It would seem that reconvening at Starbucks had become something of a convention.
"So," Gabriel clapped his hands together in a motivational gesture as he marched to Castiel's table, "in conclusion?"
With solid conviction, his simple answer was: "I want her."
To that level, he was confident. Anything stemming beyond that, however, posed a glowing question mark. "Wanting" was such a foreign concept to him. Angels did not "want", nor did they require possessions. He "wanted" certain things on another's behalf - for the Lord, the Winchesters, humanity - but for himself? It was unheard of. All he could conclude was that whatever he wanted, in whatever sense he was wanting, he could only find in Audrey. Nobody else appeased that elusive demand. Nobody else, to put it colloquially, scratched that itch.
It was then that Gabriel inadvertently illuminated just how he wanted her exactly.
"Want her the way you want that sugar?"
His inattentive gaze shot up to Gabriel, who wore that knowing grin which never failed to unnerve him. Though, he wondered what precisely there was to know. "What?"
"Face down, rear up, giving everything she's got?"
Blink. He wavered between feeling affronted and just downright nonplussed. "...what?"
His grin broadened in an "I just caught you with your pants down" manner. He wagged his eyebrows and gave a meaningful downwards nod. Castiel's gaze dropped down to his hands. The sugar dispenser was being fondled. By him. It was held with the bottom facing the air, the lid against the table resulting in spillage of sugar.
Oh. So that's what he wanted. Just as this hit him, he stumblingly sent it as far across the table as possible, eying it as though it had caused him a great injustice.
In the split second before Gabriel turned to busy himself at the counter, Castiel's discriminating eye had caught sight of his scrutiny of him. His gaze had been calculating, but lacking its usual levity.
"Does my conclusion disappoint you?" he asked.
After a long pause, wherein he felt he was being ignored, Gabriel turned back around, surprising him with an armful of sweets, and somehow managing a steaming cappuccino within it.
"To be quite honest with you, Cas? I didn't expect this," he said in a genuinely relenting tone and shrug to match, as he settled the desserts onto Castiel's table, deliberately missing his quizzical glance in the process. "A teenage boy doesn't seek twu wuv - he goes out to fornicate with the hopes he doesn't procreate!"
Castiel narrowed his eyes, unable to see relevance. "I'm neither a teenage boy, nor am I seeking ... that."
Within the act of mustering even more sweets out of thin air, Gabriel suddenly stilled like a deer in headlights. Castiel's questioning glance surfaced as Gabriel recovered from whatever had inwardly struck him, and now stared at him. He tried to follow the way his shrewd eyes studied him like a mathematical formula, but lost course when - Gabriel's eyes ignited - he reached his destination.
"What are you thinking?" he asked lowly, hesitant to know the answer.
"Oh. Oh this is good. Oh this is better! This is –"
"What are you talking about?" he sought his gaze once more for further survey. It was hard to do so when Gabriel was flailing about, mulling over which chair to pull over to sit across from him.
Finally, sitting on one backwards, he asked, "Angels are sexless, correct?"
His tendency to look confused was decidedly ignored, knowing it would just be a waste of time. "Yes. Angels are neither male nor female, but have the potential to be slanted to either gender within the company and influence of humankind."
"Right!" Something sly crept into his bright gaze. "She triggered and matured the masculine side of your being, so, in a way, you could say that you are actually a man."
He didn't know how to respond to that. He actually looked around for a befitting answer. "... yes?"
"You're a man who skipped everything! All the usual development a human male would have had." There was an evocative glint in his eyes as he paused, awaiting their trains of thought to fall into harmony. His unnerving gusto had Castiel resisting grasp. Sensing this, he smirked and pressed further. "Your intellect is full and matured but some new... masculine instincts are, aheh, pubescent."
He sat still in his seat, dithering. Some sort of interpretation had been made, but it seemed so outrageous to his own mind, that he wasn't sure if he had been thinking along the same lines.
"Are you implying I'm experiencing puberty?"
Hearing this verbalized elicited a guffaw from Gabriel, and also confirmed his deduction. "Kinda undignified to say, huh?" As Castiel glowered contemplatively down at the table, he scrutinized him
thoughtfully. "But you're not going through the physical part of it... no, your vessel suffered that for you, among other things –"
Blue eyes flared up at him severely. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't speak of my vessel at all."
There was a faint emergence of Gabriel's habitual smirk in response. "Puberty isn't the best term," he considered, resuming. After a minute's thought, there was a decided nod. "Sexual maturity. Yeah!"
