sword & crown [supernatural]
sword & crown
rated nc-17 - castiel/meg - supernatural
Because the truth Meg holds above all others is this: everything -- angels, demons, man, the world -- ends bloody. Always.
Meg takes the angel blade into the sweltering heat of a motel in Florida, somewhere near Miami or on the way. She isn't sure. She tucks it into the space between the bed and the wall and she waits for him to find her. At night, she sits with the silver blade in her lap and she asks it questions. It doesn't answer, but she knows she did not imagine the way it quivered in her palm when she wondered aloud, “Will he come for you?”
He does.
It's close to three AM and Meg is curled quietly in the bed, wearing clothes stolen from a room across the hall. She hears the sound she's been waiting for, but it is oddly anticlimactic. The light comes on, and there's no spark and fire and wrath. Only Castiel, looking rumpled and aggravated and tired. He crosses the room and settles into the small armchair near the bed.
“You are a very difficult creature to find.” Meg sits up, watching. If she should feel terrified, she doesn't. There's a smell in the air, clean and cold, but Castiel looks wilted and stagnant. “But then, I am not as diligent as I once was. Sloppy research, on my part.”
“I made it easy enough.” His eyes flit from the ground to hers, then back again. “You came for your toy.” He nods. “Here.” She reaches behind the bed and pulls out the blade, tossing it to him. He catches it deftly and considers it for a while, then sets it down by his feet. “Is that it?”
“Were you expecting more?”
“Considering you keep it in your pocket, I guess not.” Meg swings her legs over the side of the bed. “Anything else I can do for you? Or can I go back to sleep.” He shrugs. “Normally I wouldn’t ask, but you look bummed, Clarence. Did your boyfriend dump you?” Castiel gives her a blank stare. She lifts her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I get it. Touchy tonight.”
“It’s been…a very long day. Even for me.” She nods because she understands. As odd as they both are, and as opposing, there are certain things in him she recognizes in herself. Certain things he does that she knows she has done, too. Things she’s said and wanted. Meg crosses the room and stands in front of him, carding her fingers through his hair. He flinches, but she stays. Kneeling, she draws him closer, tracing the line of his jaw and down his neck.
“You look tired, Clarence. Come to bed. Let me take care of you.” The words sink off her tongue and he looks at her sharply, eyes bright with the quiet awareness of what she means. “Just tonight. Just for now.” He nods, resigning himself to the fleeting touches of her fingers on his neck and lips. She kisses him with nothing behind it but a question, so much like the one she asked the blade not so long ago -- did you come for me?
“Perhaps,” he murmurs, lips catching the corner of her mouth and traveling down. “I don’t know anymore.”
Meg forces him to stand, shoving the coat off his shoulders. There are more clothes beneath it, a false suit of armor that protects him from no one and nothing, least of all her. She finally finds bare skin and presses her mouth to it.
“Undress me,” she says. Castiel swallows and fingers the sleeve of her sweater before gently tugging it over her head. The room is cold, meant to combat the assaulting heat outside, and her nipples pucker as he slips his fingers between her hip and the waistband of her pants and slides them down. She kicks them away. A second later, his belt buckle follows. Meg is aware, now, of just how much neither of their bodies are their own. His own responds to her as she thought it might and it is clear just how much he does and does not understand. She would be a fool to pretend that he doesn’t know what she wants and she’s sure her desire to completely ravage him doesn’t escape his quiet mind. But he says nothing. He lets her guide him to the bed and lays out next to her. “What do you want to do?” He doesn’t answer. “Do you want me to touch you?” Her fingers ghost over his cock and his legs twitch. “Do you want to touch me? You can, if you want.” Castiel nods and she rolls onto her back.
Meg’s never been one for wandering hands, but Castiel’s do not wander so much as they take stock of her body. She knows he can feel and see the dull, ashy outline of her true form, just as she can see the lines of his grace that threaten to break through the fragile skin of his vessel. Human bodies dull the awareness and she can see and not see what she’d like. His fingers are calculating. They start at the crown of her head and trace downward. Sometimes his mouth is on her skin, testing it, tasting it, as though he is asking a question.
