Written while bedridden and sick. Sorry if it sucks, but I needed something to do while I was bored.. No, the title really doesn't make sense (at least until, like, the last-ish sentence), but I suck at titles anyways.
Summary: Cas finds himself drunk, distracted, alone, and horny. Part one of a possibly three part fic.
Genre: Humor/General
Rated: M, just to be safe.
Language: English, obviously
Length: Approximately 2,044 words.
Warning: Megstiel implied within, along with Destiel and Sastiel. Mentions of other pairings as well. Don't like don't read. Seriously. Anyways, read, enjoy, review. Or whatever.
"Well, hello there Clarence. I wasn't expecting to see you here..."
The angel whipped around so fast he almost fell off of his bar stool. Frowning, it took him a moment to recognize the figure standing next to him - leaning over the bar, swaying her hips slowly, seductively. He subconsciously licked his lips, making the girl giggle musically.
Castiel paused, gritting his teeth. "...Meg," he muttered, clenching his glass so hard he could hear it straining. Within moments, the drink was at his lips and he threw it back hurriedly, the resulting burning sensation satisfying. The demon smiled broadly and sat on the edge of the stool next to his, leather-clad legs brushing his own. Cas closed his eyes, brows furrowing. Of all the places to catch him, she had to be at a bar while he was trying to drown everything the Dean Winchester way - with alcohol.
Meg bit her bottom lip and the angel could hear her heart beat in tune to the electro-pop music blasting through the bar. Cas didn't know the song, or the band, or why humans supposedly enjoyed listening to the ear-splitting noise at such an obnoxious level. Castiel waved over the bartender to refill his glass.
There was an awkward silence as Meg sat beside him, casually brushing her legs against his as he slowly swallowed his whiskey. Suddenly, Meg turned to face him, hand on his arm.
"So, Cas, what'cha doing here, hun? Rough day?" she smirked, flashing white teeth, brown eyes sparkling with something Cas couldn't recognize. His blue eyes caught the flush in her cheeks, and the red of her lips; the angel soon began to wonder what it would feel like to capture those lips once more, taste them, and again run his fingers through the soft, auburn hair.
No, he commanded himself, forcing the images away. It was the alcohol, he reasoned, that was making Meg - a demon - so attractive. It was the alcohol that was making his lips dry, the alcohol that was making him sweat, his heart speed up, the alcohol making him want Meg.
He shook his head, layed down a stack of bills, and rose to his feet.
"Goodbye, Meg."
The demon frowned, lips pouting, and Castiel had to summon all of his will power to turn around and walk away. After three steps, he disappeared. Meg pursed her lips, before ordering her own drink, and made herself comfortable...
Outside of the bar, Castiel ran a hand through his hair. It was surprisingly quiet, and the cool air felt good on his face. Now that he was away from Meg, he was beginning to feel more like himself, and he began walking briskly down the sidewalk. He knew Dean and Sam were - probably - worrying about him. The angel had neglected charging his new phone, and he hadn't bothered to bring it along after it had died. It was probably still laying on the window sill where he had left it, he mused, a corner of his lips twitching upwards almost imperceptibly.
The angel gazed at the sky, as he often did to comtemplate the wonders he always spotted, but the street lights were too bright to see stars. He was slightly disappointed, but he had bigger problems. The alcohol, while bubbling acidically in his empty stomach, still did it's job of slowing down his thoughts, and heartbeat; numbing him, while not leavng him completely useless and unable to think logically.
On the way back to the motel, Cas managed to think of a great many things; past experiences with Meg, past experiences with Dean, experiences with Meg and Dean, the Winchesters and what they would say if they knew he was thinking about Meg, how they hated Meg, and what she had done. What he himself had done. How he probably shouldn't have left that bar because he wasn't quite as drunk as he wanted to be. At least he wouldn't wake up to a splitting headache in the morning. Given that he could sleep... He had reached the point in his falling where he wasn't sure what he could and couldn't do.
Yes, he could "zap," as Dean called it, from place to place in a blink of an eye; he could heal; he could read minds; but he didn't know if he could do other such things, such as die; or feel emotion; or... well, sleep. He hadn't tried. The angel of course hoped he could; it seemed like a lovely escape; Sam's nightmares were non-existent when he was asleep, and he was finally able to relax in a place where Lucifer couldn't terrorize him - Castiel wouldn't let him. Even the deep frown lines erased themselves from Dean's face when he slept, and if Cas was lucky, he could catch a smile upon those lips.
When Castiel finally reached the door to the motel he had a firm resolve to ask Dean where he had hidden the alcohol, what the quantity was, and where exactly he was to sleep again before he would curl up with a "bottle of Jack" and "die." Or "crash." The angel didn't particularly care. But when he appeared on the other side of the door - he had never quite gotten the hang of operating doors; they always seemed to come off their hinges when he opened them when he was in a hurry - the Winchesters were no where in sight.
A frown creased his brow as he searched the apartment quietly, catching no sign of life, but a sign that the Winchesters had expected him back. A note - written on the back of a crumpled receipt - was laying on the table.
Porthos d'Artagnan,
Went on a beer run. Don't know where the hell you are, but we'll be back soon. Don't get into trouble. We will find out.