He sat silently, the very image of strain. He was following perfectly well, but still didn't yet know the destination, nor was he sure he wanted to reach it. The ever-perceptive Gabriel sensed exactly this.
"Don't you get it?" he whispered fervently. "You have the impulses, young impulses of a teenager!"
Instinctively, he glanced down at himself, his vessel. "I don't feel any different."
"That's 'cause I don't float your boat," he snorted. His mirth was adjourned by a sudden thought. A sly sparkle danced in his eyes, a clear indication the metaphorical devil was whispering in his ear. A perverted grin stretching across his face was the last thing Castiel saw before he morphed into the form of Audrey's. And in her voice, she – he coquettishly asked, "How's this to your liking, stud?"
Impulse induced him to ogle at this exact clone of her from The Night She Slipped Over On The Pavement. Logic dawned, unusually belatedly, and pulled him out of his trance.
"Gabriel!" he hissed. "Stop this at once! Audrey visits this place often and if she saw you, she would –" At this point, Castiel lost a lot of his bearing as she (er, he) tongued the cappuccino's teaspoon in a very suggestive manner, teasing him with her smoky bedroom eyes, "... she would... she'd... she –"
Her mouth opened and let out a very Gabriel-ish laugh, with that extended bray suggesting his amusement was at his expense. He was quick to resume his exaggeratedly ladylike conduct.
"Why?" Her flirty eyes batted as she twirled a finger in her hair. His, he, his! "Is this turning you on?"
He disciplined himself to scowl at him, rather than gape at her. "For both our benefits, please, have some modeSTY!" The last bit jolted right out of him when he felt her leg trail up his.
"To hell with modesty and its limitations!" she raved with Gabriel's characteristic bravado. "But you get the gist, right? This right here," he gestured herself, "does something for you, doesn't it? She bothers you in a not-so-disagreeable way, am I right? You're warm for her form, right? Hello?"
Her fingers snapped before Castiel's eyes, ripping him away from the reverie he had shamefully abandoned himself in. When he came to, blinking in surprise, Gabriel rolled her eyes.
"Ya see? These instincts have you actin' a fool!" An idea passed over her eyes as they wandered to someone behind Castiel. "Let's see what would happen if I stuck her tongue down that guy's throat –"
Just as he moved to cross the room in pursuit of the stranger, Castiel briskly caught her arm, glaring murderously. "Don't you dare."
"Let go of her arm, or I'll stick her tongue down your throat." It genuinely startled Gabriel when Castiel didn't move. In fact, he swore he saw something seep into his gaze that implied he wouldn't mind at all! "Uh, might I remind you that it's me, shameless Gabriel? Your BROTHER? We shared the same nonliteral fetus?"
This reality struck him and he promptly tore his hand away as though he had plunged his hand into a bag of the Winchester's dirty laundry. Rationality seemed to be running behind schedule lately!
"Stop this immediately!" he practically whined, meanwhile trying to maneuver his pleading gaze into something more menacing.
"But do you get my point?"
"Yes!"
"I don't think you do."
"I do, Gabriel!" he seethed, averting his eyes in desperation. It was impossible to direct his exasperation in Gabriel to her form! Her nice, nice form...
"You're staring again!" he teased.
He adopted his most authoritative tone. "Gabriel, if you do not put an end to this now –"
"Maybe more experiments are in order –"
"– I will kill you!" he snapped, finally exhausted of his graciousness. Gabriel simply laughed as he indulged in a deep breath, composing himself. "Change. Back."
There was a roll of her eyes. "Pshh, fine." He sat back down, reassumed original form and, as though Castiel wasn't sitting as flustered as he was right across from him, resumed talking. "Anyways! My point is there's only one possible target to suffer the reverberations of this, uh, psychological development, if you will: the girl who awakened the beast!" He paused for a response, but broke out into a grin when he saw that Castiel was still shaken. "See, this is the fun thing about pubescence. There will be desires fighting to be acted upon and challenging your self-possession."
He frowned, finally allowing himself to look at him. "That does not fall under the definition of fun."
"I never said it was fun for you," he grinned cheekily. "It's fun in theory, frustrating for you. You have hormones of your own now. Testosterone, specifically; the chemical that gives nice little boys a "license to drive", but is useless without a car." Castiel's gaze clicked with his, suddenly very aware of the metaphor. "The longer they go without a car, the more frustrated they become, especially when they're in constant company of the one car they've had their eye on the entire time. When the time comes and they've earned that car, they jump inside and vroom, vroom!"
