Previous chapter has been edited to completion. Please go back and read it for the sake of my dignity. Barney's in it, I swear. :D
"Well. Here we are."
Indeed they were. Both scoped out her lounge room, absorbing every detail for no real purpose other than to occupy some time as they both pondered. In actual fact, he didn't so much think as much as he clung to the only lucid thought he had in his possession, which was that if she persisted this dance around her intentions, he could not be held accountable for how he counteracted. The flaming matchstick had been precariously dangled over the kerosene for far too long.
"Oh!" she piped suddenly. "How silly of me! I forgot! It was my old TV that wasn't working; not the one I have now. Of course! What was I thinking?"
Her labored dialogue could convince anyone that she was reading off a teleprompter. The look he lined onto her was knowing, though not overtly enough for her to be able to glean his comprehension of her ulterior intentions. So, she merely supplied him with her practiced smile of innocence. She thought she had him fooled. Behind those wide, falsely guileless eyes, she was just so sure of herself. Little did she know he had a flaming matchstick of his own hidden behind his back. Then he turned to leave.
"Hey! Where are you going?" she cried, rushing around to front him, holding out her hands but careful not to make contact.
"There's no longer a need for me to be here. I will remove myself from your clearance," he said, moving to round her but was caught by the arm. She nearly detached herself from him, but found herself being pinned on the spot by his eloquent gaze.
"But I want you to stay," she contended dumbly.
"Why?" The word was asked in a darkly, emphatic way, aiming to prompt not just a reply, but the truth itself.
Finally, having perceived his wisdom in the corner of her mind, her face blossomed knowingly, enhanced with a smile glowing of suggestion.
"Because," came her reply, as darkly empathic as his question, thrown at him like a challenge. He watched her mosey past him toward the lounge with affected casualness. Her blush was lost on him.
"That's not an answer."
Though she strove so hard to appear levelheaded to him, it seemed she could not bring herself to face him now, settling on stroking the glossy piano top instead. He smiled a little. She was – dare he realize it? – embarrassed. It was a rare display. Amusing as it was, the humor of the moment receded when something dark seeped into his eyes, and he began to stalk her.
"Audrey," he drawled as he neared, her name smoothly elevating in pitch at the end, almost as a question.
After a few empty moments, she gingerly turned to him as he stopped before her. Only for a split second was she allowed a glimpse of a gentler expression to put her at ease, before his eyes flashed with heat and a hand snaked around her neck, bringing their mouths together.
Her response was immediate and desperate to fill every ounce of her hunger as though she would never get another chance to. She had been so ready for this. Her hands framed his face as she moaned into his mouth, angling them to perfection, while his hands mapped out her back as she pressed herself willingly against him, arching against his touch.
It seemed his borrowed flesh had particular things relevant to this manner of conduct committed to memory. A distant impression of what felt good, fast surging into a thorough bank of knowledge, which he abode by. Newly anxious to please, he stole into her mind without shame and sought what she desired, and so surprised at what he found there, he pulled away to regard her incredulously.
With eyes heavy with arousal, she scowled at his withdrawal. "What?"
What an impressive diversity of … ideas she had banked in that subconscious of hers. Well, what Audrey wants, what Audrey gets.
He placed an open-mouthed kiss to her pulse, his body so closely in line with hers that he felt a moan rumble up from her chest and spill from her lips, taking them with his own when they opened. Her hands roamed up his arms, en route to his shoulders, but inelegantly shot up to cling to him when he startled her by breaking the kiss to pick her up and seat her on the piano. The elevation evidently made for very convenient access.
They kissed themselves into a haze with clumsy enthusiasm, the mutual attention to lips slipping away when her ankles locked around his back and forced him against her, avid to have what he could give. No no no - he was new and he was learning; she would have to wait longer.
