kore_logs | roll away your stone; i'll roll away mine

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roll away your stone; i'll roll away mine

Who: Dean and Meg
When: Day 129
Where: Their room
What: Just a little roommate bonding.
Warning: Things will get steamy; we'll go to a journal once things get too explicit.

He finds the whiskey first, then swings by the library. With the general lack of TV and movies around, he's been reading a lot; it's not like he's allergic to books, either. He likes Vonnegut; he read those Greek things. He could totally be here for something not romance novels, except he finds a bunch he hasn't read yet (he almost ran out back at the Cape), and he winds up with an armful.

Thankfully he makes it back home without running into anyone, but he doesn't want to cart his haul off to his room. He and Meg have a thing -- not that kind of thing, though they seem to have one of those too, but a thing where they share these novels, and Dean wouldn't mind sharing some of this sweet, real, actual, quality whiskey he found.

He balances what he's holding enough to grab two glasses, and then he approaches her bedroom door. He "knocks" with his foot.

"Get decent. Santa's here."

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He wants to share with her? So sweet. Careful there, Dean. She might actually start thinking you care.

Meg has actually been surprisingly quiet since they wound up in this new place. She's taken a little time to explore. And she might've freaked Chuck out slightly by talking about how the room he found reminded her of torture class - oh, and she drew porn; but all in all she's been pretty quiet.

She rolls her eyes at his comment and drags herself over to the door. A stolen t-shirt and shorts counts as decent, right? She has her hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail - also, no more blonde! Thank God for hair dye! Her wounds from the tunnel are healing nicely too.

She pulls the door open and leans against the frame. "Pretty sure Santa doesn't visit the bad little boys and girls."

"Explains my childhood." He hands her the bottle and the glasses, then nods at the books in his arms.

"Come on. Real booze, new books. Clear out your afternoon schedule."

Maybe Dean's going through some things. Charlie's gone; Ellen doesn't want him out of her life; he and Jo and Jo's ghost had this heart to heart in the kitchen that was majorly fucking painful. And now he's here at Meg's doorstep, basically asking to spend the afternoon getting drunk and reading purple prose with her about Fabio. He could use some R&R, and he's asking for Meg to help him out. That's... kind of big for him. He's trying not to think about that.

"I think I got a free slot in my diary."

Meg's going through things too, Dean. Things that have her torn between wanting to dance naked through a field of flowers, bunnies and unicorns or stabbing herself repeatedly in the face with an angel blade.

She accepts the bottle and the glasses and steps back to let him into her room. She does give the bottle a dubious look. "You sure it's not laced?" And despite her reputation for snark it's not a jab at Ellen but an actual concern for her own safety. That holy water really, really hurt.

Setting the glasses and bottle down on the desk she nods at the bed for Dean to make himself at home.

He comes into her room and flops on her bed with a surprising amount of ease and comfort, which means he's probably faking most of it. He hasn't been 100% comfortable around her, like, probably ever, but he's been making strides, and if he's trying now? It's because he'd really like to be. He dumps out his armful of books and then scoots back so his back's against the wall.

"If it's laced, then this place has it out for you. I found that in the kitchen. Check the label; it's the good stuff." He'd offer to test it for her, but, you know. It's not like he can.

He doesn't want to see her like that either, though.

She looks the bottle over, reading the label, checking the cap. Everything looks in order so far. She opens it up and pours a tiny drop into one of the glasses and tries it. No burning insides, no vomiting blood. Alright, good. Safe in the knowledge the alcohol isn't going to kill her, she fills both glasses and hands one over to him

Turning the desk chair towards the bed, the flops onto it and puts her bare feet up on the bed amid Dean's pile of trashy romance novels.

"So, Deano. What delightful piece of cheesy tripe are we going with today?" She set her glass aside and picked up two books at random. "Mister Oily Chest or Mister Smoulder?" She could've just read out the titles, but mocking the cover images is more fun.

"Smolder." She can't get him to say that he'd rather hear about Mister Oily Chest out loud. He's making strides, but he's not there yet. Also Oily Chest isn't really his type; does he even have a guy type? He's happy with sticking with just Cas, for the moment. Not that Cas is here, though.

