kore_logs | who's that casting devious stares in my direction?

Dean's still been feeling pretty good about himself. He's been meting out some needed justice, and he has all the lollipops and beer he could want, and no one can touch him -- as far as Dean knows. He feels invincible anyway. What're the odds someone's going to come after him with a stick coated in someone's blood anyway, huh? Anything else he can totally bounce back from. No problems at all.

He's out for a walk because staying in one place for too long leaves him restless, and his house is a hotbed of weirdness anyway. Going for walks also help him run into people who maybe need to be put into their place. It's not a bad trickster life.

Raphael had sulked off last night, after Chuck had broken the curse. Not that he wasn't grateful, but he'd been angry and his pride was bruised. And he'd wanted to think of a way for revenge.

And he'd finally come up with one. So he'd fluttered around until he spotted Dean. Then he just slipped up on a rooftop and watched, waiting until he was sure he could predict Dean's movements enough to follow behind him, and followed from a distance, almost silently.

Things that can get you into trouble include overconfidence. He's not really listening for anyone following him, though usually he has good instincts and can catch on to that pretty darn fast. It takes him a little longer than usual, though for him that could be as much as thirty seconds. Tops. When he does pick up on the feeling, he doesn't stop walking. He starts to go through his usual potential procedures for dealing with something stuck to his shoe when he remembers he's a freaking trickster.

Raphael will be treated to a giant flyswatter popping up out of the ground and smacking him in his face.

Cupid reflexes are nothing compared to angelic ones. He at least manages to shut his eyes, and the blow does manage to shake some of the glitter from his hair. Luckily the confetti is heavy enough to fall on it's own. But he doesn't cry out. He's still sporting some scrapes and bruises - and more than a little dirt, but at least the bandages from earlier where gone.

"Rather dull."

Dean turns around when he hears the swatter make contact and wouldn't you know? It's his favorite My Precious Moments doll. He's still oozing overconfidence, and he maybe even believes in it. Dean projects overconfidence a lot, but it's different when he has so much power to back it up. He shouldn't like that so much, but damn, does it feel nice.

"Got the job done though. Do I need to tell you to scram, or have you gotten that little problem figured out?"

"Why would I voluntarily tell you if I did or not?" Which wasn't an answer, and he knew it. Let Dean think he was still in charge.

Never mind the arrow he had marked for Dean already. That he was planning to shoot and fly, not give Dean the chance to retaliate.

Well, doesn't he think he's so cute? He is kind of cute, actually, but that's beside the point. He's being all slip-slidey about the whammy Dean put on him is the point, and Dean's not any less smug because he's the one who put it on him so there take that. Or something.

"Alright then. Get outta here, but cluck like a chicken while you're at it."

"I can't. This form's vocal cords don't make those sounds properly." Oh he could be as tricky as he needed to be. Let Dean figure out if that curse worked on things they weren't physically possible. Or even if Raphael was telling the truth about the anatomy.

"What? Please. Everyone can make a chicken noise. Don't be such a wuss." He's a little suspicious. Is Raphael just being difficult?

As a general rule, anyone not Michael gives Raphael an order, and he'll be difficult. "You're going to argue anatomy with me? An series of sounds made by this form in a poor imitation of an animal isn't clucking like a chicken."

When he gets to their house, he knows exactly what he needs and wants from Meg. That's not weird right? They've both been living with a prudish incubus; she should understand what he feels like now. She's very understanding when she wants to be; look at her and Cas together... Or don't. No, don't. That still makes Dean weirdly jealous, and he has enough problems with being weirdly jealous of Cas.

Though, heh. Cas probably hasn't slept with his little Florence Nightingale yet. ...heh.

He makes a beeline for Meg's room when he doesn't see her in the living room, and he doesn't knock before he pushes the door open. She's alone in there, whatever! He can tell. And if she's not decent then that's even better.

"Hi." He smiles at her, one of his slightly deranged, hollow trickster smiles, though his pupils are dilated and his heart's pounding and just seeing Meg is making him start to breathe hard. He licks his lips and nods at her.

"Got a minute? Or... ten." Or sixty.