Forever grateful for her skirt, his hand disappeared under it. Had his presence of mind been intact, he would have concluded for certain that if angels could play favorites, her legs would definitely be his favorite part of her anatomy. Possibly because she allowed swathes of it open for inspection, especially now, as his fingers flirted with the soft flesh of her inner thigh. It was not meant to provoke as he was simply reveling at such softness, but it did, and it antagonized her into reaching between them with a strangled groan and clawed at his belt. Against her neck, he nearly smiled; she was so, so aggressively impatient.
With both hands, he removed her impatient ones from him and pinned them to the piano surface, guiding her to take purchase on it as his lips lured hers in to meet his. Their mouths opened together, and since neither of them had done so as yet, he reintroduced her to his tongue, surprising her as it brushed against hers, inviting her to play. So far, so good. He had yet to come up dry on what to do, but he was far too distracted anyway to agonize the possibility of it arising just around the corner. If it did, he wouldn't put it past her to see this undertaking through to the end herself.
Certainty came when she ground up against him in invitation, deliciously wanton, wallowing in the feeling of him so close to where she wanted him. Oh yes, knowing the tenacity of Audrey Hathaway, he was bound to leave her home sans virginity, whether she took it willingly from him or not (but really, what are the chances of him being unwilling at present?).
He had to be slow. No – by the way she had been clawing at him like a wild cat, slow was undesired. Progressive was the word. He had to approach this inch by inch, protract the string of desire until it snapped. He removed command of her hands, one moving to anchor the back of her head as he listed her backwards slightly, lips still connected, the other boldly sidling right up her skirt again. Fingers quickly locating what they sought, he learned that the thrill of his conduct had done most of the work for him. If it were in an angel's nature to do so, he would have bragged.
His intimate touch had her squirming for him, breaking the kiss to mewl in his ear. His eyes closed at the sound of it. Suddenly, he had the fiercest urge to touch her. All of her under all of him.
Nearby, Rembrandt had to dodge the honorary flying objects; her scarf, her blazer, his trench coat, her heels (one of which smashed glass somewhere, but neither party cared), her knee high socks. When Castiel's tie danced through the air and landed on the feline's face, he meowed disgruntledly before padding out of the room. Humans.
So much for progressive.
His impatience now plainly matching hers, he heard her tear out a ragged, laugh-inflected moan in triumph of having him as he drew his tongue up the curve of her neck.
Then he remembered what he had found in her mind. An idea she thought he would never do. The fact that it doubted him only provided the challenge, one he now decided to take. His curious fingers, that had so far been trifling around between her legs, smoothed over the thin material there, considering, inspiring her to moan and coil her legs tighter around him. This is what she wanted, his internal dialogue echoed, as his thumb dipped into the fringe of her underwear. Time seemed to suspend around them as he slid them off, isolating their thoughts to nothing but that very action.
Almost there, he thought, grazing his lips up her knee. Her gaze burned down on him, and he detected an uncharacteristic weight of bravado lost from it and the added sentiment of "No... he wouldn't!" as his lips furthered their torturous climb. At her thighs, it became an open-mouthed kiss. His hands slithered up to cradle the backs of her knees, and she began to huff in anticipation. Assisting her further apart, his tongue became involved, sneaking across the sensitive skin at her inner thighs. When he heard her breathlessly moan his name, it set something off in him, so he finally obliged her.
Almost.
"Never fear! Father's here! Where's my voluntarily-gingerbread girl?"
Audrey let out a squeal, a suppressed scream of sheer horror, and hustled Castiel away from her frantically. He did not fall, but before he had completely gathered his bearings, she had already adjusted the clothes she was still wearing and kicked the strewn garments under the sofa.
"God – damn – freaking —" she spluttered as she did all this, not even looking at him as she took his hand and navigated him elsewhere. "My dad's come to visit and I completely forgot!"
A confused frown was about to be aimed her way, but their regards whipped in the direction of jingling keys. Hysterical, she whimpered and began flailing around on the spot helplessly, mentally groping around for a plan in desperation. Then, she gathered his trench coat and tie off the floor and wordlessly tossed it to him. He didn't put it on as he instead watched her dishevel her hair even more, lick her fingers and skim them down from her eyes, forming fake tear streaks from her eye makeup.
