[Fic] The Angel of Thursday
Oct. 17th, 2008 03:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeTitle: The Angel of Thursday Part 3: Battle Fatigue
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Ruby/Castiel
Word Count: 3,831+
Rating: PG
Summary: Entirely a justification for one of the most unlikely pairings ever.
Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4
She reached out and closed the shades again with a gesture that made him think she didn't want anyone to see them. It made him think that perhaps it was odd that he wasn't concerned with who would see an angel kissing a demon (although she had kissed him) and yet the demon was concerned who should see her kissing the angel. Or perhaps it wasn't odd at all. And he shouldn't be here, he should be keeping an eye on Dean and Sam Winchester.
He still wasn't leaving.
"Why did you kiss me, Ruby?"
He thought his voice was gentle but her face cracked under the question, as though it had hit some hitherto undiscovered weakness and broke her down to the foundation. Nothing specific or obvious, but her eyes widened a little and her jaw clenched and her shoulders shook for a moment. Perhaps she wanted to hit him. When they'd first met Dean had stabbed him, which he could almost understand, what with Dean evidently not knowing him for what he was.
But she still didn't offer an answer, or any words at all. And in a moment she stepped forward again, closed the distance between them and pressed her palm to his cheek, curled her hand around the back of his neck and kissed him again.
He allowed it. For the moment, one hand light on her waist while he didn't kiss her back (though her kiss was growing more insistent) but considered instead what he might do. It wasn't forbidden specifically for angels to engage in such congress while on Earth, largely because it was not expected that any such would do so. Would even want to do so. Under normal circumstances they would be correct and Castiel felt no sexual desire for this demon, but a strange attraction and certainly a sense of pity that she needed to connect in this manner. That she couldn't simply reach out with words or actions, that she had to resort to this. Or maybe it was simply with him. Or perhaps she was trying to make him Fall.
She didn't have much conception or knowledge of angels if she thought this would incite him to lose or forsake God's grace.
Humans convinced themselves that all love was the same, but it wasn't. Demons were under the same illusion, or so it seemed. And just when she was about to draw away he cupped her cheek in his gentle hand and returned her kiss, letting it linger for a moment before straightening with what he presumed was an expression that, under no circumstance was this to be repeated.
But she was crying.
It surprised him, a little, that a demon could cry. Would cry, except for the gain of preying on the sympathies of others. What was to be gained here? Was there anything? He tilted his head at her, puzzled, now slightly unwilling to let his hand fall away and she put her arms around him tighter and kissed him a third time, softer but more desperate.
Desperate for what? He couldn't think what she was doing by this, or, for that matter, what he was doing. Was he thinking clearly, her lips pressed against his through the wet and her fingers clutching at his shoulders? What was he doing here? What did she want from him? What did he need from her? It was harder to think clearly. The sensations this kiss, different from the last, was giving him were distracting.
She did stop, at least, when he withdrew inside himself, fleeing towards some kind of serenity he might have possessed before doubts and demons worked their way in. Stopped and pulled back far enough to look at him from between the wings of her hair. He simply looked at her, a puzzled non-frown, slightly upturned beetled brow and hair all windwhipped. Hands gentle on her back, for there was really no need for otherwise yet. She was so close. Neither of them seemed to feel it necessary to harm the other. Whether or not there would be hurt yet remained to be seen.
By the look of her it was too late for that already, and perhaps for him as well. He had hope for her now, hope at least that some part of her could be saved, could be brought to seek forgiveness and peace. She was not at peace. The way she looked at him told him that. The way she kissed him, he realized abruptly, told him that as well. He took her into his arms, just for a moment, offering what peace he could share that she would accept. For a moment she seemed content to rest her head on his shoulder and he thought that maybe she would find it.
Electric sensation along nerve endings he hadn't until recently possessed. It took him a moment to sort out which feeling was coming from where, sort the heat from the weight and the weight from the pressure and the hot from the cold and who was touching where. Her kisses moved up as her hands moved down, and both suitcoat and trenchcoat pooled on the floor. It would have been innocuous if she hadn't been ...
... he put his hands on her elbows and tried to push her away. "Ruby..."
"Just, stop," she turned away, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and slipping out of his arms so fast he had trouble following what she was doing, let alone why. "Stop. Never mind."
She thought he was rejecting her for all her demonic nature and all her sins, he realized. Or supposed, since she hadn't directly said that. He caught her arms gently again and turned her back to him. "What is it you want, Ruby."
"I want..." she looked down, as though she didn't know, and it was artifice. The knowledge that it was artifice blew through his mind like a storm. But when she looked up at him, sharp and afraid as their body language shifted to confrontational and adversarial, that wasn't artifice, and he was again at a loss as to how to proceed.
"Stop playing. Whatever you want, stop playing your games. I'm not here for you, and I don't want to play." And he was past the point where he would simply leave if he didn't want to play, if she pushed the issue.
"Fine." Her nostrils flared with her next angry breath.
But he waited, and no further words came.
Neither of them knew what they wanted. He was started to be... somewhere between hurt and upset, and how this demon had managed both when no mortal had done it yet so far (well, perhaps Dean, in the kitchen of that older hunter) he didn't know. But this. He was tired, and he was starting to be angry, and she had been...
... putting her hand on his chest, as she did now. Coatless, it meant more. Felt more. Weighed more, was warmer than her touch might have been otherwise. "Don't." As he drew in breath to say something. "I dont' want to fight. We've been fighting for months now," and she must have meant the war on Earth. "And... I don't want to fight right now. I don't want to do anything right now. Just this."
She was tired. He could sympathize. Perhaps this was'nt the way to go about it but he could sympathize with being tired of this damn war even if it hadn't been very long since he and his company had gotten involved. And six of them were dead now. And he was tired, too, and he nodded.