He briefly gave Gabriel a pained look as his thoughts turned inward. Never could he imagine himself behaving in such a way, even in the face of such an opportunity, but he expressed it so reasonably.
Staring absently at the table, he reviewed the entire conversation as far. So... the entirety of his being was matured - his intellect, his judgment, his competence - but certain instincts, new instincts, were pubescent. Young. Young, impulsive, experimental, wild – oh Lord, what was becoming of him?
"My attraction is real but... reckless," he concluded, flinching on the word he never thought to ever characterize himself with.
Proud eyes commended him. "Bingo! Castiel, the infinity year old warrior of Heaven, wants to admire and cherish her like a commended gourmet meal, while Castiel, a recently developed male with pubescent impulses, wants to, uh," his voice plunged to a suggestive lilt, "... play with his food."
There was a purposeful swagger in his step, but there was none to be fulfilled really. Rather, it was a mental nuisance pleading to be resolved. Seeking guidance from Gabriel was rapidly beginning to seem like a huge mistake, and the needling thing was that it wasn't because his advice was poor - on the contrary, it was truly insightful. Too insightful. Such understanding of the visceral plane of humanity complicated things. Why did humans torture themselves so? Especially when it came to certain relationships; the type that compelled one to abandon all rationality and do... something...
However, it was somewhat pleasing to know that she wanted him the way he wanted her. The ball was in his court, despite it having been stolen when the other wasn't looking. One side of him twiddled it in his hands, unsure of its use; the other side of him wanted to play, and play dirty. Why, hello young man. Keen to play, are we?
To humans, some situations entailed a metaphorical shoulder angel and devil. His Situation (capitalized as it was significant but did not have its own noun) followed the same concept, but the two beings involved were himself (he was his own angel) and a frisky young man strutting across his shoulders who thought with another part of its nonexistent anatomy. And it was neither his brain nor his heart. What he dreaded was the trouble (or fun, it may argue) this being was going to get him into, and how it was impossible to anticipate. Would he even be aware of himself if and when it occurred?
So preoccupied was he in this internal conundrum that he failed to notice a limousine pulling to an abrupt halt beside him as he roamed through Times Square. The door opened and two gloved hands reached out, startling him as they wrenched him inside. His back met the floor of the limo as the door shut, the vehicle moving again, and - oh, it began - Audrey crawled over to straddle him.
"Take off your pants!"
Her words would have provoked his new sensibilities further if it weren't for the warmongering "DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY!" manner of which they were yelled.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Pants! Off! Now!" Her hands were already venturing to make quick work of them. God help him.
"Audrey!" He made an indignant sound when he tore her hands away. "What are you doing?"
"You have to help me!"
His incredulous regard grew more pronounced. "By undressing?"
"I need you to be my escort!" He barely registered her answer as she teetered off of him. There was friction. It was pleasantly distracting. "I have a suit you can wear!"
He recovered quickly and settled onto the nearest seat, mustering all the poise he possessed. "How did you know you would find me here?"
"I didn't," she admitted, preening before her reflection in the tinted windows. He curiously watched as she licked her palm to groom her hair. Like a cat. He suspected Rembrandt was an influence. "My plan was actually to pull the Naked Cowboy in here, hence the extra clothes, but then I saw you..." her voice wandered as she contemplated his appearance, deciding upon something, "Actually! You can wear that, just lose the trench coat."
He contended her expectant gaze with his own while he internally searched their conversation so far for the moment he had even agreed to this. If it weren't for her innocent face, he could have dubbed this as a hostage situation. After a helpless glance around, he yielded. It felt strange to have her watch him as he removed his trench coat, so he filled the silence.
"Where are we going?"
"My friend, Marcus - you know Marcus, he was the black Santa Claus back at Toys 'R Us?"
He immediately regretted abandoning her there. Anyone who could charm Castiel could charm the pants off anyone else, which is what he feared (especially literally). He nodded, silently hating himself.
"His sister May is hosting a Christmas reception at their parent's mansion," she revealed. Her expression turned reflective. "Mr. and Mrs. O'Nayse are very kind to allow us to use it."
He tilted his head as though he misheard her. "Her name is May O'Nayse?"
She shook with stifled laughter. "Yes, just like the condiment, Castiel, very good."
"Why do you require an escort?" he asked. His eyes narrowed towards the suit that hung in the corner. "Why do you require a male escort?"
She was suddenly sheepish. "Ha... this is where it gets awkward. My ex-boyfriend is gonna be there."