She could tell him to speed it up, God knows she’s done it before. But there is something soothing and calculating in his touches, as if his questions are being answered, one inch of skin at a time. And when he touches her hip and her thigh and then the bend of her knee, she touches back, fingers running circles over his temple. Castiel sits up on his knees, eyes still wandering over her body. She sits up after him. “What do you want?”
“Show me,” he murmurs. Meg nods and urges him toward her and onto his back. He rolls slowly, watching her straddle his waist and dip forward, kissing his neck and shoulders, trailing down over his chest. She kisses his hip and wraps her mouth around his cock. Castiel huffs, all the breath leaving his body at once. Patiently, Meg sucks him off, coaxing him through his orgasm and swallowing him down. He shivers when she pulls away, kissing her fiercely when she meets his lips again. She holds him there until she needs to breathe, pulling away and gasping for air. “I want…” Meg nods. “I want to--”
“I know,” she says. “I know.” He sits up and she settles in his lap, one hand around his cock as she guides him into her. His fingers press hard into her hips as Meg lowers herself down. The pace she sets is slow at first. He watches her and it makes her feel raw so she looks away. “No,” he murmurs, and forces her to look at him. Meg swallows, breath hitching in her throat as she picks up the pace. He feels like fire inside her, razing the line between body and demon, carving his name along her boundaries. He falls back and she steadies herself with two hands on his chest. Castiel’s hands are on her thigh, then her back, then twisted in the sheets. His voice is raw and broken and when he says her name, it sounds so beautiful on her ears. She’s never heard it that way before. It makes her shiver, makes her stumble closer to the edge.
He comes with a sharp cry that rings through her ears. Meg is close, so close and when she presses her fingers to her clit she can feel him inside her and she screams, clenching around him and shaking.
She stays like that for a while, breath ragged and body starting to relax. When Meg looks up, Castiel is very still, eyes trained on her. He pulls her toward him, regarding her delicately and tugging a blanket over them both.
“You gonna stay and cuddle with me?”
“If you’d like me to.” Meg laughs. He does not. “Is this what you wanted? Is this why you let me find you?” She shrugs.
“Would it bother you if it was true?”
“No.” Meg smiles. “I don’t mind,” he adds.
“Well good. You’re not half bad, you know. For a virgin. I mean, we all start somewhere.” She runs her fingers over the sharp angle of his nose and kisses his shoulder. “You should let me take care of you again sometime.”
“I doubt there will be a next time.”
It’s the truth, probably, and it shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Meg stares at the ceiling for a while. She wants to sleep, she’s tired now. Castiel’s body nearly hums next to her and she is once more aware of the power and grace settled just under the muscle and skin, clinging to human bones for dear life. “You should rest,” he murmurs, and pushes himself out of the bed, clumsily getting dressed again.
“No kiss goodbye?” He stares at her as he tugs on his trench coat and fixes the crooked collar. She flushes under his gaze. “It’s a joke, Clarence,” she mutters, not sure why she suddenly feels the need to explain herself. “It doesn’t--” Castiel bends down and kisses her, his hand cupping her neck, thumb tracing the shell of her ear. Meg hums contentedly, her fingers brushing over the curve of his neck and his pulse point. When he pulls away, she feels electrified. She could touch the wall and short-circuit the town if she wanted to.
“Goodbye,” he murmurs. Meg shivers and blinks and he’s gone. She tries to remember what he tasted like, what he smelled like, the weight and feel of him, all of him. But when she tries, it runs away from her and it breaks her because she wants to hold this moment close and remember it when the inevitable happens and there is nothing left of him for her to hold and taste.
