Title: Corruptive Potential
Summary: Meg contemplates Castiel as he stands in the Holy Fire.
Disclaimer: Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke. No disrespect is intended.
Lookie, lookie. Prissy pants angel caught in a trap. Poor baby.
Meg ran her gaze up and down him, smiling, taking note of the way his clothes rested along his limbs. For a cloud-hopper, he was easy on the eyes. Pretty in that meat suit. Meg thought she could get into corrupting him if he'd relax and let her. After all, he was already fallen. Wasn't that much of a stretch to take it further, was it? He should just give in to that inevitability. This point he was at wasn't the lowest he was going to go.
Mmm-mmm. Just look at those eyes. She'd take him on given the chance; take one for the team. She'd never had an angel before. Maybe it was high time she sampled one -- this one in particular.
He claimed he wouldn't change sides, that his allegiance was with the Winchester boys. How soon until that resolve crumbled under the events her Father had planned?
Meg decided she wanted a piece of this angel when that happened, just chomp-chomp a bite out of his ass. She bet he had a nice one under those clothes. Maybe she'd take the stick out of it while she was there, show him just what he was missing.
Turning, she strolled back the other way, smiling a bit wider.
He spoke, a simple comment on how she seemed pleased. Why shouldn't she be pleased? Everything was coming together. Of course he tried to anger her, mentioning that idiot Crowley. So what if the ploy worked? She despised Crowley and everything he thought he was.
She was hit in the back then, shoved by the force of that blow into the circle of fire with him, embraced, his body against hers. His grip on her arm hurt and, for a second, with his palm on her forehead, Meg feared him. Prissy pants angel maybe, but he still had powers.
Or did he?
His frustration in the inability to forcefully remove her flickered in his eyes. Relief surged through her and she laughed. He couldn't get it up and hadn't known it until then. What else could a girl do but tease him about it?
"I can do this," he told her in that gruff voice.
His glance fell to her mouth. In those eyes of his that she'd admired was the evidence that he'd made a decision. She thought he was going to kiss her, to give in to the tempting pull of corruption, and arched her body against him so that his arm supported her weight. A small movement to indicate her willingness as she turned her head a fraction. Meg was slightly off-balance, but so what? Small price to pay for pulling him off that cloud a bit further. She'd rip him down and take --
She fell onto the fire, pain searing her body from those flames, made worse when he stepped on her to cross that boundary. Son of a bitch! He'd played her!
Meg screamed and vowed that when she did take a piece out of him, he'd scream every bit as loud as he'd made her scream. Scream for scream, hurt for hurt, an eye for an eye. And when that happened, she'd smile and keep going until there was nothing left of him.