I honestly feel like I don't have a whole lot to say in the world of SPN fandom, but I keep popping out one-shots, anyway.
Megstiel isn't actually my favorite pairing (Castiel/Bees OTP? ;) ), but the way they bounced off one another at the end of S7 was entertaining. Hence the following, which I wrote a while ago, but am posting now because I have ComicCon envy. Weep for me.
"Castiel. How did you even find me, damn it?" Meg's voice sliced the air, and Castiel looked at the ground, chagrined. Realizing her blunder, she took a breath and counted, forcing calm. "Right. It's okay. Come inside."
Meg didn't really need to sleep, but she sure as hell resented the break in the quiet. It was early in the afternoon, unseasonably warm for the area of the Balkans where she had chosen to go to ground, and her plan had been to nap until dark, in the shadow of an old farm cottage. There was no electricity, no running water, and most of the windows were broken, but it beat Hell, no contest. And there were no humans around to spot her, no one for her enemies to possess, no one to betray her. Except a broken angel.
She pushed the door open and beckoned him in, struggling to align her face into a more pleasant expression. It had been easier, before, to be charming, hadn't it? Maybe it was the Winchesters' fault she had lost the knack. But the fact remained that she needed Castiel on her side, and she had to make the attempt. He shuffled into the room, looking uncertain, and sat on one of the battered crates she had set up, flicking a hopeful blue gaze up at her. "I was concerned. Are you safe? Are you eating?"
She leaned against the wall and folded her arms. "Safe? For a given value of. Eating? Not so much."
"Because I brought you something." He patted his pockets and came up with a ziploc bag half-full of amber liquid. "I collected it myself. The bees have accepted me."
He held it out and looked expectant. She stared at him for a moment, looking for the angel she hoped was still inside. The warrior who could slaughter demons with a touch. Who could throw her across a ring of fire or push her into the wall for a kiss. She couldn't find him.
Reaching out, she plucked the bag from his hand. "You crossed the world and risked my cover to bring me honey?"
"It's…very healthy." He looked like a puppy who'd been smacked with a newspaper.
She peered at the bag. There were a few fragments of honeycomb inside. Possibly bee parts, too, but even at that rate she'd had far worse things in her mouth. She pulled the top open and dipped a finger in, poking. Testing. He smiled.
Reminding herself she needed his favor, she withdrew her hand from the bag and licked a drop of honey off her fingertip. It was good. Sweet and slightly gritty, with an aftertaste like thistle and wild roses. Yeah…yeah, it had been like that before, hadn't it? And she had just forgotten the flavor of it. She took another taste, sucking her finger between pink lips, then glanced at Cas' face.
He was staring like a deer in the headlights. For a second she tensed, thinking there must be something wrong, but then his eyes drifted to the side sheepishly, and she realized what had just happened. She had to bite back a laugh.
"Mmmn…" she drew out the murmur and punctuated it with a breathy sigh. "Good stuff, Clarence. The bees aren't going to miss it?"
"I…asked first. They make more than they need." Squirm. "You like it?"
He asked first. Of course he asked first. Meg chuckled softly. "Yeah. It's been a while since I had sweets." She stepped closer, letting her hips sway lazily. "You don't want to share?"
"Uh…I brought it…for you." He looked up, probably to keep from staring at her thighs, and she took the opportunity to dip her finger back in the bag, then catch his jaw and drip the sticky honey across his lips. His eyes got very big, and he made a small, choked sound, but he didn't pull back.
"Oops." Smirking, she leaned in and licked delicately, feeling him shiver. "You sure you don't want to share?"
He made no sound this time, but his mouth opened tentatively, and she took the initiative, drawing his lower lip into her mouth, sucking the stickiness away, then invading with her tongue. It was different than the last kiss. He was submissive, tentative, almost virginal. But he tasted of ozone, too, and danger, which was exactly what she wanted. To hold a man that could kill her with a thought, helpless in the palm of her hand.
After a moment, his hands came to rest on her waist, shaky and gentle, and she dropped the bag, locking her fingers in his hair and pulling. He tensed and gasped, which put him in the perfect pose for her to sink her teeth into his lower lip, drawing blood. There was a tiny whine of protest, but he didn't move away, and she released him, then licked and sucked softly at the cut for a moment, in false apology.
The tang of blood and the sweetness of the honey mingled, pain and sugar, and it was good. A minute later she drew back and stroked his hair, smug and breathless. "Thank you, Castiel. I needed that."
His expression screamed bewildered lust; perfect. She backed up, picked up the bag, and pressed the zips closed. "Mind if I keep this?"
"It's yours," he mumbled, eyes falling to her lips.
"Good. Tell the bees I said hi, okay?" She drifted toward the door and opened it in clear dismissal. After all, sex was only an effective tool if it was used sparingly.
If he was disappointed, he didn't show it. Maybe in some sense he understood, even embraced the thorny darkness that she represented and that was everything he wasn't supposed to be. Was she punishment? Absolution? Just a novelty?
Meg didn't care. Cas stood up calmly, nodding in farewell. "I'll…tell the bees you approve. Of the honey. That they made."
She smiled at him, and he smiled back, then vanished with a whisper of fluttering wings.
Once he was gone, she closed the door, eyed the bag in her hand, and sighed. That was nice. Very nice. The flavor of angel-blood lingered, a slow, clean burn. He'd be on her tongue for a long time after his departure.
Suddenly she longed for civilization. A bathroom where she could take a cold shower would have been helpful about now. Setting this aside as just another sacrifice in a series of strategic sacrifices, she settled into the darkest corner of the room to dream of bees with broken, feathered wings.