moragmacpherson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
moragmacpherson) wrote2010-12-29 09:42 am
moragmacpherson) wrote2010-12-29 09:42 am
Fic: You Enjoy Myself (Supernatural, NC-17, Meg/Castiel)
Title: You Enjoy Myself
Author:![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=1)
moragmacpherson
Betas:callowyn , viridian_magpie , and switchbladesis
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,473
Genre: PWP, dark fic, angel/demon, monologue
Pairing: Meg/Cas overall, but contains references and allusions that infer this story might also include miscellaneous other pairings. If this makes you nervous, the spoilers are here, but strongly discouraged: Fandom bingo, pretty much: overtones of Sam/Dean, Dean/Castiel, Sam/Castiel, Dean/Meg, and pretty much any mathematically possible combination of the four.
Warnings: Vessel-related consent issues. First-person diabolic narrator. Dirty talk including graphic descriptions of a wide variety of sexual situations & kinks, and emotional abuse. Also, spoilers for 6.10 and 6.11.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW and their associated corporate identities
Author's Notes: I really love the pairing of Meg/Cas, but it gets a little complicated when you set out to write it. Countless thanks to the harem and especially Cally for once again inspiring me to write something truly twisted and then helping me figure out how to label the tin: your time and attention are so very appreciated. Title from the Phish song of the same name,
Summary: Dean's got questions; Meg's got answers. And a filthy mouth.
Good to see you too, Dean; there’s nothing that brightens up my morning like being summoned to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere and looking down at my feet to see a Key of Solomon. And you’ve brought the angel patrol—though he’s not gonna do you much good like that, is he? Look at him, all done up like a Christmas present, so pretty by the light of that pesky holy oil fire. I know where I'd put the bow. You tie him up yourself, Dean? Make sure that gag was nice and tight? Ha. Tight. Castiel knows just how tight I am, don'cha Cas?
Oops! Might not wanna get too friendly with that knife, Dean. You remember my babies, don’t you? Say hello, boys. Dean's just gonna stay on the other side of that line, isn’t he, boys? He gets a little nervous when you like to play rough. Which is whenever I say so.
Now—how about you let the angel and I go, and we can all get back to what we were doing without all of these silly pretenses we've had to keep up these last few weeks?
Oh, honey, I didn't make Cas do anything. Everyone knows you gotta let them come to you. And Castiel came even quicker than I was expecting.
Not what I meant, though I like the way you think. No, our little angel friend’s got stamina. Well. Maybe “little” is the wrong word. Did you know his true form is the size of the Chrysler Building? ‘Cause baby, that opens up a whole world of possibilities. Your little human brain can’t even comprehend some of the things we’ve done, or how many times we’ve done them—time dilation in Hell has its perks. Maybe I’ll give you the details sometime; I know you’re just gagging for them. Oh, sorry. Wouldn’t want to offend our trussed-up angel friend over there.
In love with him? Wow, Dean, I didn’t know you were such a romantic—need to cut back on those soap operas. I love the way he makes me feel, don't get me wrong, but don't go thinking there’re any little cherubim fluttering around us: those fat fuckers can go suck their own arrows for all I care. I’m not the one you should be asking.
Because Castiel loooooves me. Don’t you, sugarcakes? Can’t say it with that gag in his mouth, but he's said it in a hundred different languages in a thousand different ways. It’s amazing what a guy will admit to when you’ve got his cock down your throat. And all that delicious self-loathing really revs my engine. Bet you've thought about it too, Dean, just how tight and hot and filthy it could be with me. I know how you hunters love eyewitness accounts—well, Cas here could tell you it’s even better than you can imagine. But he’s an angel; he won’t fuck and tell.
Guess it’s up to me, then.
Come on, Dean, turn that frown upside down! You asked, after all; no takesy-backsies. I can’t resist a captive audience.
Like I said, the first time, he came to me. You were there for the kiss, of course—you saw that he was the one shoving me up against the wall. The look on your face, I would’ve coughed up my own smoke laughing if Cas' tongue hadn't been there to ramrod it back down. And then Castiel fried Crowley extra-crispy, and there I was, new-crowned Queen of Hell, except all of a sudden I have this angel sniffing around my back door like a dog in heat.