He takes a drink and then sets his aside too, and he wriggles down on her bed, getting comfortable. He might be making a point to make himself be comfortable, but once he gets there, he finds he likes it.

"Unless you want to make a case for the Oily Chest." He likes that she isn't teasing him (yet) about him being here.

"Good choice. Oily Chest is doing nothing for my nethers, I gotta say. Mister Smoulder on the other hand..." Too much information? Yeah. Probably too much information. Good job she's only joking. Although Mister Smoulder does have pretty eyes.

Meg throws the book with the oiled up, greasy haired stud muffin wannabe back onto the pile on the bed and opens up the other book. "So, you wanna read out loud first, or should I?"

The teasing might come, but really, she's just pleased for the company.

She's easing into this, which means Dean can start lowering his defenses; he'd been braced for her to say something, but no. Looks like they're bypassing that and accepting this thing where they're going to hang out together like they're friends. The usual odd feeling that goes along with that thought doesn't come now, and he's fine with that. He's fine with just... having a friend and being happy about it.

"I brought everything; you start."

Have they passed some kind of milestone in their relationship? Neither of them are reaching for their weapons and they're not babysitting Cas. They are sharing each other's company for the sake of sharing each other's company and that's pretty freakin' huge.

Meg rubs at the wound on her arm before reaching for her glass to take another sip of her drink. She gets comfy in the chair and opens up the book, folding back the spine. Apparently the book is called "Desire Calls". Already it oozes cheesiness.

She clears her throat and begins to read. "The piazza always provided a fine selection for dining, Stacia thought as she sat on the railing along the edge of the Bernini fountain in Rome's Piazza Navona. She gazed at the choices available in various spots around the square. French. German. Italian, of course."

Blah, blah Frenchman. Blah, blah cheap wine. Oh. Vampire. First page plot twist. Blah, blah flirting. Blah, blah alleyway.

""Like it rough, do you?" she said, but he didn't answer since with quick hands he had already undone the laces on her leather vest and was gazing down at her breasts as they spilled free.

When he bent to suck at them, she moaned, thinking that he was exceptionally gifted with his mouth. Between her legs, the throb of human desire rose up, aching for fulfilment."

"Do vampires even have throbs of human desire?" Like Meg is one to talk.

"Wow, this book doesn't screw around, does it?" Okay, so Dean has eclectic taste in porn, that's definitely true, but he doesn't always enjoy it to get off on it. Sometimes he just finds it -- enjoyable. Like, kind of cool. He's seen enough of it to almost be a connoisseur at this point, and he'd been glad to finally have a place to, like, organize his porn collection back at the bunker. This crap? Not the sexiest shit in the world, but it's enjoyable. Fun. Like popcorn. Popcorn porn.

At Meg's question, Dean gives her a look, and then nudges her feet with his leg.

"Do demons?" He's smiling. Kidding!

Popcorn porn? That's... that's actually a pretty accurate description. From this day onwards, romance novels shall be dubbed popcorn porn. Romance novels tend to be pretty predictable with over the top purple prose, but that's half the fun of them. They're a guilty pleasure.

Meg rolls her eyes at Dean's question, nudges him back with her foot and carries on reading without answering his question. She reads through all the sexy bits on the first few pages without a single blush, and carries on to the end of the chapter.

"Imagine, wanting to be human again, she thought. What good was that? she asked herself, ignoring the little voice in her head which reminded her that with humanity came --"

Her voice hitches, her throat feeling like it's tightening before she can get that final word out.

He's distracted by how horribly wrong they're getting vampires, and then she stops reading, and he's confused for all of a few minutes. It's long enough for him to blink into the silence and frown, preparing to complain grumpily.

"What, having to watch your weight?"

And by then it manages to click, right around when he looks at Meg. Oh. Probably... wasn't that one.

"Hey." He nudges Meg's foot again.

Meg tries to look unfazed by the words on the page and just how close to her own truth they cut.

"No, you moron. With humanity comes love." She rolls her eyes and makes a big show of throwing the book at his leg.

