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spn_springfling2016-03-16 10:00 am
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His Thorny Beauty by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
prodigal_anon for <user site="livejournal.
Title: His Thorny Beauty
Pairing: Meg/Cas
Rating: Teen and up
They’ve been a thing for a while now. They appall everyone who sees them together, barring the gang at the bunker, who have progressed to the stage of eye-rolling acceptance. The Winchesters have picked up on some of the phrases the kids are using these days – Dean calls them “Megstiel” and makes barfing-noises. Sam just looks awkward but, well. He hardly has room to talk. Although Meg can’t exactly blame him for that indiscretion; Ruby was a wildcat in bed. Meg remembers well.
Cas’s status comes and goes over the years – sometimes he’s a renegade from his people, like her, and sometimes he’s a hero and the other angels seek him out to offer him their swords. Then he falls again and the cycle repeats.
He doesn’t talk dirty anymore – he doesn’t call her an abomination or whore, doesn’t curl his pretty lip in disgust when he sees her. Now, he’s jaded and cynical. An experienced man of the world, but still with that inherent goodness that never ever leaves him. Like a priest smoking a cigarette. SO hot.
And the things he says now are so much worse.
“Mmm. That’s a good girl,” Cas says one night while she’s showing him a trick, sitting in his lap and using her fingers, that she’d correctly guessed he hadn’t seen before. And this is awful, his timing. He waits until she’s the closest to vulnerable, almost nearly baring herself to him, and then he says this shit.
“Don’t…don’t do that…killing the mood,” she manages, flustered.
“Why not? You’re doing such a wonderful job for me.”
“Just cut it out, Clarence.”
“Meg, I’ve never seen you so flushed before. Are you embarrassed, Beautiful? The look is lovely on you.”
“I’m not embarrassed! I’m just, just, not a poetry and flowers chick. I’m not good – it’s just – wrong.”
“Does that mean it’s ‘all manner of hot?’”
“…..no…..”
“You’re a terrible liar when you’re turned on.”
“Fuck you,” she snarls, face on fire, cursing the physical failings of vessels and digging in deeper with her fingers, determined to cut this conversation short and give him a taste of his own vessels’ physiological weaknesses.
Cas finds it endlessly endearing and is amused by it. He calls her his Thorny Beauty all the time, now. He tells her he loves the face she makes when she comes; and the face she makes when he’s botched a reference to something. She’ll say something sarcastic to him, something terrible and cutting, and he’ll give that deadpan, tiny smirk and say he loves a woman with wit. She gives no quarter, in day-to-day conversations or in bed, making him grapple with her and try to match her, and he tells her he loves the fire in her. That he loves the way she walks – with assurance, with intent, with a terrific ass.
He’ll throw in things like that because it startles her into laughter. “Your breasts are remarkable,” he’ll say, and then grin at the way the snort of laughter pries out of her. And then he’ll say he loves how she laughs.
The worst part is, it’s turning her on and he knows it. He knows exactly what to say to make her go stupidly gooey. He’s both wry and devastatingly sincere.
Good, beautiful, perfect… these are things that no demon will say to one another. “I love you” is not in their vocabulary. This – praise kink, unbelievable though it is – is something that can only exist with Cas. It IS Megstiel, embodied.
Later, she’s purchasing a few naughty, exciting items for them to try out later. She’s using Dean’s credit card, on general principle (not like he has a leg to stand on; she’s seen his online shopping history). She notices an ad, out of the corner of her eye, and clicks it. After mulling it over for a minute or so, she adds it to Dean’s expenses.
It’s a hair comb, silver, in the shape of a small, thorny vine, with a black rose on the end. She doesn’t know exactly what Cas will say when he sees it, but she knows it will be good, and she is almost glowing with anticipation.
Pairing: Meg/Cas
Rating: Teen and up
They’ve been a thing for a while now. They appall everyone who sees them together, barring the gang at the bunker, who have progressed to the stage of eye-rolling acceptance. The Winchesters have picked up on some of the phrases the kids are using these days – Dean calls them “Megstiel” and makes barfing-noises. Sam just looks awkward but, well. He hardly has room to talk. Although Meg can’t exactly blame him for that indiscretion; Ruby was a wildcat in bed. Meg remembers well.
Cas’s status comes and goes over the years – sometimes he’s a renegade from his people, like her, and sometimes he’s a hero and the other angels seek him out to offer him their swords. Then he falls again and the cycle repeats.
He doesn’t talk dirty anymore – he doesn’t call her an abomination or whore, doesn’t curl his pretty lip in disgust when he sees her. Now, he’s jaded and cynical. An experienced man of the world, but still with that inherent goodness that never ever leaves him. Like a priest smoking a cigarette. SO hot.
And the things he says now are so much worse.
“Mmm. That’s a good girl,” Cas says one night while she’s showing him a trick, sitting in his lap and using her fingers, that she’d correctly guessed he hadn’t seen before. And this is awful, his timing. He waits until she’s the closest to vulnerable, almost nearly baring herself to him, and then he says this shit.
“Don’t…don’t do that…killing the mood,” she manages, flustered.
“Why not? You’re doing such a wonderful job for me.”
“Just cut it out, Clarence.”
“Meg, I’ve never seen you so flushed before. Are you embarrassed, Beautiful? The look is lovely on you.”
“I’m not embarrassed! I’m just, just, not a poetry and flowers chick. I’m not good – it’s just – wrong.”
“Does that mean it’s ‘all manner of hot?’”
“…..no…..”
“You’re a terrible liar when you’re turned on.”
“Fuck you,” she snarls, face on fire, cursing the physical failings of vessels and digging in deeper with her fingers, determined to cut this conversation short and give him a taste of his own vessels’ physiological weaknesses.
Cas finds it endlessly endearing and is amused by it. He calls her his Thorny Beauty all the time, now. He tells her he loves the face she makes when she comes; and the face she makes when he’s botched a reference to something. She’ll say something sarcastic to him, something terrible and cutting, and he’ll give that deadpan, tiny smirk and say he loves a woman with wit. She gives no quarter, in day-to-day conversations or in bed, making him grapple with her and try to match her, and he tells her he loves the fire in her. That he loves the way she walks – with assurance, with intent, with a terrific ass.
He’ll throw in things like that because it startles her into laughter. “Your breasts are remarkable,” he’ll say, and then grin at the way the snort of laughter pries out of her. And then he’ll say he loves how she laughs.
The worst part is, it’s turning her on and he knows it. He knows exactly what to say to make her go stupidly gooey. He’s both wry and devastatingly sincere.
Good, beautiful, perfect… these are things that no demon will say to one another. “I love you” is not in their vocabulary. This – praise kink, unbelievable though it is – is something that can only exist with Cas. It IS Megstiel, embodied.
Later, she’s purchasing a few naughty, exciting items for them to try out later. She’s using Dean’s credit card, on general principle (not like he has a leg to stand on; she’s seen his online shopping history). She notices an ad, out of the corner of her eye, and clicks it. After mulling it over for a minute or so, she adds it to Dean’s expenses.
It’s a hair comb, silver, in the shape of a small, thorny vine, with a black rose on the end. She doesn’t know exactly what Cas will say when he sees it, but she knows it will be good, and she is almost glowing with anticipation.
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Haha! I love Meg's prickliness about the whole thing, and Cas being sincere-but-sneaky.
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