Because the truth Meg holds above all others is this: everything -- angels, demons, man, the world -- ends bloody. Always.
rated nc-17 - castiel/meg - supernatural
Because the truth Meg holds above all others is this: everything -- angels, demons, man, the world -- ends bloody. Always.
Meg takes the angel blade into the sweltering heat of a motel in Florida, somewhere near Miami or on the way. She isn't sure. She tucks it into the space between the bed and the wall and she waits for him to find her. At night, she sits with the silver blade in her lap and she asks it questions. It doesn't answer, but she knows she did not imagine the way it quivered in her palm when she wondered aloud, “Will he come for you?”
He does.
It's close to three AM and Meg is curled quietly in the bed, wearing clothes stolen from a room across the hall. She hears the sound she's been waiting for, but it is oddly anticlimactic. The light comes on, and there's no spark and fire and wrath. Only Castiel, looking rumpled and aggravated and tired. He crosses the room and settles into the small armchair near the bed.
“You are a very difficult creature to find.” Meg sits up, watching. If she should feel terrified, she doesn't. There's a smell in the air, clean and cold, but Castiel looks wilted and stagnant. “But then, I am not as diligent as I once was. Sloppy research, on my part.”
“I made it easy enough.” His eyes flit from the ground to hers, then back again. “You came for your toy.” He nods. “Here.” She reaches behind the bed and pulls out the blade, tossing it to him. He catches it deftly and considers it for a while, then sets it down by his feet. “Is that it?”
“Were you expecting more?”
“Considering you keep it in your pocket, I guess not.” Meg swings her legs over the side of the bed. “Anything else I can do for you? Or can I go back to sleep.” He shrugs. “Normally I wouldn’t ask, but you look bummed, Clarence. Did your boyfriend dump you?” Castiel gives her a blank stare. She lifts her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I get it. Touchy tonight.”
“It’s been…a very long day. Even for me.” She nods because she understands. As odd as they both are, and as opposing, there are certain things in him she recognizes in herself. Certain things he does that she knows she has done, too. Things she’s said and wanted. Meg crosses the room and stands in front of him, carding her fingers through his hair. He flinches, but she stays. Kneeling, she draws him closer, tracing the line of his jaw and down his neck.
“You look tired, Clarence. Come to bed. Let me take care of you.” The words sink off her tongue and he looks at her sharply, eyes bright with the quiet awareness of what she means. “Just tonight. Just for now.” He nods, resigning himself to the fleeting touches of her fingers on his neck and lips. She kisses him with nothing behind it but a question, so much like the one she asked the blade not so long ago -- did you come for me?
“Perhaps,” he murmurs, lips catching the corner of her mouth and traveling down. “I don’t know anymore.”
Meg forces him to stand, shoving the coat off his shoulders. There are more clothes beneath it, a false suit of armor that protects him from no one and nothing, least of all her. She finally finds bare skin and presses her mouth to it.
“Undress me,” she says. Castiel swallows and fingers the sleeve of her sweater before gently tugging it over her head. The room is cold, meant to combat the assaulting heat outside, and her nipples pucker as he slips his fingers between her hip and the waistband of her pants and slides them down. She kicks them away. A second later, his belt buckle follows. Meg is aware, now, of just how much neither of their bodies are their own. His own responds to her as she thought it might and it is clear just how much he does and does not understand. She would be a fool to pretend that he doesn’t know what she wants and she’s sure her desire to completely ravage him doesn’t escape his quiet mind. But he says nothing. He lets her guide him to the bed and lays out next to her. “What do you want to do?” He doesn’t answer. “Do you want me to touch you?” Her fingers ghost over his cock and his legs twitch. “Do you want to touch me? You can, if you want.” Castiel nods and she rolls onto her back.
Meg’s never been one for wandering hands, but Castiel’s do not wander so much as they take stock of her body. She knows he can feel and see the dull, ashy outline of her true form, just as she can see the lines of his grace that threaten to break through the fragile skin of his vessel. Human bodies dull the awareness and she can see and not see what she’d like. His fingers are calculating. They start at the crown of her head and trace downward. Sometimes his mouth is on her skin, testing it, tasting it, as though he is asking a question.