Down, boys.
But hey, at least Cas was house-broken. Do I have you to thank for that? For teaching him just how to use those hands and ooh, that tongue? Or were you too scared to touch him, Dean? Too afraid you’d make him dirty? He already Fell once; you should know some stains don’t come out.
Either way, once Cas got a taste, he just couldn’t stay away. He's got a war to run in Heaven, he’s got you and your bucketload of issues, he’s got poor widdle Sammy and that fragile wall not doing much to hold him together. And yet Castiel-angel-of-the-Lord starts spending all his time down in the Pit with me. You ever wonder why he didn’t come when you called him, well, that’s 'cause he was coming when I did.
So I said fuck it, fuck me, let's give this a shot. Meatsuits have their charms, after all—so many lovely fluids and nerve endings and unpredictable reactions. I’m not saying you can’t enjoy a quickie with a multidimensional waveform of celestial intent, but souls just don’t give the same buzz, you know? They have memories of touch, of pain and pleasure and everything else, but as the song goes, ain't nothing like the real thing, baby.
And you know Earth: it’s just one big neural, neutral playground.
Castiel tried to be tender at first. Bet that was your fault, too; you’ve got him thinking anything human-shaped will start crying at the drop of a hat. He’d just gaze into my eyes, close enough to breathe the same air as me, brushing his fingers through my hair—not pulling, just the soft tips against my temples. That shit was as boring as listening to you talk. So I gave him a little nudge—ducked my head, let my hips sway against him, grabbed him where it counts—and then he growled, no lie; he sounded like my boys here. That bastard growled, grabbed me by the shoulders, and the Pizza Man was here to deliver.
If you like him soft and pretty, Dean, are you ever missing out.
But even then he kept it slow—deliberate, that's a good word. He deliberately slammed me into the wall, groins grinding together, dexterous fingers working open the buttons on my shirt while his sinister hand pinned my wrists up above my head. Little Latin joke there, catch that? No? I don’t know why I bother; you probably don’t even know the meanings of those exorcisms that you’re so fond of.
Aww, don’t pout. I can think of better things for you to do with that mouth.
Cas, there, he could teach you a thing or two. That first time he didn't even bother with the snaps of my bra, just ripped the frilly little thing right off my body so he could suckle at those perky tits like a man dying of thirst, worshipped them—me—with his lips and his tongue til I was slicked up and throbbing for it.
And, you know, Castiel gets a little bitey when he's excited. My nipples, my neck, my ears, practically drooling all over me and then licking it back up. Grabby, too—sometimes I can barely keep track of his hands unless they're holding my arms against the wall, and he can pull that off one-handed. While he tears off my clothes with the other hand.
Sorry, sweetie: you asked, and I got all day. Not like I can waltz outta this trap you summoned me into, not without you getting all stabby like you do. Nothing ruins a good ominous chant like a sucking chest wound. So I’m gonna entertain myself. Don't like it, take it up with the hounds.
Looks like someone likes to listen, anyway—just look at Castiel, getting all hot and bothered. See how flushed his cheeks are; look at the bulge in those pants. Mmmm—bet he’d have his dick out and be halfway to coming if his hands weren’t tied. Don’t you know it’s rude to leave someone hanging, Dean? But then, you’re starting to enjoy this too, am I right?
You’re damn right I like to hear myself talk. Could talk off anyone with this voice, even an angel of the Lord. But I get the feeling you already knew that.
You wanna hear about Castiel’s tongue, Dean? He's not squeamish, not at all, and I don't know if his jaw just doesn't get tired or what but he likes licking every bit of me, inside and out, endlessly. I put it in front of his face and that tongue of his is all over it. Mouth, pussy, asshole, anything: he just laps it right up, face all shiny with spit and juices and those lovely human fluids. Do you ever jerk off thinking about his mouth, Dean? I do. But these hands never even get me close to how filthy-hot his mouth feels.