Edited 2013-04-24 21:10 (UTC)

Understanding might not be the best way to describe her. Cas is a special exception to the rule. But she definitely doesn't fit the cookie cutter demon mould - or angel mould for that matter. Apparently those pesky human feelings that are supposed to get stripped away with your humanity in the deepest, darkest depths of Hell didn't quite leave her. Annoying, really.

As for living with a prudish incubus - well, her feelings on that are rather messy and very confusing. On the one hand she feels incredibly rejected and it's not a feeling that sits well with her at all. On the other hand, she's exceptionally sexually frustrated. Whoever sent the memo out about angels being asexual? Totally wrong. All the cold showers in the world and plenty of alone time has done nothing to scratch the itch.

"Ugh. Doesn't anybody in this house know how to knock!?" Luckily for her, this hadn't been one of those alone times. "What do you want?!"

Dean's mind is full of all sorts of weird thoughts about Meg, from how caring she is towards Cas and so by extension how caring she must be in general (wait, is that true?) to how touchingly beautiful she is (a little true), but Dean's not too bothered by them. Either the spell is focused more on the lust aspect or Cas is turning up the horndog juice on everyone in a five mile radius, even on Raphael's spell.

What does he want? In the time it takes him to come up with an answer, he's already slowly checked her out from head to toe. Twice.

"I think we've both been wanting something for days now that we're not getting."

She should tell him to go fuck himself - a feat she would pay to see, actually. She should send him packing back to his room and tell him to leave her alone to deal with the problem herself. She should. She doesn't.

Her head is in a very delicate place right now and she doesn't like it one bit. She misses the good old days where she was bad. Everything was so much simpler back then. None of this messy being in love crap.

She had offered herself to Cas on a silver platter - and not just because of his super special incubus sparkles. And he had rejected her. That hurt. Apparently whatever she thought they had between them only went one way. Nice to know.

Still. Did that really mean she should hop into bed with Dean Winchester? The so-called best friend of aforementioned incubus? The way he checked her out didn't go unnoticed. And it made a pleasant change from him looking for the best place to stick a knife. In fact it made her stomach flip-flop and heat pool in places heat should not be pooling over Dean Winchester.

"And you think you're man enough to scratch that itch, do you?"

The question draws him out of how he's, yes, still checking her out, and he holds his hands out at his sides as he looks around her empty room.

"Not seeing anyone else lined up." Including Cas. He turned Dean down too, twice, and that shouldn't matter so much, right, because they're friends and Cas said no because Dean wouldn't want to without being under the influence of Incucas. Right? But no, no, it really bothered him, and so now he... did what he did to Cas, and now he's going to bang Meg because of the arrow, yeah, but also...

"Just makes sense, doesn't it? You and I both getting riled up by no payoff from Incucas out there..." He takes a few steps closer, his boots thudding on the floor.

"Plus, uh... Full disclosure." He stops and then lifts his shirt, exposing his awesome abs but also the glowing mark on his stomach from Raphael's arrow. "Kind of burning up for you right now. Like... almost literally." He lets the shirt drop and gives her his sexiest smile.

"This might be your only shot to have sex with a guy who's unable to think of... just about anything other than rocking your world right now. You really want to turn that down?"

Meg arches an eyebrow. So, the Winchester one gets shot up with love juice and now has a raging hard-on for the demon-turned-angel that's screwed his family over more times than she can count? It just goes to show how thoroughly fucked up their lives are.

And he is attractive. Sam is all limbs and hair and puppy dog cuteness. But Dean? Dean is more like a tiger.

She swallows hard. Has someone suddenly cut off the air supply? Not that she probably even needs air, but that's beside the point.

"You want to rock my world, Big Boy? Alright. Let's see you try."

Seriously?

...seriously?

Awesome.

There are so many reasons why he shouldn't already be taking off his outer shirt as he approaches Meg, and most of them have at their core the fact that Dean is not Dean right now. There's nothing inside his head that's even remotely connected to normal, not trickster, not love potion number nined Dean. And so he's not fighting any of it, because why? Why fight it when maybe he's going to get the release he's been dying for? Cas left him to deal with his cupid shit before all by himself. Meg's offering to help when Dean asks for it. That makes her nice, right? Totally. She's the good guy in the scenario. Without a doubt.