She kissed him again and this time he didn't even think to wonder why.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Ruby/Castiel
Word Count: 3,831+
Rating: PG
Summary: Entirely a justification for one of the most unlikely pairings ever.
Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4
She reached out and closed the shades again with a gesture that made him think she didn't want anyone to see them. It made him think that perhaps it was odd that he wasn't concerned with who would see an angel kissing a demon (although she had kissed him) and yet the demon was concerned who should see her kissing the angel. Or perhaps it wasn't odd at all. And he shouldn't be here, he should be keeping an eye on Dean and Sam Winchester.
He still wasn't leaving.
"Why did you kiss me, Ruby?"
He thought his voice was gentle but her face cracked under the question, as though it had hit some hitherto undiscovered weakness and broke her down to the foundation. Nothing specific or obvious, but her eyes widened a little and her jaw clenched and her shoulders shook for a moment. Perhaps she wanted to hit him. When they'd first met Dean had stabbed him, which he could almost understand, what with Dean evidently not knowing him for what he was.
But she still didn't offer an answer, or any words at all. And in a moment she stepped forward again, closed the distance between them and pressed her palm to his cheek, curled her hand around the back of his neck and kissed him again.
He allowed it. For the moment, one hand light on her waist while he didn't kiss her back (though her kiss was growing more insistent) but considered instead what he might do. It wasn't forbidden specifically for angels to engage in such congress while on Earth, largely because it was not expected that any such would do so. Would even want to do so. Under normal circumstances they would be correct and Castiel felt no sexual desire for this demon, but a strange attraction and certainly a sense of pity that she needed to connect in this manner. That she couldn't simply reach out with words or actions, that she had to resort to this. Or maybe it was simply with him. Or perhaps she was trying to make him Fall.
She didn't have much conception or knowledge of angels if she thought this would incite him to lose or forsake God's grace.
Humans convinced themselves that all love was the same, but it wasn't. Demons were under the same illusion, or so it seemed. And just when she was about to draw away he cupped her cheek in his gentle hand and returned her kiss, letting it linger for a moment before straightening with what he presumed was an expression that, under no circumstance was this to be repeated.
But she was crying.
It surprised him, a little, that a demon could cry. Would cry, except for the gain of preying on the sympathies of others. What was to be gained here? Was there anything? He tilted his head at her, puzzled, now slightly unwilling to let his hand fall away and she put her arms around him tighter and kissed him a third time, softer but more desperate.
Desperate for what? He couldn't think what she was doing by this, or, for that matter, what he was doing. Was he thinking clearly, her lips pressed against his through the wet and her fingers clutching at his shoulders? What was he doing here? What did she want from him? What did he need from her? It was harder to think clearly. The sensations this kiss, different from the last, was giving him were distracting.
She did stop, at least, when he withdrew inside himself, fleeing towards some kind of serenity he might have possessed before doubts and demons worked their way in. Stopped and pulled back far enough to look at him from between the wings of her hair. He simply looked at her, a puzzled non-frown, slightly upturned beetled brow and hair all windwhipped. Hands gentle on her back, for there was really no need for otherwise yet. She was so close. Neither of them seemed to feel it necessary to harm the other. Whether or not there would be hurt yet remained to be seen.
By the look of her it was too late for that already, and perhaps for him as well. He had hope for her now, hope at least that some part of her could be saved, could be brought to seek forgiveness and peace. She was not at peace. The way she looked at him told him that. The way she kissed him, he realized abruptly, told him that as well. He took her into his arms, just for a moment, offering what peace he could share that she would accept. For a moment she seemed content to rest her head on his shoulder and he thought that maybe she would find it.
Electric sensation along nerve endings he hadn't until recently possessed. It took him a moment to sort out which feeling was coming from where, sort the heat from the weight and the weight from the pressure and the hot from the cold and who was touching where. Her kisses moved up as her hands moved down, and both suitcoat and trenchcoat pooled on the floor. It would have been innocuous if she hadn't been ...
... he put his hands on her elbows and tried to push her away. "Ruby..."
"Just, stop," she turned away, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and slipping out of his arms so fast he had trouble following what she was doing, let alone why. "Stop. Never mind."
She thought he was rejecting her for all her demonic nature and all her sins, he realized. Or supposed, since she hadn't directly said that. He caught her arms gently again and turned her back to him. "What is it you want, Ruby."
"I want..." she looked down, as though she didn't know, and it was artifice. The knowledge that it was artifice blew through his mind like a storm. But when she looked up at him, sharp and afraid as their body language shifted to confrontational and adversarial, that wasn't artifice, and he was again at a loss as to how to proceed.
"Stop playing. Whatever you want, stop playing your games. I'm not here for you, and I don't want to play." And he was past the point where he would simply leave if he didn't want to play, if she pushed the issue.
"Fine." Her nostrils flared with her next angry breath.
But he waited, and no further words came.
Neither of them knew what they wanted. He was started to be... somewhere between hurt and upset, and how this demon had managed both when no mortal had done it yet so far (well, perhaps Dean, in the kitchen of that older hunter) he didn't know. But this. He was tired, and he was starting to be angry, and she had been...
... putting her hand on his chest, as she did now. Coatless, it meant more. Felt more. Weighed more, was warmer than her touch might have been otherwise. "Don't." As he drew in breath to say something. "I dont' want to fight. We've been fighting for months now," and she must have meant the war on Earth. "And... I don't want to fight right now. I don't want to do anything right now. Just this."
She was tired. He could sympathize. Perhaps this was'nt the way to go about it but he could sympathize with being tired of this damn war even if it hadn't been very long since he and his company had gotten involved. And six of them were dead now. And he was tired, too, and he nodded.
She kissed him again and this time he didn't even think to wonder why.