"What are you doing?" he finally asked. When she looked at him, noticing that he was just standing idly by, she waved a hand at him madly.
"Put it on! Put it back on!" she hissed.
They heard the front doors swing open. She gasped, dithering for a final moment, before glancing sharply at him, all fidgety movements stilling suddenly, and then gave him a firm push. As he toppled over the sofa, landing hidden behind, her father, a robust man in tweed, sauntered in. Kind souls aged gracefully, it would seem, and his age only betrayed him in his graying hair.
"There's my angel!" he exclaimed in his potent English accent (while Castiel bristled at the word), belatedly noticing the mess and of course, how she looked. "Darling, my, what's wrong?"
Acting ability in effect, she burst into tears and lunged for him, intentionally confining him in an embrace.
"Daddy!" she cried melodramatically. Castiel peered around the side of the sofa, and when she saw him, she frantically maneuvered them around so her father's back was to him. "He broke my heart! Oliver broke my heart like a –" She spotted nearby the crystal vase she had shattered with her shoe earlier, and appalled, she dropped the act. "– two thousand dollar vase I bought from Tiffany's!"
Her father shifted to follow her gaze. "What?"
Her act quickly resumed. "D'ah, nothing!" she shouted, grasping his chin and guiding him to look down at her. Fake tears began again. "Just hold me, daddy, hold me and never let go and, and, and don't look at anything else but me for a while."
Though her requests noticeably baffled him a little, he obeyed. "Of, of course, darling," he whispered, his voice deep and velvety as he stroked her hair and shushed her soothingly. It made a very heartwarming, picturesque scene, if it weren't for Audrey staring widely back at Castiel, eyes darting emphatically in the direction of the door. Understanding, he rose to his feet and inched for the exit.
At the threshold of his only escape route, Rembrandt slunk into appearance, always a merciless difficulty. Already in a foul mood, Castiel gave it a withering look. It meowed in response.
"Is that Rembrandt?" her father asked, twisting around to the sound. He very nearly caught sight of Castiel but was taken by the sound of Audrey's shrieking.
"HE SAID HE LOVED ME, DADDY!" she wailed into his chest, stealing his full attention once more. At her distraction, Castiel waved a hand, simultaneously silencing the feline and sending it sliding into the corner of the room against its will while he slipped from the room.
Trench coat and tie back in full effect, he simply stared at her doors. Well. That was interesting. Instead of vanishing immediately, he waited a few minutes. As hoped, she eventually emerged from those very doors, walking backwards into him as she shouted into the room.
"— just be a few minutes, I'm gonna check if I have mail in the lobby! Uh… preferably not from Oliver!" she added, breaking into a sob that ceased the instant the door closed. Finally shut, she leaned against it, shaking with silent laughter.
Turning to him, her mouth opened with the intention to speak, but laughter persisted for a few more moments.
"I am so sorry," she said imploringly, teetering toward him, "I really am. And honestly, I wish I could just lock you up in my room 'til he falls asleep, but," she smiled painfully, "I think it's best you go."
He nodded numbly, unable to provide anything else, including thoughts. Cognition was currently failing him for some reason. All energy was still in the physical, which fueled the moment she reached out and tightened the knot of his tie. Hand curling around it, she yanked him down for a quick kiss.
"I'll get you another time," she purred against his mouth, before briskly spinning at her heel to disappear back into the room.
His body reacted faster than cognition could, and his hand charged out for her hip and snared her against him. Such a foreign impulse was overriding all his abilities, and in its foreign nature he had little resistance primed for it. It felt hot and violent but in different way. The "buzz" from earlier days of their relationship seemed so tiny in comparison to what he felt now; a viciously frantic, almost painful need for intimacy. To carry on with a metaphor Gabriel once proposed, he had earned that sought-after car and wanted nothing more than to jump in, but here he was, being denied it.
