[fic: supernatural]
quench my thirst for violent things
supernatural. castiel, meg, castiel/meg. in the face of an apocalypse, right and wrong is relative ~2300 | nc17 for emily-reich
they come with girls who buck and bite
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite
ee cummings
Castiel arrived with a silent rush of air, the soles of his dress shoes sinking into the rubble beneath him. Another man would have lost his balance, but the former angel looked immaculate perched upon the ruins of what had once been an office building.
Before him stretched what remained of Blythe. The small town of Georgia had once been peaceful-like so many things in this world, Castiel thought to himself-but then Death had rode through and all things had decayed before it.
Even from within the skeletal remains of the building, Castiel could see the destruction of the town. Bodies littered the streets, tossed carelessly onto the ground, limbs askew, eyes wide in horror or shock. They must have realized, before their deaths, just what was occurring. Castiel knew humans had a tendency to receive a certain amount of clarity just before they passed on. Clarity at such a time as this would only bring true terror.
His eyes were drawn to the lone figure that walked along the upended roads and cracked asphalt. Death truly appreciated irony, for its host was a small, slender girl. Her pale hair flowed down her back like a cascade, her face delicate and her lips red, and her eyes black as coal.
Death halted her steps, turning her head sharply and meeting Castiel’s gaze. Something painful jerked in his stomach, but the fear died quickly. Angels could not die, not in the sense that Death cared for, and she knew that Castiel had been following her for weeks now and had little care for his presence.
“Well, well,” a voice drawled behind him. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
The shoulders beneath his trench coat clenched and he turned to face the demon. He inclined his head toward her, “Meg.”
The demon tilted her host’s head to mock his movements. The dark, heavy strands of her hair fell across her pale face, hiding the dullness and near lackluster of her skin, just as the skirt and jacket she wore hid the scar Castiel knew stretched across the length of her stomach. Lucifer might have had the strength to drag the demon free of the holy oil, but it left scars. Deep scars.
Her heeled boots scrapped against the ground as she circled him like a hungry vulture. Castiel followed her movements, wondering if Death still watched him.
“What’s the matter, feathers?” Meg drawled lowly. “Couldn’t stand spend any more time with our intrepid heroes?”
It irked him that she knew. That she knew he could not stand staying in Bobby’s house, watching Dean drink himself into a stupor so the loss of Joanna and Ellen Harvelle did not hurt so much, watching Sam Winchester pour over book after book of lore and secretly steeling himself for the inevitable. Sam Winchester had sworn to Castiel he would never say yes to Lucifer, and Castiel believed him-if only because Castiel would never allow Sam Winchester to have the option. Sam knew that, and had accepted Castiel’s words with nothing more then a short nod.
He’d offered to keep track of Death, though they all knew there was little point. Death would go where it pleased, and they were powerless to stop it. But still Castiel had gone, returning only so often to report to Bobby and leaving just as quickly. Castiel had never understood the concept of suffocation until now.
“Do you want something?” Castiel asked the demon. They had come across each other a number of times in the past. Apparently, Death had not seen the need to obey Lucifer and had taken off on its own. Meg had been sent to keep tabs on it.
Castiel did not turn as Meg circled his back, knowing that her eyes were moving over him, from the flat of his shoes to the top of his head.
“Not really in the mood for angel food,” she replied. “What else you got?”
He swung his arm out, his forearm connecting with the side of her face and sent her stumbling. Meg regained her footing quickly, sending him a grin that showed all her teeth. Her foot came up in wide arch. Castiel grabbed it, twisting it around and had her flipping to the floor. She rolled away before he could slam his fisted hand into her skull.
She grabbed him by the sides of his face, bringing him down into her knee. His jaw cracked against hard bone, and he tasted the coppery tang of blood as he grabbed a fistful of her denim and twisted her leg backwards.
With a gasp, she released him. Castiel reared up and planted his forehead into hers. Hard. A low laugh escaped Meg as she stumbled backwards, hands pressed to the splotch of blood on the top of her head.
“Oh, Castiel,” she managed through her laughter, hands dropped down to her side. “Really.”
He leapt at her, hands wrapped around her neck. She tilted her gaze backwards, a smile curving the plump set of her lips, daring him to do her damage. His fingers tightened, he brought her against his body, his mouth slammed down on hers.
The first time, Castiel had really meant to destroy her. He was strong enough yet to hold her still, and he now knew the Latin words by heart. He wasn’t sure what had happened between grabbing her and kissing her, but the desire to kill had transmuted into the desire to fuck.
