I apologize for the whole Meg stuff in the beginning, but I would rather it be her than an OC because it's already hard enough to write Castiel with her like that; I can't even imagine making my very own character to do the job.
I you can forgive me for that, I promise some very intense, jealous, possessive, needy Destiel love. Okay?
Non-beta'd (for now) and probably the start of a series that will contain all of my theories, hopes, dreams, and fears for season 9. So yeah, spoilers up until my headcanon for that oncoming heartache.
It all worked out well, cause I wanted to write a story to get all of it out of my head, and then I remembered a quote from Queer as Folk and I was like ASKDJAKJ DESTIEL YOU ARE RUINING MY LIFE and so I'm mashing it all together.
This is gonna be a stand-alone in two parts for now, until I finish Strange as Angels and can dedicate my time to continuing. Second part will be up shortly. Like, hopefully tomorrow, shortly.
So here is the quote and the story.
Brian Kinney: So, when he comes, does he run to the shower, or does he lay there and hold you tight, all wet and sticky?
Michael Novotny: He holds me. All wet and sticky.
Brian Kinney: I guess he does love you.
Meg finds Castiel before he can reach the bunker, two states away and running on fumes.
"I thought you were dead," is the first thing that slips from his lips, even as she walks casually into his motel room; Dean had hot-wired him money, painstakingly explaining the process while apologizing over and over for not being able to come get him directly. Sam needs him, Castiel knows that, and he hopes he'd been able to express his gratitude and understanding.
"Turns out my little act of sacrifice for the 'good of humanity' made up for a lot of the crap I've done. Aren't the rules funny? Anyway, I come to in my favorite Aunt's backyard and there's mayhem galore. Angels were popping in and out, yammering on and on about tablets, and you, and so I started trying to follow them. You know me; I love gossip. So I listened and, with a little help of the trick o'the demon trade, I found a way back to my body. Someone helped, of course. And by someone I mean an angel still loyal to you. Inias, I believe?"
Castiel eyebrows shoot towards his hairlines even as his stomach knots tightly; thinking about all of his brothers and sisters that had trusted him, despite everything, wandering even more aimless than he on this God forsaken floating rock never failed to make him sick. The Kit Kat he consumed not ten minutes earlier was threatening to make an appearance and sweat began to form on his upper lip.
"And how did you find me?"
"I've got my sources. I'm here to show you that there's perks to this situation, Clarence. A whole different kind of heaven."
Then her lips are on his as she strips off his jacket, hands carding up through his hair the way his own had done so many years ago.
"Meg," he whispers, voice shaking with nerves that overwhelm him when a hand lands on his crotch.
"Shh, don't worry, unicorn. Promise I'll make it good."
So he allows it and reciprocates as best he can until they are both naked on the bed and she's rolling on a condom. His hands shake as he grips her hips while she slowly lowers herself onto his erection; the instant jolt of arousal terrifies and bewilders him even as his mind clouds, sluggishly trying to take in all of the new sensations.
"Feels good, huh?" Meg grits out, tightening her muscles around him every time she rises.
He doesn't answer verbally but leans in to press his lips softly to hers, hoping it conveys, at the very least, his willingness to find out.
Castiel still isn't sure exactly what he's supposed to do and allows her to guide the experience, but something about it feels hollow. She had been his caretaker, yes, and he'd seen glimpse of her near-forgotten humanity strangled inside of her otherwise blackened and warped soul. Yet there was something missing.
The rushing thoughts are drowned out when Meg swivels her hips in a new rhythm, Castiel's breath stuttering between sounds he had never heard himself make before, and Meg leans forward, smirking lips pressing against his in a sloppy slide.
Then there's white crowding the edge of his vision and he feels his stomach muscles tensing before shockwaves ricochet through his every synapses and he's releasing out an almost pained groan, barely registering Meg's answering moan. Her fluttering insides are almost too much, but eventually she stills and slumps forward against him, sighing as she pulled back with a self satisfied smirk.
"See, Cas. It's not all bad." She says, removing the condom and dropping it in the wastebasket before leaning forward. Castiel, for a reason he can't quite understand, turns his head so her lips lands on his cheek.
She doesn't react negatively, instead presses her body closer again and puts her head on his shoulder. Her momentum causes him to recline fully against the headboard.
The new human isn't uncomfortable, not completely. But they were both covered in a layer of sweat that was cooling quickly, as was the wetness between their groins (which were still pressed together, even though he had softened and slipped out) that was beginning to feel intrusive and unclean.
Her deep breaths are hot, stifling puffs against his neck and they precede the pressing of her breasts repeatedly against his chest. When her hips rock against him slightly, the resulting tingle of oversensitivity is the final straw.
"Meg, that was very… thank you, really. But I'd very much like to go shower now."
"Alone?"
"Yes, please."
"Hmm," she murmurs dispassionately, but she rolls off of him and pulls the sheet up over her chest. "I'm not surprised.'
Having practically bolted from the bed, Castiel's hand is pushing open the bathroom door when she registers her words. He turns towards her, having trouble meeting her eyes. Can't help wishing he'd found something to cover himself with; he suddenly feels absurdly exposed.
"What does that mean?' The former angel's words are terse, but Meg simply rolls her eyes.
"Seriously, lose the frown lines. Go take a shower. Then I'll take a shower. Then we'll do the whole gut spilling thing. But not literally, since we're officially stuck in these meatsuits."
Castiel ponders her words the whole time he washes himself, and when he steps out of the bathroom she's standing outside the door, naked and clutching one of the ratty motel towels.
