suggested listening; geronimo - phantom planet / the hangman - d.r.u.g.s / give a little more - maroon 5 / teeth - lady gaga


They have a strange connection, for lack of a better word. Neither acknowledges it, but it's there.

They always seem to know where the other will be, at any given time.

So when Castiel always manages to find his was to her latest shitty motel room, Meg is less surprised than she really should be, but she doesn't show it at all.

She smirks at him, derisive. "Just can't stay away, can ya, feathers?"

His silence is answer enough.

She spots the knife, glinting menacingly at her from his belt, and her eyes narrow. "You want to be careful with pointy objects, Clarence. I hear they can kill a person. Even someone like me." She grins at him, and it's laced with venom.

He glares back, and his hand goes towards the blade. Meg stiffens, wary, but he simply throws it onto the bed, watching as it bounces a few times before coming to rest near the pillows. "It was just a precaution."

Meg snorts. "We've been hooking up for weeks now, and you still don't trust me? Damn, what have those naughty Winchesters being saying about me?"

In three strides he's across the room and has her pinned to the wall by her throat.

"Don't you ever talk about them to me. Scum."

She squirms in mock discomfort. "Oh right, I forgot, you're in love with old Dean-o. Sorry, babycakes." His grip tightens, but then he jerks her forward and he's kissing her, fucking finally, she thinks, as his lips form bruises wherever they land, his tongue sliding harshly over her own.

She grips his trenchcoat, and in two second flat it's discarded on the floor, which for Meg is the best part of foreplay, because without it he seemed a little less God's soldier and a little more attractive guy she just really wants to fuck.

Castiel bids a welcome goodbye to his shirt, and Meg her jeans, their hips pressing together frustratingly, because it's just not enough any more.

"Y'know, someone once told me," Meg breathes hot against his collarbone, "that hate sex is the best kind of sex."

He reaches down and hooks one of her legs up around his waist, just a little bit too forceful. Rocking forwards, she bites into his shoulder, preventing herself from crying out. Using the new angle as an advantage, Castiel threads his fingers through her hair, yanking her head back against the wall, and before Meg can grind out a profanity, he slams their lips together, her words falling away against his tongue.

Castiel murmurs something she doesn't quite make out and suddenly they're on the bed on the opposite side of the room, all clothing abandoned, and Meg is briefly disappointed, because she relishes the cold hard pressure of wall on flesh, and the bruises it would no doubt leave behind. She is dimly aware of something, the knife, falling and landing with a thud behind her, but without warning Castiel thrusts into her, being none too gentle about it, and everything else is gone.

All she can feel and think and see is his mouth and hands and his body on her and in her and moving above her, and his warm breathe tickling her neck, and his voice rasping her name, and it's sending her over the edge and leaving her a trembling, swearing wreckage.

As much as she hates to admit it, hates him, he's the only one who can make her loose control like that, and she'll be damned (well, maybe a bit too late for that) if she was about to give him up without a fight.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, her vision hazy, and inhales his scent, like rain and old cars and a faint trace of blood. Of demon blood.

And then she remembers what she is and what he is (an angel of the Lord! Fallen, forsaken, fucking broken, but still an angel all the same), and she laughs and laughs and Castiel tells her to shut up but she won't. In an instant he's dressed and standing above her, his eyes impassive but there's something in there, she's just too scared of what she'll find.

She gets up, and leans into him. "Well played, Clarence. Until next time, then." Her smile is lethally sweet. "Unless you're up for round two..." For once, she's being half-serious.

But he disappears like she knows he would, leaving her to sink to the floor, quivering, naked, a little sore and the hint of a smirk still playing on her lips.

She is so fucked.


"Cas! There you are! Dean's been trying to call you all night, where have you-"

He cuts off the younger Winchester with a raised hand and a carefully composed expression.

"I don't really want to think about it."



YAY I WROTE SOMETHING I ACTUALLY PROMISED I WOULD *cheers* Aren't you proud of me? You should be.
welp my first M rated fic lol go me
I tried my best okay ;_;
oh and you should totally listen to the suggested songs, they're great and very Megstiel-y~ (and yes i do have a playlist for them... 20-something songs and counting... op)

Feedback, as always, appreciated!