Maybe it had something to do with Dean. That night in the brothel, Castiel had been introduced to a world he had never known, and perhaps he was insanely curious about it without even knowing. Or perhaps it went back to that day weeks ago, surrounded by holy fire, with a demon’s eyes hungrily tracing the angles of his body.
This time, however, his intention was as obvious as it had been the last two times they had met. He knew it and, worse yet, she knew it.
Her mocking laughter died on a moan as she lifted herself to her toes to eagerly meet his mouth, tugging at the lapels of his coat, dragging it from his shoulders. She rubbed herself against his growing erection.
Buttons popped as he yanked off her jacket, tossing it to the floor. Her quick, angry movements to remove his tie nearly strangled him before she got it off. He peeled her shirt from her body, pressed open mouth kisses against the pale breasts cupped in lace.
His fingers dug hard enough into her hips to draw blood as she fiddled with the snap of her jeans. Castiel scrapped his teeth against the skin just about her breast, not gently at all, as he eased the denim down her legs. She wasn’t wearing any underwear, and his fingers dipped into the warmth of her body. She shuddered against him, tongue lashing out against his ear.
That first time, she had mounted him, guiding him inside her. He had lain beneath her, watching in a strange mixture of revile and fascination as she rode him. A part of him was horrified-he was giving his virginity to a demon; a demon!-and another part had bathed in the pleasure, withering beneath her, grabbing the curves of her hips and meeting her thrust for thrust.
His free hand reached out and grabbed the tangles of her hair, snapping her head back and shoving his tongue into her mouth. She moaned, bit down on that piece of flesh, as she pulled the belt from his pants.
Castiel slammed her into the ground, coming on top of her. The building seemed to creak and shake beneath them as his knee came between hers. He helped her in removing his pants and shoes, and didn’t bother with his shirt. Her fingernails pushed underneath the fabric and scrapped against the corded muscles of Castiel’s vessel, teasing a nipple as he pushed her bra down to reveal the mounds of her breasts.
He drew her breast into his mouth, kneading the other one, as her fingers closed around the heavy swell of his erection, stroking and teasing. Castiel drew a nipple into his mouth in retaliation, other hand traveling across her naval, nails scrapping, until he found her warm center. One finger slipped inside her wet heat, thumb pressing against the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex.
Meg writhed beneath him, but refused to release his cock, hands moving up and down over his arousal, eyes dark and laughing at the pleasure it rose within him. Castiel didn’t know what Meg’s aim was in this, and he knew he should worry, but he could not. He only wanted the release he had discovered from her, and didn’t care how foolish it made him.
“Come on,” she panted against his ear, her free arm woven around his neck, pinning him against her body. “Come on, do it.”
He did it. Castiel pulled her hand away from his length, positioning himself between her legs. Meg smiled up at him, malicious hunger glittering in her eyes, knees clasping his hips as if he would flee her. Growling, he arched over her, forearms on either on either side of her face, and pushed himself inside her in one hard thrust.
She gasped loudly, nails making little crescent marks on his shoulders, as her legs clasped around him. She arched backwards and Castiel sucked the pale column of her throat. He began to move slowly, pumping in and out of her.
There were some many things wrong with this-he was an angel, she was a demon, the body she possessed would have never given her consent to such a thing-but that didn’t matter. All that did was how hot and wet and tight she was, her muscles clasping and milking his length as he moved within her, grinding hard down into her.
Her teeth bit down into his lower lip, and the shock of it caused him to abandon his slow pace in favor of driving in and out of her. Castiel pushed himself as far inside her as he could, their pelvises jarring as their bones bumped. He had his hands over her hips, keeping her still as he shoved roughly into her.
Castiel had known long before meeting Meg that sex was not always an act of love, or even an act of affection. That it could be selfish and destructive. He had just never thought that he would be a participant of such an animalistic thing.
As a growl worked its way up his chest, he lowered his teeth into the exposed flesh where her neck met her shoulder. He tasted blood, hers, but was careful not to swallow. A demon’s blood probably wouldn’t affect an angel as it had Sam Winchester, but Castiel knew he was hardly an angel anymore and he didn’t dare risk it. The blood dribbled from his mouth without a drop sliding down his throat, rolling down her shoulder, across her back and across her chest.