"It really is too bad," she mutters quietly, shooting him a lascivious grin as she shuts the door.
Unwrapping the towel from his waist, Castiel steps into the new pajama bottoms he purchased with the money Dean had sent. They were comfortable, and he was glad he'd taken the hunter's advice and requested flannel, as it was protecting him against the chill in the room that accompanied the change of season.
When he pulled another new cotton t-shirt over head, he made a move towards the bed until he saw the displaced blanket and crumpled, dislodged sheets.
He is no longer a virgin; the thought left him feeling slightly bereft and even more wary. Dean had vaguely told him about the version of himself in Zachariah's future, and while Castiel didn't see himself falling into bed with random strangers he wonders at how easy it could be, hypothetically, for a person to lose themselves to such, albeit temporary, pleasures.
Though he is grateful it was Meg if it was anyone, there was some sort of unformed desire that had always seemed to go along with the idea of sharing his body. From that failed attempt in the brothel to the short summary of his orgies in the future, Castiel had been sure that physical intimacy would be a lot more intimidating than it was.
"Oh, by the way," Meg is shouting through the bathroom door, voice raised over the sound of the spray yet still maintaining a careless edge, "Dean called while you were cleaning up."
Castiel bolts towards his phone; no sooner does he pick it up that it begins ringing.
"Hello, Dean," he says carefully, wonderfully absentmindedly if his friend can tell what's happened from his voice alone.
"Meg?!"
"Pardon?"
"First of all, the fuck is she even doing alive? Second, what are you doin' sleepin' with a demon?"
Castiel can hear, from the thickness of Dean's accent alone, how agitated the man is. His crude words make the former warrior grip the phone a bit tighter.
"Meg is no longer a demon. I –"
"Screw that. You get your ass here, pronto, and ditch that bitch. I don't care if she helped us against Crowley. What about Yellow Eyes or the hell hounds? Did you forget that your little girlfriend is the reason Jo and Ellen are," his voice catches, and Castiel finds himself at a loss.
All Castiel can think to say is, "She is not my girlfriend."
Meg chose that moment step through the door, tossing out, "You're breakin' my heart," as she drops the towel and throws on the clothes she had stripped so hastily earlier.
"Whatever. You figure out the bus?"
"Yes, Dean. I should be arriving around six o'clock tomorrow evening."
"Good. Call me when you're at the depot, I'll come get you." There is silence for a moment, nothing but the sound of their shared breathing. Then Dean gives a stifled cough. "You better be alone."
"I will be," Castiel assures, so distracted with why he feels compelled to apologize for something that he doesn't realize Dean had already hung up.
"Let's get this over with, shall we. I may have fibbed a bit to get into your good graces, pun totally intended, since I couldn't exactly tell you it was Metatron who sent me here."
Every muscle in his body (his body, something he would never grow fond of thinking) tenses when he hears the hateful angel's name.
"Explain," he growls, hands clenched in to fists at his side until he shoves them into his pockets. Maintaining self control while battling the severity of human emotions was a difficult task on a good day; it would not do to lash out at Meg. Even without his ability to sense a person's intent, he did not feel she was here to do harm.
"Guy felt bad for using you, said he had been doing his reading on the Winchester's and came across our 'moment', figured we might have a connection. Thought it might be easier to do the whole settling down thing with a chick you already knew."
'Connection'. The word, in connotation with Meg, baffles him. He might even go far as to say it was a bothersome sort of feeling. The new human had a distinct affection for her, of course, just the same as he did for Sam and Bobby. And yes, the sex had felt good, but now that she had used the word 'connection' he realizes why it had been lacking.
"Meg, while I appreciate all that you've done for me, I'm not quite sure I feel –"
"Oh, god, stop. Please. I get it, believe me. Especially after your boyfriend went all growly on me. Sorry about that, by the way." She doesn't sound sorry.
"What did you say to Dean?" Castiel asks slowly, and quickly adds, "He is not. My boyfriend, that is." It had come out easily when he'd said similar words to the man in question, but these are forced out. Castiel ignores the implication. For now.
"Sure, right. I just told him he had almost interrupted our explorations into the more seedy corners of carnal pleasure and that you were busy gearing up for round two."
"What was his response?"
"A pretty colorful curse I'll have to try out as soon as possible. Then he hung up. Alright, look, obviously we aren't going to ride off into the sunset together, so I'm outta here," Meg rises from where she'd been splayed out on the blanket. Her hair is still damp, and Castiel notices how clumps are sticking to her neck before she pulls it all back in a messy bun.
"You don't have to leave," he offers quietly, feeling his eyes droop precariously low.
Fatigue, as well as hunger, seems to sweep in on him all at once. One second he'll be completely awake, and the next he'll be lucky to make it to a soft surface before he is drifting; eyes going out of focus, reflexes slurring like any words he tries to force out.
"Already booked a room, Clarence. I'm not an idiot, and I've never been particularly optimistic. Not to mention I wasn't sure if you snored." Castiel nods slowly, swaying on his feet. Meg moves forward and presses their lips together with just a bit of force and then she's opening the door and stepping over the threshold. She gives Castiel one last speculative look. "Good luck."
"And to you," he says, stoic and serious, focusing every last bit of energy he has into an expression he hope reads as sincere. Meg gives him a grin and is gone.
Castiel crashes down on top of the blankets and not to a moment too soon, as sleep pulls him under the moment his head hits the pillow.
Disclaimer: SPN and its copyright belong to people that aren't me. Please don't sue.