And gorgeous, too. And when Dean gets his hands on her, and then his mouth on hers, kissing her hard and hungry and completely without reservation, he gets to find out first hand that her mouth really does taste as amazing as it looks. His mind's firing all cylinders -- drenching him in love and lust and insatiable need to keep going, going, to bury himself in her.

There is only one reason in Meg's mind why they should stop and not engage in a little extra curriculum activity and that is Cas and the possibility that Meg might actually be in love with him. Okay, so maybe that one reason is a pretty valid, pretty huge reason. But apparently all reasoning, no matter how valid goes out the window when Dean Winchester sticks his tongue down your throat.

It's hotter than the kiss before getting a possessed Bobby to try and kill him, and definitely hotter than the 'deal' kiss. And well... they did agree to play nice, right? Can't play much nicer than this.

She kisses him back just as hard before resting her hands on his chest, pushing him away. For a second it looks like she's changed her mind and is going to leave him hanging just like Cas had. But then her hands are on the hem of her shirt, pulling it off.

Edited (what are words?) 2013-04-28 14:55 (UTC)

They've kissed before, but that was different. One of those times he'd like to completely excise from his memory if he's expected to live with her and get along with her -- one of many things he's been trying to jettison, actually. None of that matters now though; their past is some kind of blurry thing, and all he knows is that he cares about her and wants her. This is different because Dean's really throwing himself into this one, and he'd been prepared for it too -- prepared to go all in, all firm hands on her waist and enthusiasm, until she pushes him away.

His eyes flash darkly as he steps back and considers that he might be getting rejected again. That would've been bad news for Meg. Thankfully for her and most thankfully for Dean, she loses her shirt instead, and the sinister light to his eyes is replaced with lust again.

He grins his approval and then tugs off his shirt, revealing now both the glowing mark and his tattoo. The one he'd got because once upon a time she took his brother for a ride to kill hunters. Again, the detail pops up and floats away again on a sea of arousal and need.

He slows it up this time when he steps back in, some of the edge taken off so he can think a little clearer. Relatively. Kissing her again, he takes his time to do it right and thorough, and he lets his hands move slowly over her skin.

Oh come on. One demon hides his brother like a pony and they have to get inked up. Spoilsports. Besides, riding Sam was hardly all that fun, all limbs and things. Enough about the past, damn it. There is only one Winchester she has any interest in riding right now - and not in the demonic way.

She trails her hands over his chest, appreciating the sight. Hey, she likes pretty things, so sue her. The kissing is pretty nice too. Okay... very nice. Hooking an arm around his neck and burying her fingers in his hair, she tugs him in closer.

And closer he gets. God, it's been awhile since he slept with someone. Last time was... when he had a daughter? Kind of puts a guy off sex, so he hasn't been worried about getting back in the saddle, but that doesn't mean he hasn't missed it. Coupled with the way Incucas left him high and dry, he's so ready for this. He slides his hands down her hips and over her thighs, leaning down enough to grip her thighs and tug. Because hell yeah he's picking her up and carrying her to the bed, and hell yeah he wants to feel her legs wrap around him.

One of the things Meg loves about her current meatsuit is just how petite and feminine it is - especially next to giants like the Winchesters. She likes picking the pretty skins. And she definitely likes it when red blooded males appreciate the pretty little meatsuits.

She wraps her legs around him, pressing herself against him all warm skin and soft curves. She wants more. Needs more.

Admittedly, yeah, he does feel pretty badass right now; he feels badass almost constantly now because trickster, but physical strength is a whole other thing, and not really something he's had to use lately, so the surge of adrenaline and testosterone or whatever is refreshing. With her wrapped around him, he can go back to sliding one hand over her lower back. The other finds itself on her ass, and he has no regrets about that as he carries her over to the bed and sits down, keeping her in his lap.