"You know, Mister Oily is having a whole new effect on my nethers. Mister Smoulder has lost some of his gorgeousness - don't get me wrong, I'm not against a little fang-banging. But really, who needs that in their romance novels?"

Did her attempt to change the topic work?

"Not me."

Dean definitely doesn't think vampires as a species have any kind of allure after his homoerotic recruitment into vampiredom a while back; it's not so bad really, but if he thinks too hard about it, he remembers Boris getting in his space, smearing blood on his lips, and it's enough to leave him feeling sick, you know, along with everything else he did and was then. He's got it under control now though, so he leans up and takes the book, flipping through it idly.

"Especially when they're fangbanging with feelings." He shoots her a careful look.

"But yeah, who has time for a heart-to-heart when there's porn to read? Okay, Oily-io, you're up."

Being concerned about Meg's feelings might be a conceit of Dean's whole project here -- aka trying as hard as he can to have a normal friendship with her because he's just lost Charlie and he really needs to not feel like crap about that right now -- but it's also not as hard as he would've thought it'd be to just... care.

Meg doesn't have feelings, Dean. She's a demon. Demons don't feel anything. Well, maybe rage, and there is a sick kind of glee when torturing, maiming and killing, but demons don't love. Not ever. And Meg doesn't love because she is a demon. And maybe if she keeps telling herself that she'll start to believe it.

It's all that stupid angel's fault. With his impossibly blue eyes that crinkle at the corner when he smiles. And the way he touches her so tenderly despite being able to kill her with a mere thought. And the way he cants his head like a lost little puppy.

... Fuck.

"Hey, I read Mister Smoulder. Your turn to take over reading, Deano."

"Alright, alright." He clears his throat and opens up the book, flipping to the first page.

"'Aww, nuts, I got handcuffs. I was hoping for one of those neon, glow-in-the-dark vibrators.' Off to a good start." He flashes Meg a smile and then keeps reading, and Dean's not just a boring reader; no, when he wants to get into it, he can, and so the two girls at the opening have different voices. He reads about Josie pining after her hot, straitlaced cop neighbor, who she fantasizes about giving her naughty patdowns and slapping cuffs on her.

"It didn’t matter. Because Mike Kincaid really was a cop, the epitome of authority figures. Plus, he wasn’t her type. And she wasn’t his. Mike was an old-fashioned guy, born and raised here in Pleasantville, Ohio. The poster child for the wholesomeness of small-town America. The kind of man who’d want Betty Crocker in the kitchen, and Mrs. Brady driving the kids to school in the minivan. Not a punked-out nail salon owner who changed her hair color monthly, had several piercings, and wore black engineer boots with filmy dresses. Not a slim 24-year-old who got carded when trying to buy beer because she looked like a teenager. Not someone like Josie Marino.

Besides which, Mike was too darn nice, too conservative, polite, and easygoing. Not the kind of wild, provocative man she’d always pictured herself with. Certainly not the kind of man she’d ever have expected to inspire instant, unrelenting desire.

Somehow, though, he’d done just that."

Dean stops, the enthusiasm slipping away a bit toward the end, and he looks over at Meg, one eyebrow arched. Are they out of luck with these books today or what?

The books are mocking her. Seriously. How can two books chosen at random seem to describe Meg's situation just about perfectly? She ponders the thought that maybe Dean read them all before bringing them over and chose them on purpose to mess with her, but she's pretty confident that they're beyond that stage in their relationship.

Cursed books. It's her excuse and she's sticking to it.

She sucks it up like a big girl. "So? What happens next? I need to find out if she ever gets her neon vibrator."

Meg slides down a little in her seat so her legs reach further onto the bed, she slides her toes up Dean's leg to rest her foot at his crotch. She can ignore the books and their mocking and taunting and wind Dean up instead, right?

Dean's innocent here; he grabbed up an armful of titles he'd never heard of before, that was it. Maybe he ought to stop reading this one here, pick up a different one, because he has a not good feeling about it, but he doesn't want to admit defeat so easily.

And then there's Meg's foot in his lap, and he acts like he doesn't care about it as he keeps reading, only eventually he winds up tickling her. Are demons ticklish? He supposes he'll find out.