He became as still as a statue, and if it was obvious, she wasn't acknowledging it. It was a wonder that he had never thought about this until now. Of course Audrey would have a string (hopefully short, but he presumed otherwise) of former lovers. Who would have been... touching her. And likewise. His mouth twisted resentfully as though he detected a growing ulcer.
"I see," he replied tightly.
"That's not the awkward part. I need you to be my pretend boyfriend!"
He digested this for a moment. An emotion crept up on him, coupled with a red flag that warned him in advance not to manifest it. It was... delight! His mouth was now twisting to restrain a smile.
"I fail to see how that's related to your former partner being in attendance," he remarked in his best display of unconcern.
She gauged him very soberly for an extended moment. "Remember that conversation we had about a week ago? About Heaven and Hell?"
He nodded. "I do."
There was a pause; he sensed something upset her. "When I said "some people", I meant Oliver, my ex. Just Oliver."
It was his turn to pause, recalling that entire conversation. "You had that conversation with him and he judged you based on your conjectures?"
"Yeah! The minute I mentioned Roman Polanski and Charles Manson, he looked at me as though - as though I'd committed the crimes! I just wanted was a bit of objectivity in a discussion. I wasn't taking sides!" She sighed, simmering her senses. "He was so damn blinkered."
He nodded absently. "That's how most Athiests are."
Her eyes were on him immediately. "Excuse me?"
He frowned at her bridled tone. "You can't take offense to that because you're not an Athiest, not anymore."
Her posture straightened defensively. "I'm... five shades Athiest, five shades Agnostic now, I admit, but I'm still entitled to take offense to that, to which I repeat: "Excuse me?""
He regarded her almost pityingly, and he knew how patronizing it would appear. "Do you really think an Athiest would put as much effort into proving there to be a God, as much as they are inclined to prove that there isn't?" he challenged.
"There might be," she huffed, aloofly examining her cuticles. Castiel gave this move a mildly amused look as she had been wearing gloves.
"Hence why I said most Athiests," he pointed out, his gaze lingering on her fingers. "I doubt every one of these Athiests has even read the Bible." He drifted out of focus and into reverie. "Even though the truth of it all is generally lost in translation."
This hooked her attention. "What? Are you saying you don't even believe the Bible?" She shook her head with a start. "Sorry, I never asked you - what religion do you follow? Christianity, right?"
"To some extent," he said vaguely, looking her in the eye.
Her confusion evidently swelled. "What does that mean? Uh, Judaism?"
"Also to some extent."
"What? How can you - Buddhism?"
"Same sentiments apply."
For the longest moment, she simply gaped at him. "What the hell kind of religion do you follow?" Just when he thought he had been cornered for good, she laughed. "You're religiously promiscuous!"
He gave her a small smile, further camouflaging any traces of paranoia that may have betrayed him.
She sighed, reluctantly resuming the subject matter. "But uh, yeah, Oliver - he and I split up because of that."
"That conversation?"
"Oh, there were many more conversations like that," she scoffed, grimacing at the unfortunate memory. "A lot that we've," she gestured the two of them, "unthinkingly reenacted and barely survived."
He nodded in acknowledgment. "And I succeeded in inspiring a little faith in you." She gave him a sarcastically grateful expression. He frowned. "Why does that disappoint you?"
"You call it a little faith, I call it a whole lot of doubt," she said cynically, her eyes briefly abandoning focus. She shook her head, forcing them back on track. "Anyway, look, this is your story: your name is Castiel, uh..." Her brow furrowed harshly, "– what is your surname?"
"I don't have one." That response would faze a normal person. Thankfully, Audrey wasn't normal.
"Oh! Even better! It's like Madonna, or Prince! You're the Man Formerly Known As Castiel! And your job is..." She began to fiddle with her hair, feigning flippant ignorance. "What-what was it you did?" He addressed her transparency with a smile until her hopeful expression dropped. "Fine, what are you good at?"
He paused thoughtfully. "Investigating. Hunting. Instructing..." he trailed off, choosing to gauge her response at this.
She quirked an eyebrow at his rather mixed bag of talents before launching into her rambling in earnest. "Uh, okay, you're a... theologist. No, a professor! I'd date a professor. A professor of theology and... I dunno, biblical studies? from... NYU. And you are not thirty-eight, you are... thirty-two? No, you don't look like an eighties kid. Thirty-four! Yeah, you're thirty-four. And how we meet is exactly the same to how it is in reality, except it happened last year. We started dating on the fourth of July, and you proposed to me on my twenty-ninth birthday –"
His brow lifted. "I'm your fiance now?"
