Author's Note: Total pwp, sorry, not sorry. I very obviously do not own any of the Supernatural characters contained herein, nor do I profit from this work of fiction. Enjoy! Look me up on tumblr if you like: hopeless-hapless
Castiel landed like an airplane with a failing engine, shoulder scoring deeply into the asphalt as he slid to a stop. Everything stung, which was new, and with a deep breath he pulled himself from bits of partially melted tar. Pebbles of asphalt clung to his jacket and as he stood fully he brushed himself off, squinting into the darkness. Raising his arm he checked Jimmy's watch. He must have lost track of time, he was late for their appointment.
"Damn feathers." Her voice sounds behind him and he turns to see her lopsided grin, "I'd be mad about your tardiness, but I'm pretty sure that landing was sufficient punishment."
He could sense the withheld laugh and had to bite his cheeks to stop a grin from forming. No, there was no chance he would fold first. Certainly no way he had been happy to see her. "I'm not usually late for our appointments." Even with a streak of tar across his cheek he puffed out slightly, trying to be intimidating, the one in charge. It was natural for them, really, angel pitted against demon. And, oh, how he loved the struggle for the upper hand. "My schedule is a little full these days…"
"Ouch Clarence." It was full of sarcasm, hands crossed over her vessel's heart.
Castiel, however, didn't pick up on the tone and for a moment he was concerned, "I didn't mean-"
Meg shook her head at him, "Nuh-uh." Stepping closer, out of the shadows, she circled him slightly. "You didn't forget what we talked-"
In a fluid motion he grasped her wrist, using momentum to spin her flush against him. "I didn't forget, no."
"Ever heard of roleplaying, Clarence?" He'd tipped his head in response, "Next time you be me and I'll be you." She'd folded her hands in prayer before disappearing with a snicker.
He supposed it had been her way of telling him to be more in control of the situation, to be less of a prude, to be exact. Castiel knew it had only been a matter of time before she would tire of his nervousness.
Looking down at her, he resisted the urge to kiss her -it wasn't really her thing anyways and he understood now, it was a much more personal action- and instead plunged a hand into her hair, pulling it together roughly in a fist. A small part of him felt a twinge of regret as he swung her around, hands still firmly planted at wrist and scalp, and pushed her towards the alley wall.
He was surprised she didn't protest, no witty remarks, no breaking character. Which, if he thought about it, she was doing a fine job pretending to be him. He knew it was difficult for her to be complacent in any scenario, he couldn't imagine how hard she was biting her tongue in this one.
Just as the rough concrete was about to make contact with Meg's small frame he took off, landing them with an impatient rustle of feathers in a random, nondescript hotel room. It was one of those rooms that blended into the road when traveling with the Winchesters. But, something about this experience told him he would remember this particular location.
Castiel pressed roughly against her bottom, releasing his hold on her hair as he put the back of the love seat in front of them. Finally he understood what the fascination was with mini skirts. Pressing a hand to the middle of her back he applied pressure, bending her over the back of the couch, and released his grip on her wrist.
It was tempting to snap his fingers and be done with the nuisance of clothing but, as he ran a hand across fishnet stockings, he realized that would be breaking character. 'Think like Meg…' It was his mantra right now, driving his hands between her legs, fingers hooking into the fishnet patterns to rip them open.
He felt her hands at his belt, pulling and undoing the button. Passing a hand across her partially exposed backside he crooked a finger into the T shape of her thong, pulling it roughly aside. Small hands broke past the zipper, cupping him through black briefs, and he grasped her wrists to still her. "Nuh-uh." His tone matched hers from only moments ago, one hand taking possession of both of hers.
With his free hand Castiel rid himself of his boxers and pants completely, kicking loafers off tangled inside of his pant legs. Draping his tie over his shoulder he returned his attention back to Meg, fingers venturing down slicked folds, searching for a spot he was more than familiar with. At her sudden response he knew he had found it and he applied alternating pressure on the small round, fingers moving in slowed circles.
Castiel jerked his hips back as Meg attempted to buck against him and as she stilled he teased the head of his penis at her opening, frustrating himself as much as he hoped to frustrate her. He wasn't sure how long he would be able to tolerate dragging it out for and as she let out a heady moan he couldn't help himself. Removing his hand he wound it between her and the couch to replace it at her clitoris, careful to align himself correctly.