'Course, he’s got a pretty filthy mouth even when he isn't eating me out. He likes giving orders, bossing me around, and oh, the things his angel mind comes up with. He’ll make me touch myself for hours like a goddamn cocktease, telling me how to move my hands and then stopping me when I’m right on the edge. And I do it ‘cause it means I get to listen to his voice, so gritty and raspy after sucking me for a few hours. Then he puts me on my knees, yanks at my hair and forces me to take it, all of it, while he tells me how hot I look, his cock shoved in so far his balls are pressed against my face. You should hear him moan when I deep throat it or hum a little tune around the head—makes him shiver and shoot a hot load straight down. Angel spunk tastes just like the human kind, in case you were wondering, but who needs a hallelujah choir when I can listen to the breathy little cries he makes when he comes?
Don't get too excited, honey; you're breathing so hard you won’t hear the good part. Don’t you wanna hear what Castiel’s dick feels like, all hard and dripping? He'll ride me for hours and then flip us both over, covered in sweat, and make me return the favor. And I have my little tricks, you know. Sometimes I drag it out slow, pull up until I can feel the crown of his cock stretching me that little bit wider and then slam my hips down so I can feel him practically at the back of my throat. And sometimes I ride him rough and hard and fast so he barely has a chance to catch his breath before he’s filling me up with come. Again.
You look a little flushed, kiddo. Need me to slow down a little? Want some alone time before I keep going?
For fuck’s sake, quit looking at my arm like you want to rip it off. As if I'd be stupid enough to put the binding link there this time. You really wanna see it, I'd have to strip a little. But that’s nothing you haven’t seen before, right? The two of you living in close quarters for such a long time, I bet you got plenty of eyefuls with Sammy lounging around the motel room half-naked. But maybe not. Cas says you didn’t like looking at your brother at all when there was no soul rattling around in here. Why else wouldn't you have noticed the scar that broke his nifty little tattoo and gave me a free pass right in? Did you convince yourself you didn’t even want to see this body all laid out for you? Or were you just looking in the wrong place, Dean? Looking a little lower, wishing this sweet ass was for you?
Can’t blame you. I wasn't kidding about how hot and tight this body is, how filthy a fuck. Castiel could vouch for it, if he weren't tied up at the moment. You should hear the dirty things he whispers into these ears—how much he loves fucking this big hard body, licking it, marking it with his come. Castiel branded the lock on me himself, you know. He’s the one that told me to fill this body and use it, since that soul you shoved in is too tattered to turn the lights on in here. Said you were going crazy trying to fix your brother, but he wanted this body and he wanted me. He loves the way your brother's fat cock can fill him up, stretches him wide at either end. You getting me, Dean? He might have dragged you out of the Pit, but your angel loves fucking me in your brother's meatsuit more than he loves God, heaven, or you!
What, you gonna stab me, Dean? Slide that knife into your brother’s heart? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, I don’t think little Sammy’s soul could survive another round in the Cage. And a body that’s bled out won't be much use to him anyway.
Such a fucking pussy, Dean, crying like the little bitch I've always known—we've always known you are. Quit crying for one miserable second and maybe one of us will take pity on you and fuck you like you've always wanted.
Getting to fuck you might even wake Sammy up. You should see some of the memories he’s got in here—he’s fantasized about pounding your twinky ass since grade school. You wanna make him feel good, don'cha Dean? Wanna make your little brother happy? Let him and Cas spit you with their cocks, one on either end, taking it like the slut you are? Yeah, you'd like that.
Shit, I might even step out, give you and Sam some Rainman-bonding-time. I could wear that sweet young brunette, turn you face up and bounce her hot slick cunt on your dick like it's a stripper pole. That body’s good at it; that's her day job, y'know. I'll give Cas a turn with her too—he doesn't like her quite as much as Sam, but her tight little body’s got some fond memories. You never forget your first time.
Wah-wah. Game's over, Dean! You're hard, have been this whole time. You’re hard for your brother; you’re hard for Cas; you’re hard for me. I bet you’re just dying to reach in there and rub one out, and I’m offering you a consolation prize that's so much better. So why don't you just let me and Cas out? I'll call off the dogs, you'll put away your knife, and then we can all go play.