There are a lot of reasons why he's rock hard already, all of them related to supernatural experiences with hormones and aphrodisiacs, but it's probably impossible for him to feel anything like shame right now. So she gets treated to that while he starts unhooking her bra -- expertly because duh. He trails his mouth away from hers, following the line of her jaw and down her neck, over to her shoulder and the bra strap there, so he can kiss the skin just underneath it as he slides it off her shoulder.

What kind of woman would she be if she didn't give him a little something in return? She rolls her hips, giving him just a hint of friction. Not enough to sate the need, but enough to give a little taste. She bites her lip to stifle the moan that threatens to escape her. Okay, so maybe rocking against him is as much for her benefit as it is his.

She curls her fingers under his chin, nails digging lightly into his pretty skin as she tugs him back into another kiss. "Let's just skip the foreplay, 'kay? We both know what we need."

He grins slow and easy into the kiss; the nails might've triggered a slight concern before, but he can't die from having his throat ripped out right now, and he has a hard time conceiving of the notion that she would kill him. Thanks, Raphael. He finishes sliding her bra off and holds her close, pressing skin to skin as he turns them and pins her to the bed.

"That right there's all the foreplay I need." He kisses her again, reaching between them to undo her pants. Really though, Dean's been pushed to the edge enough already -- okay, it wasn't that bad, but blowing things out of proportion is in for him right now, alright. Meg doesn't have any problem accepting that Dean needs release; why hadn't Cas? And he'd turned down Meg too, hadn't he? He's seriously missing out. Dean remembers that kiss and all the weird flirting he's had to witness ever since. Too bad he can't be a fly on this wall, huh?

Though Dean could make him one, couldn't he? Like, literally, but that seems a step too far.

Meg would prefer her sort-of-not-quite-boyfriend not to be turned into a fly if it's all the same. How is she supposed to protect him if the entire population tries to swat him? Maybe she could keep him in a matchbox? Just be thankful she hasn't mastered the art of angel mind rape/reading. That could be awkward.

As for that kiss? Oh, it's been centre of a good number of her fantasies and alone time. Come on! The guy slammed her against a wall and sucked face - it was hot.

She arches her hips up to aid in the removal of pesky clothes. Why hadn't they removed their clothes beforehand? In fact, why isn't he using his trickster mojo or she using her angel juice to make the damn things disappear. There are too many clothes in this equation.

A few well manoeuvred squirms and wriggles (which is no easy feat with a Winchester looming over you) and her pants are kicked to the floor. "Your turn, hot stuff."

Why isn't he using his trickster magic? Because unwrapping presents is the best part, duh, or maybe also he hasn't internalized his powers enough that he skips things like taking clothes off the manual way. It would've been nice to think of that before, but he didn't, and anyway, now he's thinking about using his powers in a very different way. Cas wanted to get with both of them, they both wanted to get with him, but Cas kicked them both out. How would he feel to know what they're up to? To know that this time he isn't invited?

He won't make Cas into a fly on the wall, but he can make it so Cas can hear every little thing they do.

but now he's not thinking of much except that's a whole lot of skin he gets to look at now, and he runs his hands over her thighs before he gets on with the show. He maneuvers out of his pants and resettles himself between her legs, letting his eyes rake over her again before his hand follows, cupping one of her breasts.

"You sure you're ready for me?" he asks, his grin lopsided but the dark intent in his eyes doesn't let it stay playful for long.

Poor Cas. Subjected to the full Dolby surround sound delights of Meg and Dean - now with clear high definition. He will definitely need the brain bleach later. Or counselling. Or maybe a new best friend and would-be girlfriend.

Meg grabs a handful of Dean's hair and yanks him until he's nose to nose with her. "Don't ask," kiss, "stupid," another kiss, "questions."

She's more than ready, and already hooking a leg around him to press against him.

"Either shut up and fuck me or get out and let me please myself."

Cas is definitely going to need a new best friend. He's not thinking too much about what this'll do to Cas and Meg, but it's not like they were even a thing anyway. And besides that, it's not like Meg hasn't screwed him over in the past. He's practically incapable of having any negative impulses toward her, but if there's collateral damage that wasn't intentional, non-cupid-ed Dean won't cry a river.

Her reaction only makes him grin wider as he takes himself in hand, lining himself up.

