not to mention those fingers at his throat. He was resisting the urge to touch Cas, because he wasn't sure he could bring himself to stop if he did.]
I told you I knew experts at saving the world. One of them that was convinced of his own immortality and had a fondness for beating me into tables?
[Sterling lifted an eyebrow and eyed Cas, trying to see if he was following the dots Sterling was connecting for him. It had been an off-handed comment between kisses on the subject of experts and saving the world, but he was hoping something had sunk in.
They're unfortunately cut out of the loop on where the plan goes from here. Likely not for the last time, Sterling really wishes they had intercoms. He only hopes that Dean can handle Spencer, and that Risa can follow Dean's cues. Dean seemed to believe she was up to the task, and under the circumstances, that simply had to suffice.]
It could have been worse. Considering I lied to him, drugged him, and left him unconscious on a basement floor the last time we saw each other, Spencer could have been actually pissed off.
[Which was a rather amused, curled-lips way of saying Sterling had pretty much deserved every single one of the bruises that were most certainly blooming on his skin under that expensive suit. Despite the way they'd gone at one another, and that the other man's fingers had been choking the breath from him, that apparently didn't qualify as 'actually pissed off'. Cas probably didn't want to know what did. Sterling's voice was still lingering in low, lusty bedroom registers, his breath coming rough and uneven; honestly connected to the erection straining against expensive slacks. The only complaint he really has against suit pants is that they don't hide inappropriate arousal nearly as well as the denims most people around camp favored.]
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He frowns and crosses his arms once Sterling gets to the point- and he isn't really all that surprised to hear about how their last meeting had gone down.]
So what you're saying is that he was justified in kicking the shit out of you just now? [He snorts.] You have a habit of bringing the rage down on your like no one I've ever seen.
[Sure, Cas likes pushing Dean's buttons on occasion, but this is really something else. Driving someone to the point of almost choking you out is a little bit extreme...
And speaking of extreme...]
Did you know he would be here?
[Frankly, Cas is going to be more than a little pissed off if he had known- this whole mission was based on their ability to maintain cover, and he can't imagine the general is just going to take their word for it now. The whole mission could have been compromised, and that's not something he was looking forward to dealing with. He doesn't want to get killed here in this fucking suit. He doesn't think Sterling would risk it, not with his daughter's life on the line, but he has to ask.
Still frowning, he glances over at Sterling and finally seems to be noticing the way that beat down had affected him- flushed skin, uneven breathing... And that all too obvious tenting of expensive dress slacks.
He got off on it. Of course he did, Cas doesn't know why he's surprised. He lets his eyes linger there for a few beats longer than necessary before dragging them back up to meet Sterling's.]
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[He frowned, not quite offended that Cas had seen the need to ask. Fact was that now the whole thing was at risk. Spencer could either be an asset, or he could tear this whole thing down around their heads. Because Spencer knew Sterling well enough to put together that he wasn't going to waltz into a job with one aide. Which meant he had to at the least suspect Dean and Risa... and this was all on them now. Really wasn't much they could do from here, under armed guard.
And that right there almost makes molesting Cas sound like a good idea.
That's also the point where can't help noticing the way that Cas' gaze sinks below his waistline. Buggered. When Cas meets his eyes again, Sterling actually flushes a little; unused to being confronted about his kinks. He's not exactly sure how this part goes, what Cas thinks. It's a harrowing thought, but Sterling honestly does care what the man thinks of him. It's something he's not used to. He swallows, tries to gauge his reaction, but can't quite put it together.
He'd been into the fights that always felt like something else since he'd been a child. He'd been mouthy even then, always getting into fights that were supposed to teach him a lesson, but that rolled off of him like water on a duck's back. He'd rush home, lock himself in his room and touch himself. The breathplay had come later. They'd been something, albeit briefly. Off and on, hot and cold, always dotted with bruises.
He reaches out for Cas, because he needs to touch. He's surprisingly tactile, even if he rarely lets it show.]
Cas.
[It's hushed so it doesn't pass beyond them, but almost a question.]
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[He's satisfied with that answer. It makes sense, but more importantly he trusts that if Sterling says he hadn't intentionally led them into a situation like this, he hadn't. Not with his daughter's life at risk, his own life... Cas's life, too, since he's assuming Sterling cares enough not to get him killed.
Cas's lips twitch at that slight flush and he steps closer. It would appear his powers of observation and deduction hadn't led him astray... Not that he's judging. Why would he? With the kind of things he does, the kind of things he's known for at the camp, well... He's completely unfazed by this not at all startling revelation. Come on, no one picks fist fights with Dean unless they enjoy being roughed up. It all makes sense now.
Not to mention the fact that Sterling'd hinted, even unintentionally, that his tastes ran more along the less orthodox of practices... And their night together had been a bi different than what Cas is usually treated to... Not that he's complaining. As a rule he's open to most things, and this... He can work with this.
Sterling reaches out and he shifts, not quite crowding him into the table but close enough, settling his hands at the man's waist. There's the flash of a thought that this probably isn't the time or place... But since when has that stopped him? What else are they gonna do in here while they wait for this general to decide their fates? He doesn't like that thought, not at all, and so he leans forward, catches Sterling's lips in a kiss.]
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He hadn't meant for it to show, but it's part of who he is, and with Cas at least, he's more honest about those sort of things. The fact that Cas doesn't say anything, just presses closer, makes him exhale, letting out tension that had briefly started to tense in his shoulders. Proximity, hands on his waist, and he curls fingers into the lapels of Cas' suit- this is definitely both the wrong time and the wrong place- and tugs him a little closer.
He kisses him back hard, that knowledge that they really shouldn't seeming to have surprisingly little affect on Sterling's ability to stop. His body is heated, he's almost shivering from how much he wants Cas, and stopping seems like torture.
So he doesn't.]
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He has a feeling, given how his life seems to be going these days, that the general- along with Risa and Dean, most likely- are probably going to open that door at the most inopportune moment, right in the middle of things... But he really can't bring himself to care all that much, honestly. Their plan... Well, he's really having his doubts that they're going to leave here alive, or with what they came for, and so he supposes it really doesn't matter. It's probably for the best that he try to enjoy himself as much as possible before shit well and truly hits the fan.
No, inappropriateness be damned; he slots his thigh between Sterling's, presses forward and leans into the kiss. There's no better way to pass the time, really, not that that's the only reason Cas is giving in to this. It's nearly impossible for him to resist a willing partner... And Sterling is clearly very, very willing, if the hardness pressing against Cas's thigh is any indication. His hands palm over Sterling's back, pressing and pushing him closer before sliding forward to undo the buttons of his suit coat and slip under the crisp fabric.
Sterling's body feels hot under his fingers, even through the cotton of his dress shirt, and it's good, it feels good, and Cas can't find a good enough reason to pull away.]
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There's a rough gasp breathed into Cas' mouth as that thigh presses in between his legs, pressing forward and Sterling just pulls him down further into this. He's past willing and into that dangerous territory of being needy. There had been that brief self-control where he'd decided he'd be fine as long as Cas just didn't touch him, and now it's far too late to step back. He rocks his hips, his erection rubbing into the other man's thigh, and he pulls his hands away to strip out of his suit coat as the buttons come undone.
He feels hot. He feels hot, and yet Cas' skin, his mouth, it feels like a balm, like more heat can somehow sweat out the fever. His hands palming over his chest, dragging up along his sides, and he groans Cas' name into his mouth.]
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