Why Audrey gave him that book to read was beyond him. It had nothing to do with them, or romance in general; nothing but a fundamental theme of family and childhood which, while lovely, was irrelevant. Though, perhaps he had been wrong to presume that it was meant to fall into relevance with their situation in the first place.

It was raining when he appeared along Fifth Avenue, and although the city lights glanced off the glistening roads gorgeously, his attention magnetized straight to the flash of red hair ahead of him, shrouded by her bumblebee umbrella. As he made his way toward her, he took the chance to give her a good look. He hoped it didn't class as objectification, but he couldn't help but feel possessive of her. The degree of exclusivity he desired to have with her was almost oppressive. This was what happened when an angel finds its first possession.

Two other umbrellas haunting either side of her rotated around, and the individuals beneath them jumped at the sight of him.

"Jesus Christ," wheezed Jody, steadying her heaving chest with a hand. It occurred to him that her use of the name contradicted her Jewish convictions.

"Does this mean you've accepted him as your messiah?" he inquired, dead serious to the point of comedy.

No doubt Jody must have been feeling bitter about being off target with her beliefs, and to be reminded made her scowl. Nicky pushed for his attention by stepping forward, a nervous smile in place.

"Hi! I've been meaning to ask you this for a while now," he opened sheepishly, "Does God really, you know, hate fags?" When the angel's eyes stirred confusedly, he clarified, "Homosexuals."

Castiel shook his head. "No."

Nicky's knees bucked from a mighty wave of relief. "Oh, thank God! Literally, thank God!" Racing over to the nearest tree that bedecked the walkways just outside the Tiffany's store they were all loitering by, he swung off of it like a rag doll and held out his umbrella, à la Gene Kelly in Singin' in the Rain. "Hear that, world? I'M GAY AND GOD LOVES ME!"

"A little louder, Nicky, I don't think they heard you over in Tijuana." That came from Audrey, who had been calmly watching the exchange without any inclination to intervene, and finally his eyes met hers. Jody, witnessing the look, stalked over to Nicky without delay and pried him from the tree, blew a whistle through her fingers and hailed a cab.

"Oh, would you look at the time!" she wailed, practically booting Nicky into the vehicle, "Sorry we gotta scoot so soon, darlings; I have a, ah, cake… party to attend to tomorrow morning, and Nicky has, er, is having an anal Pap smear done."

"JODY!" he shrieked, aghast, shooting her a look as though she had vomited all over his Louboutins.

"It was the first thing I thought of," she excused through a forced grin, but then it vanished altogether when she very soberly added, "Seriously honey, you should go get one anyway."

Audrey gave them a halfhearted wave as the cab pushed from the curb. When it disappeared around a corner, she turned and studied the angel for a few seconds before she rolled her eyes.

"Well don't just stand there in the rain, get over here," she muttered, her tone one of tired exasperation, motioning him over with a toss of her hand. Once he joined her under the umbrella (the red heels she wore today brought her at a practicable height), he withdrew the book from his trench coat.

"I finished the book," he informed, watching her eyes for a reaction. Only an eyebrow lifted at him.

"It took you a week and a half to finish a children's book?"

"As a matter of fact, I completed it in under sixty seconds," he stated, a slight air of superciliousness, "but I was then summoned for my assistance by Dean Winchester." The book was not granted another glance as he held it up to indicate. "What was the point of this?"

She tried to measure up to his intent stare with her own, but it was like staring into the sun. Her face of aloofness wavered then, seemingly a mask the entire time.

"To be perfectly honest with you, Cas," she sighed, with a smile so dejected it only feebly resembled one as she took the book from him, "there wasn't any point in you reading it other than it giving you a reason to come see me again without me having to ask for you directly." The drooped corner of the feeble smile lifted, rendering it more sincere. "It's my evasive way of being proactive."

Of all the things he could have remarked with, he chose, "It's impossible to be evasively proactive."

"Quit being a literal angel for two seconds and listen to me." She tucked away the book in her purse. Then, with one blink, her wry expression became solemn. "I don't care anymore," she darkened the words tellingly, "I'm resigned to the reality about God and the universe, and since you're such an independent case, I know I can't hold the same standards I have with people, as in humans, to you."