Come on, you know you want to. The four of us will have such a good time.
Oh yeah, we'll be one happy fucking family.
Author:
moragmacpherson Betas:
callowyn , viridian_magpie , and switchbladesis Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,473
Genre: PWP, dark fic, angel/demon, monologue
Pairing: Meg/Cas overall, but contains references and allusions that infer this story might also include miscellaneous other pairings. If this makes you nervous, the spoilers are here, but strongly discouraged: Fandom bingo, pretty much: overtones of Sam/Dean, Dean/Castiel, Sam/Castiel, Dean/Meg, and pretty much any mathematically possible combination of the four.
Warnings: Vessel-related consent issues. First-person diabolic narrator. Dirty talk including graphic descriptions of a wide variety of sexual situations & kinks, and emotional abuse. Also, spoilers for 6.10 and 6.11.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW and their associated corporate identities
Author's Notes: I really love the pairing of Meg/Cas, but it gets a little complicated when you set out to write it. Countless thanks to the harem and especially Cally for once again inspiring me to write something truly twisted and then helping me figure out how to label the tin: your time and attention are so very appreciated. Title from the Phish song of the same name,
Summary: Dean's got questions; Meg's got answers. And a filthy mouth.
Good to see you too, Dean; there’s nothing that brightens up my morning like being summoned to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere and looking down at my feet to see a Key of Solomon. And you’ve brought the angel patrol—though he’s not gonna do you much good like that, is he? Look at him, all done up like a Christmas present, so pretty by the light of that pesky holy oil fire. I know where I'd put the bow. You tie him up yourself, Dean? Make sure that gag was nice and tight? Ha. Tight. Castiel knows just how tight I am, don'cha Cas?
Oops! Might not wanna get too friendly with that knife, Dean. You remember my babies, don’t you? Say hello, boys. Dean's just gonna stay on the other side of that line, isn’t he, boys? He gets a little nervous when you like to play rough. Which is whenever I say so.
Now—how about you let the angel and I go, and we can all get back to what we were doing without all of these silly pretenses we've had to keep up these last few weeks?
Oh, honey, I didn't make Cas do anything. Everyone knows you gotta let them come to you. And Castiel came even quicker than I was expecting.
Not what I meant, though I like the way you think. No, our little angel friend’s got stamina. Well. Maybe “little” is the wrong word. Did you know his true form is the size of the Chrysler Building? ‘Cause baby, that opens up a whole world of possibilities. Your little human brain can’t even comprehend some of the things we’ve done, or how many times we’ve done them—time dilation in Hell has its perks. Maybe I’ll give you the details sometime; I know you’re just gagging for them. Oh, sorry. Wouldn’t want to offend our trussed-up angel friend over there.
In love with him? Wow, Dean, I didn’t know you were such a romantic—need to cut back on those soap operas. I love the way he makes me feel, don't get me wrong, but don't go thinking there’re any little cherubim fluttering around us: those fat fuckers can go suck their own arrows for all I care. I’m not the one you should be asking.
Because Castiel loooooves me. Don’t you, sugarcakes? Can’t say it with that gag in his mouth, but he's said it in a hundred different languages in a thousand different ways. It’s amazing what a guy will admit to when you’ve got his cock down your throat. And all that delicious self-loathing really revs my engine. Bet you've thought about it too, Dean, just how tight and hot and filthy it could be with me. I know how you hunters love eyewitness accounts—well, Cas here could tell you it’s even better than you can imagine. But he’s an angel; he won’t fuck and tell.
Guess it’s up to me, then.
Come on, Dean, turn that frown upside down! You asked, after all; no takesy-backsies. I can’t resist a captive audience.
Like I said, the first time, he came to me. You were there for the kiss, of course—you saw that he was the one shoving me up against the wall. The look on your face, I would’ve coughed up my own smoke laughing if Cas' tongue hadn't been there to ramrod it back down. And then Castiel fried Crowley extra-crispy, and there I was, new-crowned Queen of Hell, except all of a sudden I have this angel sniffing around my back door like a dog in heat.
Down, boys.
