Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Supernatural. Buffy belongs to Whedon, and Supernatural and related characters belong to Kripke. No money made.
A/N: So sometimes I participate in this art group on Deviantart that is a Buffy xover group. So I made a bunch of manips for their weekly—which is now moving back to monthly—couple challenge. This fic is based on one of the favorites of mine that I did. To see the art, check out my LJ post at patriciatepes dot livejournal dot com (remove spaces, substitute in actual periods). Setting is post S7 for Buffy and somewhere within S6 of SPN. And be warned, there is sexual content within. Please enjoy!
Den of Iniquity
This wasn't the first time they had met. She had died many times, and Castiel had visited her often in Heaven. Then, when he was banished from his home, he had taken to hiding out in her world—one very similar to that of the Winchester's home, but with some key differences. Her existence, for example, being one.
She was a vampire slayer, with the odd name of Buffy. And Castiel had often questioned her kind's existence. The humans of her world, eons ago, had made the slayers to combat the evils that the hunters of the world he frequented did. But things were different in Buffy's world. Demons weren't always confined to the smoky essence they were in the Winchester's world, sometimes they were made solid here.
But the slayers were created from such smoky abominations. Yes, by the time of Buffy's existence, they were much removed from the demon those foolish human men had harvested and shoved into that first, innocent, woman's body, but they were warriors of good created from evil. And this fascinated him. So he began to watch her, as she battled vampires in the graveyards of the town of Sunnydale. And when she destroyed Sunnydale—funnily enough, to save the people of it—he followed her adventures to guiding the slayers she had created—many, instead of one. She had broken the rules, just as he had.
Now, it was nightfall. She had wandered away from the Scottish castle she had made her new army of slayers' headquarters. Castiel figured it was a sort of meditation she needed, in the only form she knew how: fighting. She had found a nest of vampires, and she had set herself to the task of eradicating it. Castiel had followed her, weary of his own thoughts. Somehow, watching her battle—her long, blonde locks tied tightly to the back of her head, her green eyes flashing at every staking, her movements strong yet graceful—always put him at ease. He had been watching her for years. Dean had recently introduced him to the concept of guilty pleasures, like a television show that one should be ashamed of but was honestly interested in. For Castiel, he supposed, this, watching her, was his guilty pleasure.
Buffy swung herself about, staking the last vampire in the nest as he leapt at her in vain. He exploded in a cloud of dust, leaving nothing behind but a slayer, huffing and puffing, a thin sheen of sweat on her brow. A single lock of her hair had fallen forward, covering one eye. She surveyed her surroundings, doing what, Castiel didn't know. She had turned almost completely around, her back to him, as her breath began to regain its steadiness.
"I know you're here," she said.
Castiel's eyes—the blue ones afforded to him by his vessel, Jimmy Novak—widened. Buffy chuckled.
"I know, right? I don't know what you are, or how I know that you exist. But you do, and you're here now. You've been following me for quite some time now. Since the first time I died, I think."
This revelation left Castiel floundering. He did the only thing he could think of. He revealed his presence to her.
Buffy whirled, one brow arched. She seemed to take him in, all of him.
"Didn't figure I was being followed by a tax accountant," she quipped. Suddenly serious, she added, "What are you?"
Castiel sighed, averting his eyes. When he met hers again, he said, "I am an angel of the Lord."
Buffy shook her head. "Another angel in my life? Great. But, really, how do I know you just aren't some kind of demon or something?"
A clap of thunder sounded, and he revealed his wings as best as he could on this plane of existence. Their large, shadowy forms cast themselves upon the walls as he felt them spread—it had been too long. Buffy's eyes were wide as she took them in. When they vanished, she nodded.
"Great. So, am I right? Have you been following me for that long?"
Castiel nodded. "I'm not sure how you knew of my presence. Humans cannot sense me when I don't wish it."
Buffy sighed, and her lips formed a quick frown before she grinned. "You've been watching me long enough to know that I'm not your average gal."
Buffy pocketed her stake, crossing her arms low about her chest. "So, what? Are you my guardian angel?"
Castiel looked away from her again. When he spoke again, he did not meet her eyes.
"If that is true, than you drew the poorest example from the lot."
When he looked back up, she was smiling. "Sounds like my luck."
It wasn't until their next meeting that he gave her his name. He gave it in full, Castiel, and she automatically shortened it to "Cas." He had left her rather suddenly that night, and when he reappeared to her—at another solo hunt—she held him accountable. And he told her about the other world, the one that had faced the apocalypse and beat it. The one where there was not slayers, only hunters. He told her of Sam, and of Dean, and of how he felt he had failed them. But why he felt that way, he didn't say.
He knew what Sam and Dean would do if they ever learned of his dealings with Crowley, the self-imposed King of Hell. He worried that she would do the same, should she be given all the facts. She did not press him for the facts, and he would be eternally grateful for that. This time, before he departed, he asked for permission to come back, to speak with her. She granted it without fault.