He bobbed his head slowly in a way that intimated an "Oh" of comprehension. As though it had been voiced, her eyes, always so expressive, flared with persistence.

"No no. Listen. I don't care anymore. This is major. Me. Audrey. If they made a Lion King 4 it would be called Audrey's Pride. And it would be epic."

Something in her tone signaled to him the long-awaited return of her good humor, and reasoning it had given him the clearance to do so, he leaned in to kiss her. Unfortunately, he had gauged it all wrong and she reeled her head away from him, raising a taming finger to his lips and applying enough pressure in that one finger to urge him away.

"In spite of that," she pressed on sharply, "bygones aside, I look at this," one of her fingers gripped around the curved handle of the umbrella pointed between them, "and it doesn't seem right. It seems wrong, and not in a funny way, like people who sneeze with their eyes open. Or Obama dancing on Ellen. It's more like…" her eyes swept the ground for the words, then rose back to him, widening with wonder, "… like I'm Madonna and you're that statue from the Like a Prayer music video."

The familiar tide of bemusement took his features, only to be wrenched back a second later and replaced by expectancy when she stepped forward to confront him full on. Her expression was admirably strong, as she steeled herself from showing any signs of vulnerability with her coming words.

"Yes, congratulations, I harbor romantic feelings for you, and while it seems wrong," her eyes fluttered closed, a part of her supposedly caving in as she listed into him helplessly, "it feels really nice."

Only a moment passed before her eyes reopened again, allowing a shadow of vulnerability to wash over them. "I look at you, and before it hits me, every time, that you're an angel in a human's body, I see everything I want in a guy. Poise, intelligence, dignity, good looks, decent fashion sense, an open mind, great hair, a big —"

"Audrey," he wisely cut her off, thrilled on some level to see that she was still as unapologetically forward as ever, "it may have its questionable factors," his eyes burned into hers, urgently emphatic, "but you are indeed looking at me."

This assertion was met with obvious hesitancy. It may be that, with enough draw, her reasoning could be swayed into his favor. Closing a hand around hers on the umbrella handle, he used it as leverage to gently tow her closer to him. It initially wasn't a good sign that her eyes were still open when he kissed her, but after a few discouraging seconds, they did, and her mouth opened to his.

It encouraged him a little too much. His free hand swooped to help itself to the small of her back and crush her to him as he took it upon himself to deepen the kiss. Her resistance was instantaneous, and she pulled her head back. By the look in her eyes, only her conscience was denying her, while her desire begged to be rampantly acted upon.

"Don't do that," he urged gently, dipping his head to meet her lips once more, "Don't hold back."

His lips stole hers before she could speak. All her resistance melted to oblivion and she succumbed to his persistence, her own free hand reaching up to cup his nape. The hand at the small of her back roamed up to splay across her shoulder blades as he sought the exquisite fullness of her mouth. So soft and so wet. It grew to become the type of kiss that should not be shared in such a public place.

Still, it would have made a rather romantic image if it wasn't for the ridiculousness that was her bumblebee umbrella sheltering them both.

Clarity, dreaded clarity, hit her the moment he stayed the kiss to worship her neck. She squeaked like a frightened mouse, shooing him away frenziedly.

"Okay, that's enough! You gotta let me ease into this," she panted, eying him precariously. Something tugged at his notice. He tilted his head in amusement. She blinked irritably. "Is something funny?"

He was smiling, darkly amused. "You're me."

"'scuse me?"

"When I first encountered these types of situations with you, I approached it with the same vacillation. Our roles have reversed."

For a few moments, she scrutinized him. There was no indication if what was passing through her mind was at all related to what he had just said.

"Why did you hang around with me anyway?" she asked, her new demeanor suggesting she was disappointed he had done so, edging towards bitter.

"For the very same reason I came here to New York: curiosity." As he answered, his gaze strayed to the Tiffany's window they were standing by. He found inspiration beyond the glass. "Every diamond is unique, even though they may appear the same to the naked eye. Familiarize yourself with one, however, and you come to discover its singularities."