But hey, at least Cas was house-broken. Do I have you to thank for that? For teaching him just how to use those hands and ooh, that tongue? Or were you too scared to touch him, Dean? Too afraid you’d make him dirty? He already Fell once; you should know some stains don’t come out.
Either way, once Cas got a taste, he just couldn’t stay away. He's got a war to run in Heaven, he’s got you and your bucketload of issues, he’s got poor widdle Sammy and that fragile wall not doing much to hold him together. And yet Castiel-angel-of-the-Lord starts spending all his time down in the Pit with me. You ever wonder why he didn’t come when you called him, well, that’s 'cause he was coming when I did.
So I said fuck it, fuck me, let's give this a shot. Meatsuits have their charms, after all—so many lovely fluids and nerve endings and unpredictable reactions. I’m not saying you can’t enjoy a quickie with a multidimensional waveform of celestial intent, but souls just don’t give the same buzz, you know? They have memories of touch, of pain and pleasure and everything else, but as the song goes, ain't nothing like the real thing, baby.
And you know Earth: it’s just one big neural, neutral playground.
Castiel tried to be tender at first. Bet that was your fault, too; you’ve got him thinking anything human-shaped will start crying at the drop of a hat. He’d just gaze into my eyes, close enough to breathe the same air as me, brushing his fingers through my hair—not pulling, just the soft tips against my temples. That shit was as boring as listening to you talk. So I gave him a little nudge—ducked my head, let my hips sway against him, grabbed him where it counts—and then he growled, no lie; he sounded like my boys here. That bastard growled, grabbed me by the shoulders, and the Pizza Man was here to deliver.
If you like him soft and pretty, Dean, are you ever missing out.
But even then he kept it slow—deliberate, that's a good word. He deliberately slammed me into the wall, groins grinding together, dexterous fingers working open the buttons on my shirt while his sinister hand pinned my wrists up above my head. Little Latin joke there, catch that? No? I don’t know why I bother; you probably don’t even know the meanings of those exorcisms that you’re so fond of.
Aww, don’t pout. I can think of better things for you to do with that mouth.
Cas, there, he could teach you a thing or two. That first time he didn't even bother with the snaps of my bra, just ripped the frilly little thing right off my body so he could suckle at those perky tits like a man dying of thirst, worshipped them—me—with his lips and his tongue til I was slicked up and throbbing for it.
And, you know, Castiel gets a little bitey when he's excited. My nipples, my neck, my ears, practically drooling all over me and then licking it back up. Grabby, too—sometimes I can barely keep track of his hands unless they're holding my arms against the wall, and he can pull that off one-handed. While he tears off my clothes with the other hand.
Sorry, sweetie: you asked, and I got all day. Not like I can waltz outta this trap you summoned me into, not without you getting all stabby like you do. Nothing ruins a good ominous chant like a sucking chest wound. So I’m gonna entertain myself. Don't like it, take it up with the hounds.
Looks like someone likes to listen, anyway—just look at Castiel, getting all hot and bothered. See how flushed his cheeks are; look at the bulge in those pants. Mmmm—bet he’d have his dick out and be halfway to coming if his hands weren’t tied. Don’t you know it’s rude to leave someone hanging, Dean? But then, you’re starting to enjoy this too, am I right?
You’re damn right I like to hear myself talk. Could talk off anyone with this voice, even an angel of the Lord. But I get the feeling you already knew that.
You wanna hear about Castiel’s tongue, Dean? He's not squeamish, not at all, and I don't know if his jaw just doesn't get tired or what but he likes licking every bit of me, inside and out, endlessly. I put it in front of his face and that tongue of his is all over it. Mouth, pussy, asshole, anything: he just laps it right up, face all shiny with spit and juices and those lovely human fluids. Do you ever jerk off thinking about his mouth, Dean? I do. But these hands never even get me close to how filthy-hot his mouth feels.