His hand drifted down and up her skirt; she was still very much unclothed underneath. This was him acting like a stubborn child wanting nothing more than to play with his food already. The entire time he scowled petulantly at her, his demeanor altogether begging an adamant "no". How could she possibly expect him to just leave in such a state?
"Castiel," she aimed to sound authoritative, but it emerged seductive, driving him further anxious for her. Unaware of the fact that he had been steering her backwards, she squeaked with surprise when her back met the doors, and in her distraction he triggered into action, taking her lips and scooping up one leg to wrap around his waist. She coiled into him when he pressed against her, both their bodies reacting in the worst of ways at the contact.
Clarity sooner dawned on her than him, and she began shaking her head, making dismissive noises from the back of her throat. Since he was none the deterred, she was required to push him away. He went for her collarbone. She pushed him away again, and fixed him with a look.
"Down, boy," she chided jokingly, but her gaze remained firm, "I'm sorry, Cas, but this will have to wait."
His eyes lowered moodily. "But I —"
"I know," she said, blinking sympathetically, "Listen, if you need a quick cold water fix, try to imagine those friends of yours and your brother having sex!"
He grimaced, and nearly went cross-eyed. It worked too perfectly. Wisely deciding not to touch him, she gave him a warm smile before bidding him goodnight and disappearing into her room.
Damn everything.
This wasn't how he anticipated spending the next morning. What he had once imagined involved Audrey. Instead, he sat across from Professor, hands clasped on the table between them, in Monk's Café. Monk's Café. Castiel wondered if Professor chose the place specifically for his announcement. After a long few minutes following Castiel's order for him to stop bowing down to him as though he were a deity himself, Professor spoke.
"I've decided to become a monk."
Castiel stared at him for a few moments. "No."
In defense, he recoiled. "Uh, wh–what do you mean, no?"
"You're not doing that."
"Since when do angels dictate my decisions?" he retorted, but flinched immediately, believing his words to sound too cold and attempted to tame it with with a quivering, hangdog smile.
"I must take responsibility for my mistake," he stated firmly.
"B–but, no, y–you helped me believe!" he contended, wildly shaking his head.
The force of Castiel's gaze fell flat. "My appearance didn't so much assist you in accepting the Lord as true, so much as I had driven the reality right onto you. Belief is not synonymous with knowledge."
Professor hummed a dubious sound, agreeing with some resistance. "Still… this can't be that bad," he insisted, attending only vaguely to the yet-to-be-touched bowl of tomato soup before him.
Irony washed over the angel's features. "A moment ago, you announced to me that you have decided to become a monk."
"That's not bad…" he mumbled demurely.
"Not by definition," he pointed out sharply, "but it's simply not meant to happen. Fates have been determined by a higher power; angels exist to ensure they're achieved without outside interferences."
Curiosity flickered in his eyes, obviously intrigued but unsure if he wanted the answer. "Wh–what do you mean, outside interferences? Like, l–like monsters and stuff?"
"If you wish to see it that way," he murmured, sweeping a gaze indiscriminately across the diner. His attention was snared back when Professor's fist slammed down on the table.
"Stop being so doggone cryptic!" he whined manically.
"Pardon me," Castiel replied sardonically, his tone raising testily, "but I believe I've disclosed more than enough for your wisdom."
Already, Professor's hands were waving in their air dismissively. "You're right, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I–I'm beside myself here, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Pause. "But I'm still becoming a monk."
"Why?"
"I owe God this —"
As though expecting this, Castiel quickly cut in. "Absolutely not. If anything, I owe God, for my lack of foresight."
"But you helped me see the, the light!" he maintained, gesturing the ceiling lights as though it would help any.
"No," wry amusement touched his eyes, "I accidentally revealed it to you."
Professor waved a hand, brushing that matter away. "Look, I brought you here to, uh, ask f–for a favor. I don't know much about how religious communities work, but, ah…" he dragged the spoon around in the soup, hesitating, before dropping it and committing to his objective, hands clasped, "do you think you could get me enrolled to your seminary?"
There was ten seconds of silence as Castiel stared at him. At five seconds, Professor demurred under his regard.