Eyes flicking back to her and spotting her clueless stare, he clarified. "The only humans I would communicate with before I met you were Sam and Dean Winchester. Being in their presence for four years led me to believe that I knew everything there was to know about a human." The sternness retreated from his tone, a warm resonance succeeding it. "And then, dressed outrageously, with hair of a color wholly inconceivable through natural development, and had the audacity to argue against everything I knew and stood for, was you."

"To be fair," she delicately interposed, "when I argued, I didn't think it had that much importance to you."

"Selfishly," he solemnly went on, "I chose to leave you in your ignorance, in preference to me overlooking you and your idiosyncrasies and remaining in my own ignorance. In time, one feeling led to another." His mouth twitched thoughtfully, passing his tongue over his back teeth. "I believe curiosity is a form of lust, after all." His gaze, which had wandered afar with that line of thinking, snapped back to her with an inquiry found. "Is your drawback one of intimacy?"

Her lips puckered like those of a patronized little girl. "You of all people should know that I know all about intimacy, back to front. Preferably front." Suddenly retiring, she blinked petulantly. "I just don't know how to do all that, now, with you, with the way things are."

His eyes contemplated her, a glint of a challenge in them. "I failed to recognize any resistance from you the last time I saw you."

She pressed her lips firmly together in an effort to subdue the smile that threatened to sabotage her stony exterior. "A kiss is a kiss. Sex is complicated. Especially when one party's body is free to lose any hunk of their flesh and grow it back like a starfish."

Prurience got the better of him. "Perhaps that's a good thing."

As her jaw dropped, her eyes seared him with fierce disapproval, though there remained a whisper of amusement in her voice. "Oh, an angel should not be making jokes like that." The searing look dimmed. Whatever embellished his own eyes remained. When she spoke again, she renewed her somber tone. "If only I could harness such a peculiarity and manipulate it into something rewarding."

He tilted his head inquisitively. "Are you referring to what you humans call a fetish?"

"Yeah. NO!" she abruptly shrieked, eyes wide in horror, "Forget that! Wipe that from your mind —"

Unthinkingly, a suggestive note snuck its way into his tone. "I could assist with that proposition."

The implication made her burn up as she gaped at him. Only a squeak emerged before she spoke. "Castiel, no, that's just sick!"

He gave her the driest look he could conceive of, one that seemed to furtively say "Well, all things considering…", which she read well.

"I'm not sick!" she shot back, overtly indignant, "Cas, this isn't comparative to things like…" Her mouth worked guardedly as she cast a self-conscious glance around, her voice retiring, "Well I don't wanna state the terms in public!" she hissed fiercely.

"How modest you are, all of a sudden," he observed, unable to resist a slightly patronizing lilt.

A pointed finger flicked out to him in umbrage. "Hey! Just because I am a sexually liberated woman in the modern age doesn't mean I'm open for absolutely anything! It doesn't matter that you're one of God's messengers and it may seem delightfully forbidden and morbidly exciting, and it doesn't matter that you're a warrior of Heaven…" the note of certitude in her voice began to shrink, as it did in the expression on her face, "with supernatural powers… and strength and… authority and, stuff, and, and…"

The rhythm of her words began to dwindle like the weak ending of a song performed by a very unrehearsed orchestra, which he could only witness with a strange sort of delight.

"… and, it doesn't matter that you're an angel of the Lord, the purest being possible…" her eyes departed focus as she became more and more unraveled, both to him and herself, "yet only desire to make a bed creak for one human in all of creation… and it's me … th–that, that does nothing for me…"

The telltale blush on her face told him otherwise. Trust her desire for him to betray her in the end. When he locked eyes with her and smirked just a little, in a roguish way that could only have been an influence of Gabriel's, it made her swell with umbrage. She appeared intent on verbally tearing him a new asshole again, but after glancing at their surroundings and finding more people lingering about than before, she simply wrenched an expression over features that was one of extremely forced calm.

"Take me home, Cas," she huffed, tapping her foot.

That snapped him out of it. "Through my methods?"

"I need to say something to you that you wouldn't want being vocalized in the presence of other people," she told him cuttingly, her subtle glare unwavering.

"Are you planning to launch a fruit bowl at me like you did Professor?"