'Course, he’s got a pretty filthy mouth even when he isn't eating me out. He likes giving orders, bossing me around, and oh, the things his angel mind comes up with. He’ll make me touch myself for hours like a goddamn cocktease, telling me how to move my hands and then stopping me when I’m right on the edge. And I do it ‘cause it means I get to listen to his voice, so gritty and raspy after sucking me for a few hours. Then he puts me on my knees, yanks at my hair and forces me to take it, all of it, while he tells me how hot I look, his cock shoved in so far his balls are pressed against my face. You should hear him moan when I deep throat it or hum a little tune around the head—makes him shiver and shoot a hot load straight down. Angel spunk tastes just like the human kind, in case you were wondering, but who needs a hallelujah choir when I can listen to the breathy little cries he makes when he comes?
Don't get too excited, honey; you're breathing so hard you won’t hear the good part. Don’t you wanna hear what Castiel’s dick feels like, all hard and dripping? He'll ride me for hours and then flip us both over, covered in sweat, and make me return the favor. And I have my little tricks, you know. Sometimes I drag it out slow, pull up until I can feel the crown of his cock stretching me that little bit wider and then slam my hips down so I can feel him practically at the back of my throat. And sometimes I ride him rough and hard and fast so he barely has a chance to catch his breath before he’s filling me up with come. Again.
You look a little flushed, kiddo. Need me to slow down a little? Want some alone time before I keep going?
For fuck’s sake, quit looking at my arm like you want to rip it off. As if I'd be stupid enough to put the binding link there this time. You really wanna see it, I'd have to strip a little. But that’s nothing you haven’t seen before, right? The two of you living in close quarters for such a long time, I bet you got plenty of eyefuls with Sammy lounging around the motel room half-naked. But maybe not. Cas says you didn’t like looking at your brother at all when there was no soul rattling around in here. Why else wouldn't you have noticed the scar that broke his nifty little tattoo and gave me a free pass right in? Did you convince yourself you didn’t even want to see this body all laid out for you? Or were you just looking in the wrong place, Dean? Looking a little lower, wishing this sweet ass was for you?
Can’t blame you. I wasn't kidding about how hot and tight this body is, how filthy a fuck. Castiel could vouch for it, if he weren't tied up at the moment. You should hear the dirty things he whispers into these ears—how much he loves fucking this big hard body, licking it, marking it with his come. Castiel branded the lock on me himself, you know. He’s the one that told me to fill this body and use it, since that soul you shoved in is too tattered to turn the lights on in here. Said you were going crazy trying to fix your brother, but he wanted this body and he wanted me. He loves the way your brother's fat cock can fill him up, stretches him wide at either end. You getting me, Dean? He might have dragged you out of the Pit, but your angel loves fucking me in your brother's meatsuit more than he loves God, heaven, or you!
What, you gonna stab me, Dean? Slide that knife into your brother’s heart? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, I don’t think little Sammy’s soul could survive another round in the Cage. And a body that’s bled out won't be much use to him anyway.
Such a fucking pussy, Dean, crying like the little bitch I've always known—we've always known you are. Quit crying for one miserable second and maybe one of us will take pity on you and fuck you like you've always wanted.
Getting to fuck you might even wake Sammy up. You should see some of the memories he’s got in here—he’s fantasized about pounding your twinky ass since grade school. You wanna make him feel good, don'cha Dean? Wanna make your little brother happy? Let him and Cas spit you with their cocks, one on either end, taking it like the slut you are? Yeah, you'd like that.
Shit, I might even step out, give you and Sam some Rainman-bonding-time. I could wear that sweet young brunette, turn you face up and bounce her hot slick cunt on your dick like it's a stripper pole. That body’s good at it; that's her day job, y'know. I'll give Cas a turn with her too—he doesn't like her quite as much as Sam, but her tight little body’s got some fond memories. You never forget your first time.
Wah-wah. Game's over, Dean! You're hard, have been this whole time. You’re hard for your brother; you’re hard for Cas; you’re hard for me. I bet you’re just dying to reach in there and rub one out, and I’m offering you a consolation prize that's so much better. So why don't you just let me and Cas out? I'll call off the dogs, you'll put away your knife, and then we can all go play.
Come on, you know you want to. The four of us will have such a good time.
Oh yeah, we'll be one happy fucking family.