He couldn't seem to make his mind up tonight and he released her hands again, palm pressing against the small of her back to keep her in place as he roughly thrust into her. A small hum of contentment escaped him at their union and with great effort, his hips remained still as his fingers still circled tortuously. It was clear what he was doing, making her beg. Forcing her to stoop so low as to fold before he did. And, if Castiel had been paying attention, she was playing him, who, normally folded in these situations.
Meg rocked against him, hips trying in vain to spur him on and he couldn't help but smile widely at her gasps of frustration. "Damn it Clarence!" He knew it wouldn't be long.
In an instant he stilled all together, "I thought we were roleplaying?"
"I am not going to beg you to-"
Almost belatedly he decided to use a trick that had always worked on him in the past and, hand moving from the small of her back to the apex of her shoulder blades, he dug his short finger nails into her skin, dragging them painstakingly down her back. Without his hand to keep her still she reared back in response and his hand moved to her mouth, clamping over it to keep away any further objections.
This was a kind of leverage he had never had before and he used it fully to his advantage, pulling and pushing in time. Small hands dug themselves into his backside, pulling him harder, creating more friction between vessels.
Castiel felt the familiar tug of pleasure, building into a giant, writhing knot and in an effort to distract himself from the sensation, he bent slightly, unintentionally getting a better angle. Toes curled into the carpet, hand slipping from between her legs to a shoulder, he tried to get their erratic rhythm back in sync. Teeth dug into his palm at her mouth and he had to wonder for a moment, just how he could find such an act so erotic.
Both hands moved now to the base of her neck, pressing hard enough to leave bruises, pulling hard enough to allow barely any space between vessels. Pleased sounds left her mouth, small and slightly strangled. He would've felt bad if she wasn't a demon. But she was, as she would always be and he knew she could take the abuse.
It must have been a sign of his failing grace, the way a slight sweat developed on his brow, hips wanting to lock up. He was getting tired. In an effort to prolong the appointment and save his hips, he moved them in a circular motion, the feeling of cramping gone almost instantly.
Castiel supposed the change in angle and approach was agreeable to Meg, the way she strained against him, doing anything she could to get a little more, just a little deeper. Without his hands at her back his eyes fell to her bottom, watching as she matched the circular pattern he adopted and all of a sudden, he felt it.
"Meg," It was the breathiest thing he had ever uttered, "I-" And that was the first time he had ever cut himself off with a moan. Leaning forward he nearly covered her body with his own, "AAI BIAB IN." It was spoken with less than an echo of his true voice, barely enough to rattle the coffee maker on the dresser, but, he was surprised no less. "VVRBS AISHH PVRGEL."
He wasn't sure what did it, what finally brought her down clenching around him, moaning into the moonlight, but it was much more than he could take. Castiel had to bite down on his lip to keep from liquefying anyone in a mile radius, burying his forehead between her shoulders as she rose up against him, forcing him to stand.
As his hand fell from her neck, fingers dragging roughly down the fabric of her shirt he chuckled slightly at his vessel, unable to keep his hips completely still. Palms gripped tightly around the rounds of her breasts, stopping at the slight gap between shirt and skirt, fingers automatically seeking to return where they had been previously.
"Shit Clarence," Meg pulled away, headed for the bathroom to clean up and avoid any kind of lingering affection, "you could kill a girl like that."
Castiel sighed as she pulled from him, watching as his vessel's prick bounced happily past his white button down shirt. "It is good you aren't a girl, then." He didn't look at her as he pulled his pants up, kicking loafers out of the legs, it would be too personal if he let himself linger. Pulling his over coat back on he spied her in the frame of the bathroom door, brows quirked. "Meg-"
He was cut off by the sound of keys at the motel room door and by the time he looked back to the bathroom she had vanished. With a sigh he focused on the Winchesters, hoping the stratosphere would calm him before landing. Next time they would talk. Things were getting weird. Personal, if only slightly.
Silently he landed, oddly enough, outside of the room he had just been in, "Hello Sam," At Dean's annoyed look, he couldn't help but smirk, "Dean."
Author's Note: I used two different translators for the Enochian, it should translate to "You are mine, beautiful woman of fire." Please let me know what you think, if you're planning on leaving hate, at least try to be constructive about it. Thank you.