(no subject)
The bar is seedy, with neon lights flashing desperately as if they are about to turn off. Charlie pulls into the tiny parking lot without hesitation.
They are in the middle of nowhere, taking a break from endless driving. Meg has no idea where Charlie’s destination is, but she wouldn’t have guessed here. Meg locks the car door instinctually, and is convinced it will not be there if they take too long inside.
“Mozzarella sticks,” Charlie squeals with the excitement that is solely reserved for children who still have a wonder for the world. She has a bounce in her step as she makes her way to the bar door.
The inside is small, with a pool table, a full bar in the center of the room with stools that wrap around. The smell of beer and vomit permeates the air. Meg pinches her nose at it, and she’s sure that the odor is so strong it won’t leave her clothes for week.
Charlie plops at the center stool, confident as she orders, “Two orders of mozzarella sticks, and one presidente margarita.” She pauses when she realizes she is not alone, adding, “Want anything Meg?”
“Whatever you’re drinking,” Meg doesn’t know how to act. Demons are the masters of debauchery; she could out drink, fuck and kill everyone here, but that isn’t going to get her what she wants. She finds a seat next to Charlie, who is impatient as her desire for greasy, fried cheese grows.
“So why this place?” Meg asks.
“I’ve never been here before but I’ve heard good things.”
“This does look like a Winchester hang out,” Meg comments, her frustration forms a tight smile. If she can keep it up, her sweet smile; sweeter words, she could crack any safe. She is a thief, a murderer; these were her basic instincts.
Their drinks were the size of serving bowls, with salt lining the rim of the glass. Charlie seems to enjoy hers, but her full attention is on her food. Meg removes the salt from her glass, careful not to get any in the actual drink; the first sip makes her lips pucker at the sourness but it does not burn her.
When Charlie’s drink is nearly empty the effects seem to be starting, “Do you believe in love- like do demons- do that?” She lays her head on the counter as she tries to get the straw in her mouth.
“I know it exists? Is that what you mean cause if you’re a sentimental drunk-“ Meg is cut off by Charlie’s silent sobbing as she finishes her drink.
“It won’t go in.”
“I-why are you crying. Stop crying,” Meg says callously, and she tries to pull the drink away from Charlie but she is possessive over it.
“Because I’m sad, I can’t stop because I’m sad,” Charlie slurs her words into one breath, but it’s clear enough for Meg to know she has no idea what to do next.
“You really can’t hold your liquor,” Meg comments, pushing mozzarella sticks in Charlie’s direction.
Charlie lets out a weak sob but does not speak. She stares at the food, with slight interest, and then looks up at Meg.
“Why are you sad,” Meg gives in with mild annoyance. She has never been very sensitive, but, then again, no one has ever looked to her for support.
“Dorothy sent me home,” Charlie starts; she is hard to follow but tells the story with a keen attention to detail. Meg tries to follow, nodding her head without laughing. Eventually Charlie’s words become clearer, though her face is still red form consumption.
“So you were her Toto? You followed her around obediently until she sent you away,” Meg summarizes with a smirk. She may have missed a few key emotional parts, but she knew enough to give some sort of feedback.
“But I wanted to go.”
“And you wanted to leave! So why waste the next round on some chick, the nights young,” Meg rallies, ordering some food, and smaller, much smaller drinks.
“I’m not exactly a catch.”
“Nonsense, you can land anyone here,” Meg says looking around the bar for anyone attractive. The bartender is a middle aged man; in fact the bar is full of men, which isn’t exactly Charlie’s type. There is one woman on the other side of the bar who is old enough to be Charlie’s mother; which officially ends her search.
Charlie has been searching too, they both give up, realizing there are no other options. There is an awkward tension when their eyes meet, an intense laughter breaks out in an attempt to hide but the pressure lingers in the air, between the women.
“I don’t feel good,” Charlie says, as she stumbles as she makes her way to the bathroom.
The urge to follow her is insatiable; it fills Meg’s entire body like it’s invading her. She grabs her jacket as she gives in, throwing a hand full of dollars on the bar.
Charlie is leaning against the counter, running water over her face. “I feel better,” Charlie says, her words are like water, working through Meg’s pores and filling the room with a heat that suffocates both of them.
“That’s good,” Meg whispers, and suddenly she can feel Charlie’s breath on her face - when did they get so close? She stares at Charlie, never breaking eye contact. The intensity is under her skin, scratching at the surface.
“Why’d you follow me,” Charlie asks, her face is against the mirror, the weight of the world resting on her head.
“I know humans-get a little bit of alcohol in them and they either puke or fuck.”
“Don’t make me laugh I’m trying to kiss you,” Charlie’s mouth hovers over Meg’s.
“I’m waiting.”
Charlie runs her fingers over Meg’s hips; ending at the nape of her back. Her fingers are light on Meg’s skin, sending a tight sensation across her skin. Charlie closes the distance, embracing Meg as she moves on to her lips. Meg moans into Charlie’s ear, avoiding her lips until Meg can tempt her.
There is a hunger, energy as Charlie runs her top lip against Meg’s bottom lip, she is trying to pull her closer. Meg is all devouring lips, love bites and moans; she is years of experience in the darkest places.