Athos and Aramis
Cas took a moment to decipher this. He knew that Athos and Aramis are two of the Three Musketeers, Les Trois Mousquetaires, and Porthos is the third. D'Artagnan happened to join the trio, and bonded particularly with Athos, the oldest of the three. He began thinking and quickly recalled the week previous, making him chuckle. Of course, Dean was still humoring him by filling their lives with Three Musketeers references, since the angel was reading the books. Castiel just wished Dean would stop referring to himself as Athos - even though the resemblence between the two was uncanny - and Sam, Aramis - no matter how funny it was. By default, Cas became Porthos and d'Artagnan, since he was apparently a mix of the two. He tried to hide it, but it secretly pleased him that Dean researched the books so much just because the angel was reading them and even if the jokes were terrible, they were also funny... in a stupid sort of way.
Taking off his trench coat, Cas sighed and stalked over to the mini-fridge. He was parched and craved something to drink, alcoholic or not. Peering into the confines brought him nothing satisfying - only Mountain Dew and grape Fanta.
"What... the hell?" he muttered to himself. To say the angel was disappointed would be an understatement. It wasn't often that Cas asked for something, and the only things he asked for from the brothers were patience, no awkward moments, and Barq's rootbeer. He had assumed he could count on the rootbeer, but apparently he was wrong. Standing up, the angel played with the hem of his ACDC t-shirt before closing the fridge door.
"Whatever..." Castiel plopped down onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. He could feel his metabolism already breaking down the alcohol in his system. The angel groaned - he really didn't want to sober up.
Reaching for the remote, he turned on the cheap television set, hoping to find something worthwhile to watch, but of course it was all over-religious hypocrites preaching to hypocritical idiots; cooking shows; stupid cartoons; boring, inaccurate news stations; and hardcore, badly written, unrealistic porn. But, all things considering, he settled on the porn. After picking the best out of the five - which wasn't saying much; the girl was a "naughty nurse" bearing a huge rack with unrealistic cleavage, bright crimson lips, and long, straight brunette hair; the guy fucking her was super muscley, with tan skin and dark hair and was probably an asshole - he chucked the remote across the room and spread his legs casually, stretching tendons and making himself comfortable. At least the moaning was actually arousing. No screaming either.
"Bonus."
Castiel hated it when the girls screamed in pornos. It was terrible, and the sound should be illegal. And Cas knew the Winchesters agreed. For the past couple of months the boys had been teaching him basically every human experience they could think of, since this time the angel was staying put and was pretty clueless. Dean even bothered to have "the talk" with him, causing the angel to be extremely uncomfortable and the reason behind the whole "no awkward moments" rule. Though, there had been a worthwhile experience from it.
Castiel had learned to kiss, what exactly turned him on, and just how loud Dean could scream. So, y'know, a good experience over all. Besides the talking part, that is. Then the week after that, sensing that Cas was sexually unsatisfied, since he and Dean couldn't find a spare moment, Sam had taken it upon himself to find some pretty damn good pornos, send Dean on a case, and lock himself and Castiel in the motel together. So for the next 14 hours, Sam had taught the angel how to relieve himself, dispell a hard-on in about three seconds, and had broken the "no awkward moments" rule. Mainly by being gay, without being gay - and Cas didn't want to read into it any further than that. By the next week, Cas had discovered fanfiction - mainly Becky's. And she was rather good. Even though Chuck hadn't written about the angel, the word had been spread and pairings were all over the internet. Wincest, Destiel, Sastiel, Wincestiel, even Sabriel had managed to make the internet, along with a Dean/Gabriel category. But then there were even weirder pairings. He had been paired with Balthazar, Crowley, Bobby, Anna, Uriel, Gabriel, Lucifer, Micheal, Jimmy, Jess, and even John, the brothers' father. And he was absolutely clueless about how that had happened. But what brought his thoughts hurtling back to the present was the discovery of Megstiel.
It suddenly felt hot, way too hot, hotter than it should have been. A moan sounded from the television and it sounded so dirty and lustful. The angel closed his eyes, imagining those moans coming from somewhere completely different. His pants felt ungodly tight and he was seriously contemplating deadbolting the door and letting his fantasies control his actions when he heard voices outside and a key in the lock. Castiel nearly panicked, but managed to get rid of his boner, thank to Sam's Jedi training. He sent a silent prayer to wherever and jumped to turn off the TV. By the time the Winchesters made it inside, Cas was just kneeling down to look back in the mini-fridge.
"Cas, where the hell have you been you son of a bitch?"
The angel looked up from the fridge, adopting an innocent look and smiled. "I was at a bar. Is that a problem, Dean?"
Dean stood in the doorway, plastic bags in one hand, room key in the other. Sam stood behind him, holding a case of Barq's rootbeer. Castiel felt his mouth water at the sight.
The older Winchester sighed and walked over, dumping his bags on the floor. "And you didn't bother to bring your phone?"
The angel shrugged. "It was dead. Wouldn't have been any help if I had brought it."
Dean looked like he was ready to pop a blood vessel, but Cas didn't care. There was rootbeer in the vicinity. Taking the box from Sam, he retrieved a can from the confines and cracked it open. It tasted so good he almost wanted to cry. But something else lingered in the back in his mind that tasted much sweeter than rootbeer.
Damn it, Meg...
Okay, that was a horrible fic, and you hate me now, but you still have two more chapters to read! If you dare.
*insert maniacal laughter*