"Oh, relax. It's just Beyoncé with an F," she dismissed. Then, she leaned into his side of the limo and took a long sniff. "No no no, this won't do. You smell too much like a man."
"Is that a bad thing?" he asked, watching her rifle through her purse.
"Where have you been all day? No one in New York smells like that. We either smell like hot dogs or Chanel number five." At his blank expression, she waved her hand dismissively. "Never mind. I'm gonna spray you with Axe." She smirked, lifting the can as though it were a gun, "Don't worry, I won't jump on you and think you're made of chocolate."
"You already have jumped on me," he pointed out, his tone flat but his gaze smoldering right through the mist of the spray.
"True," she smiled, her eyes glimmering similarly as she tossed the can aside," and I don't think it serves as a deterrent to you."
They stared each other down, not with hostility, but with something else. Something that dared the other to act upon it, to externalize internal things...
"I want to ask you something," he said, the words abandoning him before they could be reviewed.
Likewise, her intent gaze didn't falter, even as her brow raised as a means to beckon him. However, when it finally dawned on him what he was about to ask, his did.
"I fear the subject is too intrusive," he brooded, gazing indiscriminately at the plush carpeting for guidance.
"You know I'm open about myself," she heartened softly. Their eyes touched, and although he still dreaded how his inquiry would be received, he submitted under her encouraging gaze.
"What did puberty feel like?" Something internal pushed him to be more specific. "To you." And again. "Emotionally."
She snorted. It then occurred to her that he was being serious, and her smile pulled downwards in a haste, contorting it into anything other than a smile.
"Will, um, answering this question help you sleep at night?" she asked humorously.
He was immediately apologetic. "If it is too invasive –"
"No, it's fine," she smiled, "I'm just wondering how such a thought transpired. So, um, why? Are we comparing or something?"
"N-yes. Yes. Yes, we'll compare our experiences." The nodded together, hers in agreement, his trying to convince himself that that was the plan all along.
"So, emotionally, huh?" Her eyes rolled upwards as she fell back into reminiscence, "I remember feeling... impulsive, experimental, spontaneous, free and unapologetic."
A flicker of amusement enlivened his eyes. "So you haven't changed."
She beamed in silent agreement. "But, I wouldn't say I'm experimental anymore. I know what's good and what's bad, what I like and what I don't –"
"Me too."
Did he just say that out loud? They blinked at each other, neither one of them expecting that. He couldn't help himself; he actually related to her in that degree. He knew what he wanted now.
"And," he resumed, scraping back his formality, "you couldn't control it?"
"Well see, the thing about adolescence is that you're not fully matured, judgment included. So when I thought I was in perfect control back then, I really wasn't," she said, half-smiling helplessly.
Reckless, he concluded. "And you indulged those impulses?"
She gave him an emphatic smile. He wasn't sure if that was supposed to be an expression of "yes" or "no". "If you don't, you'll lose your mind," she shrugged. "That's why adolescence can be distressing." The pained look resurfaced on his face; she had just validated Gabriel's metaphor. Just as he was about to fall into a deep haze, she held him in reality. "Hey! You're not telling me how your adolescence went about!"
He shifted under the sudden spotlight. "There was..." he began, before even knowing how he intended to end, "... a constant surge of a carnal energy that inspired me to crave touch."
Her smirk emerged, unrestrained. "A constant surge of what now? I've never heard that one before. Is that the puritan way of saying that you were aroused?"
She giggled. He stared up at her very eloquently. She stopped giggling. They stared at each other in silence... which made Castiel's motion of crossing one leg over the other painfully obvious.
I'm taking a break from writing, maybe for a month; I need to focus on polishing up my film school application. If I'm not admitted, oh God, I don't know what I'll do with myself. Though it does suck to have to put a wrench in creativity - one should never have to do that since motivation may not arise later; hell, a lot of the shit in this story emerges to mind at three in the morning, and when it does, I always have to write it down - but I digress, I need to do this. Sorry I didn't leave it on a more dramatic note, though I suppose that's a good thing where your patience is concerned, *laughtertrack*.
Some notable things you may want to stick around for in the future is NYU, Castiel being indirectly parodied on Saturday Night Live (think The Lonely Island and their digital shorts) and the Winchesters comin' to town. Romance will continue to progress at a teasing rate; he will learn that Audrey is very much a twenty-first century girl who, while she does not fall in love easily, still has womanly needs.
Read and review :)
BTW, ten points to whoever understands the significance of the chapter title.