Charlie leans further against the mirror, allowing Meg to put her weight on her; to push her against the mirror, to give her the constant pressure of another body. It’s a battle between two opposing forces, aggressive and passionate, but is broken by the bathroom door creaking open. Charlie giggles with a flushed face, and Meg smirks without breaking eye contact. The woman looks disapprovingly as they scurry out.
Charlie whispers “Car?” into Meg’s ear, her breath providing a welcomed sensation.
There's the excitement that comes from the anticipation. Even the noise of Charlie’s car unlocking, or the back door opening adds to the adrenaline rush.
Meg leans against the door of Charlie’s tiny car, it pokes into her back at all the wrong places but it’s not where her focus is.
Their bodies reunite; Charlie puts her weight on her knees so Meg can still breathe as Charlie straddles her. Charlie is unsure of demon anatomy, but she focuses on Meg’s lips, avoiding any scientific thoughts.
“Enough with the foreplay Toto, rip off my clothes or something ,” Meg teases. She smirks as she moves her hand towards Charlie. She has only ever used bio-kinesis for inflicting pain, but she has no problem experimenting.
Charlie jumps up, her face is full of shock as her body trembles from the new sensation, her voice is rough as she pants, “What are you doing?”
“Just wait.”
Charlie squirms against the pressure as she tries to gain control of her body. The feeling is too intense, but it must come with the territory of Meg, “Stop I’m trying to be sexy,” She moans as she arches her back, she can feel the intensity of what is going to happen next.
“You are sexy,” Meg says into Charlie’s mouth, as if her goal is to drive them both insane. It might be. Meg releases her hold on the woman.
Charlie sighs dramatically, “You’re evil.”
“I’m not getting you off that easy, takes all the fun away,” Meg says as she unbuttons Charlie’s pants.
“See? Evil,” Charlie glares, desperately grabbing at Meg’s clothes for some sort of release.
“Nope. You lost your chance. Now wait your turn,” Meg says pushing Charlie’s hands away as she peels off her pants.
Charlie inhales sharply, maintaining eye contact with Meg. Meg runs her fingers along Charlie’s leg, stopping at her inner thigh.
Meg pulls at the soft fabric, taking Charlie’s glare as sign that she can’t wait any longer. She leans down and traces the opening with her tongue, stopping when Charlie seems to enjoy it too much. She repeats, increasing her speed just enough to keep Charlie on edge. She pays special attention to the spots that cause Charlie to inhale sharply, or moan quietly when she gives into her stubbornness.
“Why are you so quiet,” Meg says, stopping her routine. Charlie smirks rebelliously, but says nothing. This is a game that Meg can play. That Meg can win.
Meg slides one finger in, working it slowly as Charlie controls herself, challenging Meg. The second finger doesn’t have the same delicate entrance; everything is wet and warm around Meg’s fingers.
Charlie arches her back, lifting her hips up against Meg, her mouth crashing hard against Meg’s. The kisses are desperate, fighting against the fullness, she craves the closeness. Her stubbornness is resolved with the pressure. All of Meg’s fingers push against sensitive spots as Charlie pulls at hair and skin with every thrust. Her thumb strokes tender skin and Charlie is absolutely going to explode.
Charlie moans into Meg’s mouth, and it is deep and rough in her throat. She can feel Meg’s smirk as she kisses back but all she can do is kiss harder. Her body vibrates with release; it’s hard to do anything but collapse on the backseat.
“I think that went well,” Meg says, licking the wetness off her fingers.
Charlie makes a sour face muttering, “gross.”
“Now I’ll let you collect yourself while you fill me in,” Meg asks, changing her position.
“Evil bitch,” Charlie murmurs into Meg’s neck, the movement is aggressive; teeth nibbling tender skin and hands under thin fabric, navigating against skin. Her nails sink in deep when her lips plant kisses on Meg’s neck. Morality and desire never did agree.
Meg’s eyes are pure black as she takes it all in. “You really do like it rough,” She purrs into Charlie’s ear; every part of it’s a challenge.
It’s anger now that motivates Charlie, not the lust or the booze. The black eyes that offer no insight, the smirk of her lips when Charlie is too rough; defeating the monster is the only thing that would satisfy her.
The hands that once fumble with awkward fingers are quick. Every motion grabs at skin, rips off the clothing. It makes the demon catch her breath.
Charlie does not let the woman move, only squirm against her fingers. Everything is warm, and expands with the motion of her fingers.
She wonders about the girl inside Meg’s skin, if she’s still there somewhere; even if Meg has died, she wonders if their beings are somehow still attached. She wants to ask but knows she won’t get a straight answer. She thinks, maybe, that Meg is alone in there because she wears the skin like home.
They fight for dominance under all the pressure, with powerful kisses and nails against skin. Meg whimpers into Charlie’s lips, much louder than Charlie ever is.
“I win,” Charlie says, inhaling the stale air of cum and sweat. Meg smirks, giving the hunter her small victory.
“So?”
Charlie nods as they lay against the backseat, looking up at the night sky. The seedy bar closes and they are all alone. Eventually Charlie’s words are hushed as she feigns sleep.
The night is quiet as Charlie’s clothes are draped over her as she sleeps, the quiet motor hums as Meg drives off into the night, with the backseat passenger completely unaware of tomorrows events.