Castiel is silent on their way home. Meg lets him drive her car, a fast and shiny new little BMW. She hates him behind the wheel of her precious car, but on special occasions she allows him drive. Tonight is one of these special ocasions. She had wine and champagne and a really good time and he had water. And she hates his old, golden Lincoln Continental and she would never willingly set a foot in it. Often she josteled him to sell it but he likes it. It's reliable and reasonable.

Like him.

Ok, maybe he is boring.

But it gets him from point A to point B. And that is what he needs in a car.

When suddenly he feels Meg's fingers dancing across his thigh, he startles. She almost purrs when she says: "Damn it, tonight I need some action. Winchester's brother has made me incredibly horny!"

Castiel sighs. He's a married man, but he doesn't love his wife. When they were younger, there was love...and affection...on both sides. But the years weren't kind to their love. Different expectations drove them apart. As much as Meg's preference for young assistants (both male and female). Castiel finds it more and more difficult to be intimate with his wife. But when she orders, he has to deliver. Born into an extremly religious family, he grew up believing in christian values. And that means, Meg is his wife, for better or for worse, till death tears them apart.

Sometimes he dreams of love. Of finding his missing piece, the yin to his yang.

Sometimes he wonders if he should stop reading cheesy lovestories.

Soon as they are home, a modern detached house, full of expensive furniture, Castiel pays the babysitter and takes her back to her home. Meg vanishes in her bathroom not even checking on their daughter, Grace.

As soon as Castiel is back, he carefully opens her bedroom door and watches his ten year old daughter sleep. She still shares her bed with several stuffed amimals, much to Meg's dismay.

Maybe he regrets the marriage with Meg, but he could never ever regret Grace. She's his reason to live, his reason to go on.

He smiles fondly and shuts the door.

"Hey, Clarence! Don't leave me waiting", he hears Meg's voice through her bedroom door.

He hates this nickname!

Separate beds, separate bathrooms, separate lifes.

Seperate dreams and hopes.

He enters the room, some candles on the nightstand illuminate the scene in front of him.

His wife is naked, sprawled on black satin sheets, her right hand buried between her thighs.

"I started without you. It took you long enough."

"I had to drive Claire back to her home and than I checked on Grace"; he says with a tired voice.

"You know what? I'm not interessted in Claire or Grace or in your apologizes. You know, what I want you to do."

He undresses himself and climbs between Meg's legs.

"Tonight I want to fuck myself on you. So you better get it up. But first I want your tongue."

Castiel knows exactly what to do to give his wife a mindblowing orgasm. He alternates between soft licks and hard suckings directly on her clit, lets his tongue dive into her tight channel, with his talented tongue he fucks her out of her mind. Meg's hands are buried in his hair, gripping hard. He just wants to get over it.

"Mhm, I like it, when you do this little kitten licks", she purrs. "I wonder whether Dean Winchester has an equally talented tongue. Maybe I don't have to teach him. Maybe he is a natural. Not like you. You were such a looser, the first time you went down on me. Sometimes I ask myself, why I even got involved with you. There was nothing you could do right." Her grip on his hair tightens. It hurts. "But it was fun to train you. Like a pet. My little sex pet. Yeah, like this. Mhmm...Do that again..."

Castiel's lips are covered with Meg's juices and her scent surrounds him. She makes little mewling sounds, she clearly enjoys herself.

Not so Castiel.

One of his hands sneak between his own legs, his long, elegant fingers wrapping around his flaccid cock, strocking himself. He has to be hard in a few moments.

"Oohh, how I wish it'd be that green-eyed adonis between my legs, not my boring hubby...mmhhm." Meg's voice is cruel.

The green-eyed adonis...the beautiful smile...those ridiculous long lashes...the perfect kissable lips...broad shoulders and a narrow waist...Castiel feels his heart rate get faster...the cock in his fingers getting hard.

Meg comes hard on his tongue and Castiel is relieved. That part of the play is over. But now he has to deliver another good performance.

"On your back", Meg orders and Castiel obeys. His cock is hard. Thank god, his wife has nothing to complain.

Meg lifts a leg and straddles his lap.

"You really have a nice cock. Long and thick. And now at least you know how to use it."

With a low moan she sinks down on Castiel's flesh. Her head thrown back in pleasure, eyes closed. She rides him with languid movements, taking him deep. She places her small hands on Castiel's chest to steady herself. Castiel starts to thrust into the hot tightness of his wife. But she stills her movements, shakes her head and says "No. You stay still. This is about me."

She starts to move again and Castiel stays still, like frozen.

Her movements become faster, her breathing gets erratic.

Meg's fingernails bite into his pectoral muscle, her nails, long and sharp. They break the skin, they draw blood, leave marks.

Marks, that will heal later. Marks that will become scars. Faint white scars.

Castiel's chest is littered with scars like this.

Meg arches her back as the orgasm washes over her.

She tries to catch her breath when she lifts herself from him, leaving him cold and unsatisfied.

"Go to your own bed. I don't want to snuggle."

With a groan, Castiel gets up. He feels disgusting. And used. His cock aches.

In the safety of his shower, he jerks off.

He's utterly confused, never before he has been attracted to a man...

Yet his sleep is haunted by green eyes and friendly smiles on kissable lips.