Less than a year ago, Castiel would have killed himself long before he allowed a demon to have such a free reign of his body as Meg did now-her small, slender fingers working down the length of their body to where they were connected so she could stroked the heavy flesh of his cock as he moved within her. That look on her face, the smirking, smug look of knowing that she was-how did Dean put it?-“getting him off”, knowing that he was as disgusted as he was aroused, made his thrusts rougher, more punishing. But she didn’t seem to mind.
Maybe, Castiel thought, shifting on his knees so his angle of penetration was deeper. Meg’s look of smugness dissolved into one of shock and pleasure, her hips arching, her breath expelling on a whimpering moan. Maybe they were another sign of the apocalypse. Angel and demon, mating.
“Castiel,” she said lowly, her voice so strained it was barely there. “Castiel.” She pressed herself up against him, her inner muscles clenching around his length as she exploded. Her legs were steel traps, binding him to her, as her head fell backwards and her eyes slid closed.
Barring her into the ground again, Castiel thrust roughly into her inviting warmth in three quick successions, before pulling himself flush against her, head pressed down into her limp hair, as he felt his release rip through him. His yelp was muffled by the thick rope of her hair. A warm, wet substance slid down his fingers-blood, hers.
Castiel collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest and knew his matched. He’d been with her two-well, three now-times and it was always the same. His release always came with equal parts pleasure and pain. He wondered vaguely if perhaps it was the same for her.
But no, Castiel thought, demons did not feel guilt for doing something that was inherently wrong.
Meg shoved at him and Castiel rolled onto his back, pulling away from her, making sure not a single sliver of his skin touched hers.
“Well not bad, feathers,” Meg told him with dull mockery. Her voice was still weak and breathy. “I’m teaching you well. Few more rounds and I’ll be able to take you out in public.”
“One day, I’m going to kill you.” Castiel’s voice was even and calm. He recovered quicker than her.
“Really? Then who’d be your fuck buddy?” She laughed, full and long, but he didn’t turn to look at her. He found he lacked the strength-or perhaps will-to move. Meg didn’t spare him another glance, and he felt her leave, though the heavy and thick scent of her lingered on his skin.
Castiel managed to turn his head, out toward the skeletal remains of the town. Death was still out there, he knew, in its mocking innocent vessel.
He wondered if it would come, if he called it.
supernatural. castiel, meg, castiel/meg. in the face of an apocalypse, right and wrong is relative ~2300 | nc17 for emily-reich
they come with girls who buck and bite
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite
ee cummings
Castiel arrived with a silent rush of air, the soles of his dress shoes sinking into the rubble beneath him. Another man would have lost his balance, but the former angel looked immaculate perched upon the ruins of what had once been an office building.
Before him stretched what remained of Blythe. The small town of Georgia had once been peaceful-like so many things in this world, Castiel thought to himself-but then Death had rode through and all things had decayed before it.
Even from within the skeletal remains of the building, Castiel could see the destruction of the town. Bodies littered the streets, tossed carelessly onto the ground, limbs askew, eyes wide in horror or shock. They must have realized, before their deaths, just what was occurring. Castiel knew humans had a tendency to receive a certain amount of clarity just before they passed on. Clarity at such a time as this would only bring true terror.
His eyes were drawn to the lone figure that walked along the upended roads and cracked asphalt. Death truly appreciated irony, for its host was a small, slender girl. Her pale hair flowed down her back like a cascade, her face delicate and her lips red, and her eyes black as coal.
Death halted her steps, turning her head sharply and meeting Castiel’s gaze. Something painful jerked in his stomach, but the fear died quickly. Angels could not die, not in the sense that Death cared for, and she knew that Castiel had been following her for weeks now and had little care for his presence.
“Well, well,” a voice drawled behind him. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
The shoulders beneath his trench coat clenched and he turned to face the demon. He inclined his head toward her, “Meg.”
The demon tilted her host’s head to mock his movements. The dark, heavy strands of her hair fell across her pale face, hiding the dullness and near lackluster of her skin, just as the skirt and jacket she wore hid the scar Castiel knew stretched across the length of her stomach. Lucifer might have had the strength to drag the demon free of the holy oil, but it left scars. Deep scars.
Her heeled boots scrapped against the ground as she circled him like a hungry vulture. Castiel followed her movements, wondering if Death still watched him.
“What’s the matter, feathers?” Meg drawled lowly. “Couldn’t stand spend any more time with our intrepid heroes?”