He keeps reading along, getting more into the rhythm of the story again, which means he's playing up the character voices again when he gets to the cop guy's thoughts on Josie.

"They’d gotten off to a bad start when they’d met, after he’d made the mistake of cracking a Josie and the Pussycats joke. It had been pretty unoriginal, but in his own defense, the woman had flustered him from the minute he’d laid eyes on her.

She was just so...different. Larger than life, though petite in stature. Sweetly innocent though saucy and outrageous. She had a comeback for everything, played a constant game of shock and evade. If he commented that he liked her hair color, she’d change it the next week. When he’d asked her if it had hurt to get her ear pierced so high, she’d driven him frigging nuts by saying it hadn’t been as painful as some other body parts she’d had pierced. The mental image of what other body parts she’d been talking about had been torturous. It seemed the friendlier and more polite he’d been toward her, the more she’d withdrawn. The more she’d pulled back, the more determined he’d been to get through to her.'"

Which means that driven him frigging nuts sounds completely natural in his voice, and he stumbles a little once he gets to the end of the passage.

"Did you write this? 'Fess up. If you wanted to write me a love letter, you didn't have to hide it in a book."

Meg squirms as he tickles her. Nope. Not ticklish. not at all. Okay, okay, a little bit. She's going to blame her vessel even though it's not her vessel's fault. Back when she had been human she had been incredibly ticklish to the point of kicking and screaming. Luckily she's got the kicking under control otherwise Dean's nads would be in serious trouble. If anything, she only wiggles her toes against him to tease him more.

"You got me. My secret's out. I just couldn't help myself, Dean. The words just flowed out of me. All my undying love. It couldn't be contained."

Does she look like the author of crappy novels? Does she look like Chuck? She rolls her eyes and gives her toes another wiggle.

He should probably stop reading, but he's intrigued by their porny not-quite doppelgangers. That's a bad sign, and Dean's well aware of it, but he doesn't want to stop. Just like he hasn't evicted her foot from his lap yet, and instead of tickling her now he's got his hand on her ankle, and he maybe strokes it as Josie starts wandering into her neighbor's apartment like a creeper.

"He was big. She’d seen that even when he was fully clothed. But she’d never quite imagined just how broad those shoulders were. Nor could she have pictured the perfect swirl of dark hair on his rippled chest. One of his thick arms was arched back to cushion his head, and the other was draped across his slim waist. She continued her visual survey, her gaze tripping down the taut layers of muscle on his stomach, and the narrow jut of his hips. When she finally worked up the nerve to look lower, she sucked in a deep breath and had to lean back against the door for support. 'Oh, my God.' The man definitely had every right to be cocky. He was, quite simply, magnificent."

All of Dean's storytelling voices are back, and he grins up at her with a wicked smile.

"At least you have good taste." His hand moves a little higher to squeeze her leg gently.

Oh, hello there Dean's hand. Where do you think you're wandering off to? Not that Meg has any plans of stopping it from wandering. Meg responds to the gentle squeeze of her leg by rocking her toes again.

"Of course. My taste is impeccable. Only the finest for me. And for the record - Big cocks aren't everything. Sorry to burst Mister Oily and his creeper's bubble. But a huge dick does not guarantee mind-blowing sex."

Their relationship has really taken a turn. Discussing romance novels and sex without it being for the sole purpose of making Dean uncomfortable. Practically best friends, right?

"Oh yeah? I thought that was something you girls said to make guys feel better."

Yeah, Dean doesn't know what this hand of his is doing either, and he should probably be gently shutting down this whole scenario, but -- dude, he doesn't want to. And it's got nothing to do with Cas -- or, well, maybe it's easier if Dean believes that he and Cas aren't going to be a... he-and-Cas kind of arrangement because that's -- a whole level of -- commitment to a guy and he's not sure... Whatever, anyway, point is Meg and Cas are sweet on each other, and Meg and Dean have managed to... He doesn't think sweet's the word, but they're something. There's a unit forming here, and with Charlie missing and their lives extra topsy-turvy now, he'd like to have the comfort of that unit.