"You love it."

He fully believes that she does in fact love Dean's stupid questions, and Cas can deal with how cocky Dean sounds, not that he doesn't sound cocky in general since becoming a trickster. He doesn't waste anymore time though, and he rocks into her with a low groan, his head dipping to her shoulder as he slides his hand over her thigh.

Just as Meg won't cry a river if/when they're back to normal, if there's any lasting damage to her relationship with Cas, she accidentally-on-purpose slips over and accidentally-on-purpose stabs and kills Dean. Sometimes these things just happen. Accidentally. On purpose.

"In your dreams, sugar."

Only Meg and Dean could still bicker while in the heat of the moment. Typical.

Still, as much as she wants to crush that overinflated ego and sense of self-import Dean seems to have, she can't help the low moan that escapes her as he enters her.

"Fuck..."

Dean's the one suffering the cupid curse here; nothing's stopping Meg from booting him out of the room, but then she's still here and Dean -- oh Dean is definitely/i> here, thrusting shallowly into her while he gets his balance and tests angles, and -- let's be real -- teases her just that little bit more. They skipped the foreplay; he has to make sure she's getting the most out of this, right? Dean has a reputation to uphold, okay.

"Workin' on it," he mutters, and his smile comes back before he kisses her; he times a harder thrust for just after, picking up the rhythm now to something steady and deep.

So far his reputation was safe. Course, knowing Meg she'll probably say it was terrible afterwards even if he rocks her world right down to her true core. What? She doesn't want to willingly praise his abilities.

Besides, how does she know the skill and talent isn't from the trickster juice? Dean could be terrible in the sack on a normal day for all she knows.

Thinking too much is bad. Why is she thinking when he's rocking into her so delightfully and kissing her? She wraps her leg around him higher to get more leverage, rocking with him.

"Oh god..." There is probably some irony at using the Lord's name in vain while being an angel, and it's not lost on her. She just really doesn't give a damn.

Thinking is a terrible idea; why would anyone want to think when this feels so good? Maybe it's the trickster thing, all the chaos in the air giving him a near-constant buzz, maybe it's the fact that he's doing a trickster thing right now as he thrusts into her -- Dean sure as hell is going to blame all of that later for how much he's enjoying this.

"Close," he says with a cocky grin and a growl in his voice, but soon after that he loses his ability to think in full sentences let alone try to respond appropriately to whatever she might have to say. He's slowly unraveling, but he's holding it together as he reaches between them to make sure her world's going to be fully rocked here.

Just don't come crawling to her when the proverbial shit hits the proverbial fan, because she won't be there to offer hugs and puppies - regardless of how amazing the sex is right now. Did she mention how good the sex is? It's good. Great. Amazing. And she is never going to hear the end of it thanks to his inflated ego.

She can feel her Grace pulsing through her. Oh that's definitely new. And her wings flutter and twitch just out of sight. Sex as an angel? Pretty awesome.

Thanks to the aid of his hand, it only takes a few more thrusts before she breaks, crying out as the pleasure rips through her.

Yesss. Another victory. Also, take that, Cas. Could've been him. Could've been him with both of them, but it wasn't, and sucks to be him right now, doesn't it because Meg's enjoying herself and Dean sure as hell is enjoying himself as his control breaks and he comes as he rocks into her shallowly a few more times. Once he's spent, he's breathing hard and slowly turning to jelly, and he flops back onto his back. The sparkling mark from Raphael's arrow is starting to fade.

He turns his lazy smile over to her and lifts his eyebrows.

"Awesome, right?"

"I wouldn't go as far as 'awesome'. It was okay." Yes. Yes it was awesome. Screwed a Winchester? Check. Mind-blowing orgasm? Check. Itch scratched? Check.

Is it cheating to use angel mojo to clean them both up? Yeah. It's probably cheating. Oh well. It beats dragging herself to the shower. Don't say she never does anything for you, Dean.

Still, there is a lingering sense of guilt about the whole thing. Damn. How the hell did that creep in?

"Be sure to close the door on your way out."

who's that casting devious stares in my direction?

For Raphael

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For Meg. tw: dubcon

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keywords

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