"I did not throw a fruit bowl at him!" she sniped hotly, but then quieted. "It was a gravy boat."

Sighing to himself, he obeyed to her request (demand, really). However, peering around, there was absolutely nowhere they could just "dematerialize" and not be noticed. They would always be well within sight, or at least a part of someone's peripheral vision which, if they vanished, would attract their notice. Then, an idea materialized itself.

A hand pressed against the small of her back, guiding her with him as he stepped up to the curb. Imitating what Jody had done earlier, he blew a whistle through his fingers, startling Audrey, to hail a cab.

Could he be any more localized?

Not before pulling her umbrella closed, she piled into the vehicle with him, and before the driver could request their desired destination, Castiel reached over and pressed his fingers to the man's head. Both watched as the man passed out and slumped down in his seat; Castiel's expression being one of nonchalance while Audrey's was of amusement.

"That was sooo –" When he looked at her expectantly, her gleeful grin vanished. "– not impressive, at all."

Without further ado, he reached forward to touch her brow, and then they were gone.

"Wow," she uttered, gaping at her home as though it were the act of instant transit itself, "It's like from the movie Jumper."

As she swept a gaze around her living room, it came to stop on him. Hastily, she added, "Which isn't cool or anything. It's just, like, nothing." He blinked at her, not of a mood or a mind to look smug or impatient or anything. A tongue-lashing was to come and he was waiting for it. When the gleam of menace rekindled in her eyes, it seemed she had hoarded a wealth of words for this moment.

"As – I – was – saying," she shelled out in short, sinister fragments, and by the way she was prowling over to him, he braced himself for an impressive rapid fire of words.

But he should have known that a prowl was usually followed by a pounce when she lunged forward for him instead. His arms became inundated with her and he fell back on her sofa, the air knocked right out of him like a football to the gut. He was taken further by surprise when she kissed him hungrily.

She hadn't jumped on him like that since one of their arguments (see: conversations) exploded from a powder keg of sexual frustration, which, ultimately, resulted in that graze on her inner thigh he had later healed. It was so unexpected, but certainly not worth ruining for questions.

Her bandleader jacket was fought off, as was his trench coat. Somehow, it was achieved without parting their lips, which continued to devour each other. Dare he touch those legs of hers he fancied so much but could only appreciate from a distance of late? He did. His hands stroked up the back of her straddling legs to slip beneath the lace trim of her skirt, groping her there greedily. It was just as satisfying as a kiss, and by the sound she made, she opined the same. There, he held her as a base to maneuver her over to lie under him.

The instant she was on her back, she took his head between both hands and detached his lips from hers, suddenly very staid, as though she was without a man on top of her and between her legs.

"Tell me you're an angel of God."

So, she was making an effort to regard their hitch as a thing of benefit? In that case, he would have to up the ante if he aspired to bend that effort into his will.

Attention was commanded from her lips again, a diversionary move to collaborate with his hand sidling south to reach between her legs; his other propping himself over her. A man sturdily looming over a woman literally in the palm of his hand. It was the very image of dominance. Likewise, when his fingers curled in a way he knew she favored, she arched into his possession, mouth opening without the power of speech, thus portraying the coordinating image of submission.

"I'm an angel of God," he whispered hoarsely against her neck, burningly close to her ear. She panted out a breathless "Oh my God" as she writhed against his hand.

He lifted his head to look at her face, and by all appearances, she was responding to all this the way he hoped she would, receiving further confirmation when her body tightened ravenously for him. All trace of reservation in her eyes (and, he imagined, all reservation at all) had been displaced by a heat that seemed to roar with seething desire. It spread throughout her body in a fitful energy. Her legs on either side of his meddling hand opened and flexed needily for him.

"I'm going to Hell, Cas," she breathed deliriously, watching keenly as he descended forward to her. A soft breath caressed her lips as he smiled against them, but did not kiss.

"I intend to make sure you don't," he murmured against her mouth, before drawing away from her entirely and sliding off her underwear in one slick movement. Her legs that had been encompassing his form sat open and expectant to him. No further invitation was needed. His teeth gnawed against her knee, just above her high socks, not leaving her skin as they skated up and inward. "I have the authority to do that, because I'm an angel of God, the purest being…"

"No, you're not," she joked breathlessly, staring at the ceiling above her as she felt her legs be moved to hook over his shoulders.