It irked him that she knew. That she knew he could not stand staying in Bobby’s house, watching Dean drink himself into a stupor so the loss of Joanna and Ellen Harvelle did not hurt so much, watching Sam Winchester pour over book after book of lore and secretly steeling himself for the inevitable. Sam Winchester had sworn to Castiel he would never say yes to Lucifer, and Castiel believed him-if only because Castiel would never allow Sam Winchester to have the option. Sam knew that, and had accepted Castiel’s words with nothing more then a short nod.
He’d offered to keep track of Death, though they all knew there was little point. Death would go where it pleased, and they were powerless to stop it. But still Castiel had gone, returning only so often to report to Bobby and leaving just as quickly. Castiel had never understood the concept of suffocation until now.
“Do you want something?” Castiel asked the demon. They had come across each other a number of times in the past. Apparently, Death had not seen the need to obey Lucifer and had taken off on its own. Meg had been sent to keep tabs on it.
Castiel did not turn as Meg circled his back, knowing that her eyes were moving over him, from the flat of his shoes to the top of his head.
“Not really in the mood for angel food,” she replied. “What else you got?”
He swung his arm out, his forearm connecting with the side of her face and sent her stumbling. Meg regained her footing quickly, sending him a grin that showed all her teeth. Her foot came up in wide arch. Castiel grabbed it, twisting it around and had her flipping to the floor. She rolled away before he could slam his fisted hand into her skull.
She grabbed him by the sides of his face, bringing him down into her knee. His jaw cracked against hard bone, and he tasted the coppery tang of blood as he grabbed a fistful of her denim and twisted her leg backwards.
With a gasp, she released him. Castiel reared up and planted his forehead into hers. Hard. A low laugh escaped Meg as she stumbled backwards, hands pressed to the splotch of blood on the top of her head.
“Oh, Castiel,” she managed through her laughter, hands dropped down to her side. “Really.”
He leapt at her, hands wrapped around her neck. She tilted her gaze backwards, a smile curving the plump set of her lips, daring him to do her damage. His fingers tightened, he brought her against his body, his mouth slammed down on hers.
The first time, Castiel had really meant to destroy her. He was strong enough yet to hold her still, and he now knew the Latin words by heart. He wasn’t sure what had happened between grabbing her and kissing her, but the desire to kill had transmuted into the desire to fuck.
Maybe it had something to do with Dean. That night in the brothel, Castiel had been introduced to a world he had never known, and perhaps he was insanely curious about it without even knowing. Or perhaps it went back to that day weeks ago, surrounded by holy fire, with a demon’s eyes hungrily tracing the angles of his body.
This time, however, his intention was as obvious as it had been the last two times they had met. He knew it and, worse yet, she knew it.
Her mocking laughter died on a moan as she lifted herself to her toes to eagerly meet his mouth, tugging at the lapels of his coat, dragging it from his shoulders. She rubbed herself against his growing erection.
Buttons popped as he yanked off her jacket, tossing it to the floor. Her quick, angry movements to remove his tie nearly strangled him before she got it off. He peeled her shirt from her body, pressed open mouth kisses against the pale breasts cupped in lace.
His fingers dug hard enough into her hips to draw blood as she fiddled with the snap of her jeans. Castiel scrapped his teeth against the skin just about her breast, not gently at all, as he eased the denim down her legs. She wasn’t wearing any underwear, and his fingers dipped into the warmth of her body. She shuddered against him, tongue lashing out against his ear.
That first time, she had mounted him, guiding him inside her. He had lain beneath her, watching in a strange mixture of revile and fascination as she rode him. A part of him was horrified-he was giving his virginity to a demon; a demon!-and another part had bathed in the pleasure, withering beneath her, grabbing the curves of her hips and meeting her thrust for thrust.
His free hand reached out and grabbed the tangles of her hair, snapping her head back and shoving his tongue into her mouth. She moaned, bit down on that piece of flesh, as she pulled the belt from his pants.
Castiel slammed her into the ground, coming on top of her. The building seemed to creak and shake beneath them as his knee came between hers. He helped her in removing his pants and shoes, and didn’t bother with his shirt. Her fingernails pushed underneath the fabric and scrapped against the corded muscles of Castiel’s vessel, teasing a nipple as he pushed her bra down to reveal the mounds of her breasts.
He drew her breast into his mouth, kneading the other one, as her fingers closed around the heavy swell of his erection, stroking and teasing. Castiel drew a nipple into his mouth in retaliation, other hand traveling across her naval, nails scrapping, until he found her warm center. One finger slipped inside her wet heat, thumb pressing against the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex.