"But I agree. You gotta have finesse."

Dean really needs to stop thinking so much. Things are so messy when you stop to analyse all the little details. Sometimes it's better to just go with guy instinct and worry about the consequences afterwards. Then again, that is the kind of thinking that got Meg screwed by a hot angel that isn't Cas. Oops?

Meg makes no attempt to stop Dean's hand. The only time she stops it is to move enough to refill both their glasses, but she soon wiggles her foot back into place.

She listens to him read the next few chapters without making snarky comments. Must be some kind of miracle.

To say these things are arousing is a generous estimate; he guesses they must make some people hot, and they have potential, sure, but the words are all weird. Still, Dean gives it his all. And when he tries, he can bring the appropriate amount of sex-voice to most things. Maybe he should back off, or not get quite so into it, especially with Meg's foot where it is, and their relationship what it is.

After a particularly titillating passage, he looks up at her, and he's amused, yeah, but there's a hint of genuine interest in there. Figures the one time he turns up maybe looking for her to mack on him a little bit, she's making it hard.

"How're you holding up over there? Need a break?"

It helps that Dean has a fucking amazing sex-voice too. Seriously, he could read the dictionary in that voice and women would still be all a-quiver. Women that aren't Meg, naturally, because he has no affect on her nethers whatsoever. And that is a blatant lie.

She's a demon. Lying is a thing they do.

And boy is she flustered. If she were human she could blame it on the alcohol, but she has no excuse. "Just peachy. So over this sorry excuse for foreplay though. We should screw."

He's caught off guard, but you know, also not that caught off guard. They've been at this dance for a while, and Dean's... tired, and weirdly full of way too much forgiveness of late, bending where he never would've bent before and that's not a comment on his potential bendiness in bed, okay, that's a metaphor for his morality. The reset button that was Purgatory's done weird things to Dean, and he's had time now to come to terms with that. He's tired of fighting. Not the big fights, but fighting Sam, fighting Cas, fighting Raphael and Gabriel, and even, yeah, fighting Meg here.

The truth is, he'd miss her. She's been like a thorn in his side since he got here, but now he's gotten used to it and taking her away would hurt even more than her sticking around.

"Don't let anyone tell you you're not subtle." But he drains the rest of his drink and sets it aside, then thumbs at the pages of the book for a few seconds, playing like he's going to read it again. His eyes flick up at her and he tosses it over the side of the bed.

"Inside voices this time, promise."

Dean's tired of fighting and Meg is at this weird place emotionally. It's either a recipe for disaster or the start of something very beautiful. Either way, they both get some amazing sex out of the deal - if the last time is anything to go by.

As much as it pains Meg to admit it, she kinda likes this weird little family unit they've got going on. It's sickeningly nice.

"You sure that's a promise you can keep?" She gives him little chance to respond though as she gets up from her chair, crawls onto the bed and plants a kiss on his lips.

Yeah, he's done thinking. He slides a hand into her hair and lets his body do the talking because that's so much easier. He has no idea if this is going to be weird for Cas, or if things between her and Cas are weird; he hopes it won't be because it changes nothing for Dean. What's the kind of monkey that has sex for the social bonding or whatever? Yeah, that's totally what's happening here right now. Social bonding monkey sex.

Social bonding monkey sex? If Dean wants to keep his precious monkey nuts intact, he should probably never, ever refer to this moment as social bonding monkey sex out loud.

As for making things weird... Meg really doesn't understand the humans' obsession with monogamy. Sure, she was human. She wanted to be loved by a Prince Charming for life. But really, why settle for one when you can have more? If a girl can own a hundred pairs of shoes, why not love a hundred men? Not that she loves anyone... Shut up. It's complicated.

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roll away your stone; i'll roll away mine

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do you have a link to this book?

www.millsandboon.co.uk/onlinereads/Desire-Calls-chapter1.htm

http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/onlinereads/Naughty-All-Night-chapter1.htm

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want to throw in some passage of time to where at least dean's tipsyish

Yay tipsy Dean!

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that promo for next week was nicely timed for this thread

It really was :D

is it okay if we fade this here?

Sure thing <3