"Yes, I am," was the last thing she heard before he gave her a reason to thrash her hands out to cling onto the sofa's upholstery and cry out. Gasping, she tried to sit up. He pushed her back down.

The ragged cries she made were barely contained as she writhed and clawed at everything around her, as though she thought she would somehow scrape some clarity within the profusion of pleasure he was giving her. He remained as calm as he was merciless in his task.

Eventually, her cries sputtered into a wicked laugh, as she defiantly taunted out another, "No, you're not."

"… yes, I am."

"Stop answering me," she growled desirously, before tearing out an outright howl when his tongue dipped harder into her, punishingly. She let out a sob of need when he slithered up her body to meet her face to face. He kissed her exhaustively, silencing her, drawing her tongue to dance with his. There was an eroticism to that kiss, in light of where his tongue had been.

Her bare lower body rubbed against his own, still clothed; seeking him, calling for him. His eyes opened with sudden determination, a violent flash of want. He couldn't wait any longer. As his hand still flirted with her between her legs and felt it tender from his attentions, he knew she couldn't either.

All at once, both his palms curved over her hipbones. Flipped her over. A hungry growl escaped her. There was an odd thrill promised to him in this, for the key reason that she dominated him with her lordly disposition every day, but he dominated her in intimacy.

Knowing what he was suggesting with the motion in an instant, she reared into him wantonly. He pushed up her skirt.

They didn't bother with the bedroom. When it came to intimacy, Castiel held no standards for it and Audrey was never one for conventionality. It was a match made in … whatever place that encouraged an angel of God to take a human girl from behind on lounge furniture. Now there's a sentence surely approved by the prophet Chuck.

Both were inherently frustrated. Castiel loathed how much he loved her while Audrey didn't want to want him in that same way. It added a touch of … aggression, which made for a quick, auditorily pleasing transition from a moan to a carrying, out of control cry from Audrey. When a growl crept into her cries, he had known that she was close. It had risen in pitch, definitely approaching, higher now, almost there, ungh…

Similarly, things had poured out of his mouth like water from a dam in tones of darkness, and in such a state of desire, he hadn't the wherewithal to analyze them before they fell, nor could he register the sheer unusualness of such things he was saying at the time.

While wallowing in the wake of such impassioned acts, he could not recall anything he had said, at least not in fidelity. The word "sinner" had been thrown in there somewhere, as well as "ravished", "take", "understand", "mine" and a particularly disgraceful word, both in its noun and verb context. In (vague) retrospect, he was glad he couldn't remember.

The satisfying memory of having her was more than enough. How could something so exclusively human feel so transcendent, every time?

In the stillness of the night, she lazed on her stomach, quietly luxuriating in the way the skin on her back burned and chilled as his lips skimmed across it. He brushed her hair back to expose her neck to him, and breathed in her warmth, smelling him on her. His head followed her movements when she slightly turned her own to him over her shoulder; eyes not on him, however.

When she said nothing, he began to grow anxious. "Does this feel wrong to you?"

Her eyes calmly went to him. "No." He arched away from her in anticipation. "Remember what I said before, that I didn't care anymore? Do you know why I don't care anymore?" His eyes stirred questioningly. "They say," she started, working past the lump in her throat, "to love someone means to see him as God intended him."

Oh.

A feeling flooded him, a beautiful marriage of relief, gratification and a swelling affection, evidenced only by the way his eyes began to glow softly. It heightened to infinity when the same warmth gleamed in her eyes, that for so long had only regarded him with a smarting coldness. The sentiment floated between them, unspoken but understood in their eyes. It was still there even when those eyes closed, enclosing the space between them until their lips met.

They were going to be fine.

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Predictably, it's Audrey who ruined the mood, when she bit his lip and reared into him once more in invitation.

"Up for round two?"

I'm sooooo sorry that I've had to rush this story. Literally, the day I post the final chapter will be the day I leave for Sydney and I leave everything behind (the 7th). Final chapter, comin' right up.

Read and review (for the love of God, please review!) :D