Meg writhed beneath him, but refused to release his cock, hands moving up and down over his arousal, eyes dark and laughing at the pleasure it rose within him. Castiel didn’t know what Meg’s aim was in this, and he knew he should worry, but he could not. He only wanted the release he had discovered from her, and didn’t care how foolish it made him.
“Come on,” she panted against his ear, her free arm woven around his neck, pinning him against her body. “Come on, do it.”
He did it. Castiel pulled her hand away from his length, positioning himself between her legs. Meg smiled up at him, malicious hunger glittering in her eyes, knees clasping his hips as if he would flee her. Growling, he arched over her, forearms on either on either side of her face, and pushed himself inside her in one hard thrust.
She gasped loudly, nails making little crescent marks on his shoulders, as her legs clasped around him. She arched backwards and Castiel sucked the pale column of her throat. He began to move slowly, pumping in and out of her.
There were some many things wrong with this-he was an angel, she was a demon, the body she possessed would have never given her consent to such a thing-but that didn’t matter. All that did was how hot and wet and tight she was, her muscles clasping and milking his length as he moved within her, grinding hard down into her.
Her teeth bit down into his lower lip, and the shock of it caused him to abandon his slow pace in favor of driving in and out of her. Castiel pushed himself as far inside her as he could, their pelvises jarring as their bones bumped. He had his hands over her hips, keeping her still as he shoved roughly into her.
Castiel had known long before meeting Meg that sex was not always an act of love, or even an act of affection. That it could be selfish and destructive. He had just never thought that he would be a participant of such an animalistic thing.
As a growl worked its way up his chest, he lowered his teeth into the exposed flesh where her neck met her shoulder. He tasted blood, hers, but was careful not to swallow. A demon’s blood probably wouldn’t affect an angel as it had Sam Winchester, but Castiel knew he was hardly an angel anymore and he didn’t dare risk it. The blood dribbled from his mouth without a drop sliding down his throat, rolling down her shoulder, across her back and across her chest.
Less than a year ago, Castiel would have killed himself long before he allowed a demon to have such a free reign of his body as Meg did now-her small, slender fingers working down the length of their body to where they were connected so she could stroked the heavy flesh of his cock as he moved within her. That look on her face, the smirking, smug look of knowing that she was-how did Dean put it?-“getting him off”, knowing that he was as disgusted as he was aroused, made his thrusts rougher, more punishing. But she didn’t seem to mind.
Maybe, Castiel thought, shifting on his knees so his angle of penetration was deeper. Meg’s look of smugness dissolved into one of shock and pleasure, her hips arching, her breath expelling on a whimpering moan. Maybe they were another sign of the apocalypse. Angel and demon, mating.
“Castiel,” she said lowly, her voice so strained it was barely there. “Castiel.” She pressed herself up against him, her inner muscles clenching around his length as she exploded. Her legs were steel traps, binding him to her, as her head fell backwards and her eyes slid closed.
Barring her into the ground again, Castiel thrust roughly into her inviting warmth in three quick successions, before pulling himself flush against her, head pressed down into her limp hair, as he felt his release rip through him. His yelp was muffled by the thick rope of her hair. A warm, wet substance slid down his fingers-blood, hers.
Castiel collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest and knew his matched. He’d been with her two-well, three now-times and it was always the same. His release always came with equal parts pleasure and pain. He wondered vaguely if perhaps it was the same for her.
But no, Castiel thought, demons did not feel guilt for doing something that was inherently wrong.
Meg shoved at him and Castiel rolled onto his back, pulling away from her, making sure not a single sliver of his skin touched hers.
“Well not bad, feathers,” Meg told him with dull mockery. Her voice was still weak and breathy. “I’m teaching you well. Few more rounds and I’ll be able to take you out in public.”
“One day, I’m going to kill you.” Castiel’s voice was even and calm. He recovered quicker than her.
“Really? Then who’d be your fuck buddy?” She laughed, full and long, but he didn’t turn to look at her. He found he lacked the strength-or perhaps will-to move. Meg didn’t spare him another glance, and he felt her leave, though the heavy and thick scent of her lingered on his skin.
Castiel managed to turn his head, out toward the skeletal remains of the town. Death was still out there, he knew, in its mocking innocent vessel.
He wondered if it would come, if he called it.