"You still believe I'm a professor at the Union Theological Seminary?"
This gave Professor reason to demure further. "Aren't you? I thought you were moonlighting there, undercover angel sort of thing," he mumbled, feeling very stupid, "It's why you're in New York, right?"
There was a brief pause as the true reason did not even come to mind. At least, an answer that related to his mission on earth.
"No, none of that is true."
"Th–then why are you here?" Studying him for a moment, he gasped, leaning in discreetly. "Are there… are there monsters in Manhattan?"
"They are everywhere," he answered simply.
Horrified eyes gaped at him for thirty solid seconds before Professor tore from his seat, threw some money on the table and tremulously gathered his suede coat.
"That's it – ohhhh, that's it, I have to be closer to God, right now!"
Castiel eyed him critically, watching him tug on his coat. "Where are you going?"
"Church!" Professor looked up and did a double-take of Castiel, a thought taking hold of him. "And you – since you can't do me the favor of enrolling me – I have another request."
He bristled, narrowing his eyes into a scowl. "I don't owe you anything."
"You owe God something, and since I'm one of his sons, I expect some courtesy from his operatives!" Professor argued snottily. Catching his tone, he shook his head in an effort to clear it. "Oh Christ, I mean, oh Jesus, I mean, oh God, I mean – ugh! Just sorry, sorry – I'm really, really stressed right now. I–I'm having an existential crisis, that's what's happening here…"
Watching him bury his head into his hands and groan, Castiel's scowl moderated. After all, he did cause this. He sighed. "What's the request?"
With a sniff, Professor straightened his spine. "Mind my class."
"What?"
"I–it's just for today, and it's only one class," he reassured, pulling out a crumbled timetable, "Two half hour periods at twelve, both are spent in exam prep."
Castiel took one look at the paper laid out before him. "I'm not doing that."
"It's okay, don't worry, I–I–I'll sneak you in and then I'll pop out —"
"Professor —"
"Castiel," he interrupted emphatically, his gaze pleading, "please, please do this for me." His voice became very fragile and very soft. "I… I just feel the need to be in a church right now. I didn't go last night because I was still reeling. I couldn't function. I'd lost the capability to do anything other than curl into the fetal position and hyperventilate into the Styrofoam cup I threatened you with. But now, I just need to be there, in a church. Just to be there." His pained expression eased at the comforting thought, and it was then that Castiel knew he couldn't deny him of that.
"And it's not like you won't know anyone!" he went on, more animatedly, "Audrey's in my class!"
The mention of her completely took him by surprise. "What?"
"Yeah, sometime after our debate, w–we had a coffee and she agreed to audit my class for the semester. Maybe a whole year if she likes it. Said she wants to expand her mind and… what's wrong?"
Castiel's expression had grown progressively affronted as he had spoken.
"But she told me…" He couldn't bring himself to verbally recall it. So much for only having brains for him! She was being intellectually unfaithful to him! Intellectually promiscuous, that's what she was!
Professor watched him, and when he was unable to follow his line of thinking, he shook his head. "So, uh, wh–what do you say, huh? Keen to play teacher to her student for one hour?"
Castiel refocused on him, eyes alight with new ambition, and nodded.
Sorry for the lateness. Having a personal crisis. While in Sydney, I discovered that the prestigious film school directly linked to and is on the same lot as Fox Studios (where they shot Moulin Rouge!, Star Wars, The Matrix, Mission Impossible, Superman Returns, fffffuuuuu) only recently started accepting people my age. So now I have to settle for less. I shouldn't compare the schools superficially, but my god, the facilities, the theater, the green/blue screen studios … I was eating my heart out. And it's thirty-two thousand dollars cheaper. It's too late to apply, and I suppose I can drop out of my school next year and apply for it, but I was never the type of person to "drop out" of things. Especially after proudly telling everyone about my film school. Le sigh. Such is life.
But here's the good news: my best friend got into her acting school and we scored an apartment near Sydney harbor! At least temporarily. But still!
Anyway. Read and review :)