On their third meeting, they were inside the Scottish castle, and Buffy was not very happy. She told him about her troubles, about the problems that came with being the leader of an army of slayers. That some of her soldiers, they didn't want to listen to the rules, thought that they were above them. She feared that some of them would turn rogue on her, and it would only be her fault.
"Faith wasn't your fault, and she saw the light once again," Castiel had replied.
Buffy shook her head. "It's a little weird, when you do that. When you pull out these moments from my life that I forget you know."
She went quiet after that, and Castiel feared that he had angered her. He never considered himself very good at cheering people up, angel or otherwise, but he gave his best attempt. He told her the story of Dean taking him to the den of iniquity, the modern brothel, once he had learned that Castiel had never had occasion to copulate. Buffy had laughed so hard that she bent double, actually slapping one of her knees. When she caught her breath, she wiped a happy tear from her eye.
"Wait, wait. Are you saying that you're still… you know… a virgin?" she asked.
Castiel felt quite uncomfortable at that question, and he suddenly found himself wishing he had not told her that story. He could not understand why it meant so much to Buffy, and to Dean, that he was still inexperienced in that area. Buffy was a tad kinder about the obvious truth of Castiel's silence than Dean had been. She stood on tiptoe, planting a sweet kiss on his cheek.
"There. Your first kiss," she said.
"Not quite," he admitted.
She looked at him questioningly, but he made his excuses and left.
She was crying the next time he visited. She was alone in her room, face down on her pillow, and sobbing. He took a seat beside her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. She turned to him, scooting up to sit at the head of her bed.
"Innocents," she finally managed in between breaths. "The slayers I told you about… they killed innocent people. And it's my fault."
His brow furrowed. He did not know how he knew to comfort, but he leaned forward, placing both hands on her arms, holding to her tight.
"It's not your fault. They made their choices. You could not have stopped them if you had wished. We… all make our choices."
She shook her head. "Easy for you to say. You're an angel. You're, like, everything that's shiny and good in the world. Maybe it would be easier if I was something like an angel."
Castiel shook his head. "You're not an angel, Buffy. But you're still more angelic than I."
The look she gave him was unmistakable. She wanted to know the meaning behind those words. And he told her. He told her everything. About Crowley. About the search for Purgatory. About the secrets and lies he had kept and told. When he finished his tale, he waited, more than worried about what she would think of him now. Her reaction was one he could have never anticipated.
She kissed him. Not the chaste kiss he had received from her earlier, but full, drinking deeply of him. Her hands slipped up, cradling his face in them. When she broke their embrace, she rested her forehead on his.
He responded with a kiss, his hands gently laying her back against the pillows. He could never explain how he knew the way to act, but the moment his deep kiss was over, he began to pepper face and neck with little kisses, with Buffy returning them as much as she could. Her hands slipped his overcoat off, and she began to work at his tie, ever askew. He slipped just the tips of his fingers underneath the lacy top she wore, waiting for permission to continue. She moaned as she pulled back.
Smiling, she pulled the top off, tossing it aside. If breathing had been a requirement for him, he was sure his breath would have caught. His eyes roved over her body, trying to memorize every line and curve.
"You're beautiful," he murmured.
She kissed him again, removing the jacket to the suit he wore, followed by unbuttoning the shirt underneath. His hands explored her naked flesh, and he felt an unfamiliar sensation below his waist. But Buffy was experience, and she guided him through, helping him undo his pants and remove them. He was completely nude, and she followed soon after.
He left a trail of kisses down her chest and back up. He felt as if he could spend the whole of eternity just kissing her salty, supple flesh. But Buffy pushed him up and onto his back beside her. She straddled him, smiling down. He could feel his hardened member just barely touching at her warm entrance. His eyes were wide as he gazed up at her. There was a question in her eyes, and he knew exactly what it was. She wanted his permission, his confirmation that he was ready for this new experience. He nodded, and she slid onto him.
He gasped, and it felt as if stars exploded in front of his eyes. She began to move with a steady rhythm back and forth, moaning and sighing as she did. Little words escaped her lips, like his name, and he found that he quite liked hearing her say his name in such a manner. She was gaining speed now, faster and faster until she gasped, and he felt her tighten around him.
She was still moving, and he soon felt a swell of ecstasy as he exploded inside of her. Both of them gasping, she felt forward to hug tightly to him.
They did not speak. Instead, she scooted off of him, crawling under the covers. She was asleep within moments. But angels did not sleep, and Castiel soon got up and redressed. He turned to stare down upon her. Something told him that he should wait for her to wake up before he departed. Instead, he simply laid a kiss on her forehead.
He put his back to her, moments away from flight off, when Buffy called out to him.
"Will I see you again after this?"
He glanced back at her. "I hope so."
She grinned. "I look forward to it, then."
And he left, back to his world and his problems. He would return to her again, if time afforded it, because he could never go very long without his guilty pleasure.