She could tell him to speed it up, God knows she’s done it before. But there is something soothing and calculating in his touches, as if his questions are being answered, one inch of skin at a time. And when he touches her hip and her thigh and then the bend of her knee, she touches back, fingers running circles over his temple. Castiel sits up on his knees, eyes still wandering over her body. She sits up after him. “What do you want?”
“Show me,” he murmurs. Meg nods and urges him toward her and onto his back. He rolls slowly, watching her straddle his waist and dip forward, kissing his neck and shoulders, trailing down over his chest. She kisses his hip and wraps her mouth around his cock. Castiel huffs, all the breath leaving his body at once. Patiently, Meg sucks him off, coaxing him through his orgasm and swallowing him down. He shivers when she pulls away, kissing her fiercely when she meets his lips again. She holds him there until she needs to breathe, pulling away and gasping for air. “I want…” Meg nods. “I want to--”
“I know,” she says. “I know.” He sits up and she settles in his lap, one hand around his cock as she guides him into her. His fingers press hard into her hips as Meg lowers herself down. The pace she sets is slow at first. He watches her and it makes her feel raw so she looks away. “No,” he murmurs, and forces her to look at him. Meg swallows, breath hitching in her throat as she picks up the pace. He feels like fire inside her, razing the line between body and demon, carving his name along her boundaries. He falls back and she steadies herself with two hands on his chest. Castiel’s hands are on her thigh, then her back, then twisted in the sheets. His voice is raw and broken and when he says her name, it sounds so beautiful on her ears. She’s never heard it that way before. It makes her shiver, makes her stumble closer to the edge.
He comes with a sharp cry that rings through her ears. Meg is close, so close and when she presses her fingers to her clit she can feel him inside her and she screams, clenching around him and shaking.
She stays like that for a while, breath ragged and body starting to relax. When Meg looks up, Castiel is very still, eyes trained on her. He pulls her toward him, regarding her delicately and tugging a blanket over them both.
“You gonna stay and cuddle with me?”
“If you’d like me to.” Meg laughs. He does not. “Is this what you wanted? Is this why you let me find you?” She shrugs.
“Would it bother you if it was true?”
“No.” Meg smiles. “I don’t mind,” he adds.
“Well good. You’re not half bad, you know. For a virgin. I mean, we all start somewhere.” She runs her fingers over the sharp angle of his nose and kisses his shoulder. “You should let me take care of you again sometime.”
“I doubt there will be a next time.”
It’s the truth, probably, and it shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Meg stares at the ceiling for a while. She wants to sleep, she’s tired now. Castiel’s body nearly hums next to her and she is once more aware of the power and grace settled just under the muscle and skin, clinging to human bones for dear life. “You should rest,” he murmurs, and pushes himself out of the bed, clumsily getting dressed again.
“No kiss goodbye?” He stares at her as he tugs on his trench coat and fixes the crooked collar. She flushes under his gaze. “It’s a joke, Clarence,” she mutters, not sure why she suddenly feels the need to explain herself. “It doesn’t--” Castiel bends down and kisses her, his hand cupping her neck, thumb tracing the shell of her ear. Meg hums contentedly, her fingers brushing over the curve of his neck and his pulse point. When he pulls away, she feels electrified. She could touch the wall and short-circuit the town if she wanted to.
“Goodbye,” he murmurs. Meg shivers and blinks and he’s gone. She tries to remember what he tasted like, what he smelled like, the weight and feel of him, all of him. But when she tries, it runs away from her and it breaks her because she wants to hold this moment close and remember it when the inevitable happens and there is nothing left of him for her to hold and taste.
Because the truth Meg holds above all others is this: everything -- angels, demons, man, the world -- ends bloody. Always.