Yeah. This is “Auto Erotica”. And, as per usual, it got a bit out of hand, so it’s going to be posted in two parts. This one now, second part in the morning. I’d wanted it to be in one post, but, well. You know how we are. This is just me posting something to fill the gap we have before the S6 finale, which will undoubtedly result in much flailing and sobbing, so we must have fun before we all die, right?
I am not sorry for this. In fact, I’m positively gleeful about it. Enjoy, folks.
Title: Auto Erotica (Part I)
Author: Das Mervin (And with significant contributions from Mrs. Hyde, because I have a very disturbing block with Consensual Het Missionary. Quit looking at me like that.)
Beta: Mrs. Hyde, gehayi, and kermit_thefrog
Rating: NC-17 for language and strong sexual content
Word Count: 12,365
Summary: Leah decides to take a couple of the Cullen cars out for a joyride…
Author’s Note: Okay, so, this is my response to the many reviews I’ve gotten on “The Wedding Crashers” (particularly FanFiction.Net), saying that there was just not enough wolf-on-angel action in that story. This is also my sincere apology to everyone for TWC, because when Hyde and I set out to write that one, we just wanted it to be a snarky, fun-filled romp that was nothing but a fun crossover parody in which “Supernatural” took a big wet bite out of Twilight’s ass. Obviously, that did not happen. Fun? Yes, I like to think so. Amusing? You guys liked it. But it was not the parody we’d originally planned. That fic got way more serious than we’d intended, and we wound up having the werewolves treat Sam like an object, savagely beating Leah on the dance floor, and writing all of the vampires as wanting to metaphorically take Dean out back and rape him. That’s unfriendly.
So, this is just an extension of “The Wedding Crashers” canon. Only this time, we get our parody, our big fat “take that”, and it serves no other purpose but to be amusing and…well, do what these two do. (The letters PWP come to mind.) So there you go—here’s the answer to everyone demanding more Leah/Cas action. But, once again, because this is just how Hyde and I roll, it did actually turn into something more than originally planned. So, buried in amongst the silly Twi-spite is a big helping of fishslapping directed towards some of the more prolific stereotypes in bad SPN-smut as well. I’ll mention our shout-outs at the end of the fic.
(By the way, Season Six and all of Castiel’s shenanigans are not killing my buzz on this ship. Quite the opposite—I am now seriously screaming that that poor angel needs to get some serious nookie with someone who is hot and who would appreciate him. He has had nothing but one three-season-long BAD DAY. COME ON, SPN, YOU GIVE EVERYONE ELSE IN THIS SERIES A BREAK AT ONE POINT, BUT YOU NEVER EVER GIVE ONE TO THE ANGEL. STOP BEATING HIM WITH A STICK.)
Disclaimer: I do not own “Supernatural”. It is the property of CW and Kripke Enterprises. I do not known Twilight. It is the property of Stephenie Meyer.
It had been four months since June 17th. Four months since Jacob and Renesmee had decided to tie the knot. Four months since she’d spoken to anybody from Forks or La Push.
Four months since Leah had been set free.
Truth be told, she doubted she’d ever stop riding this high, coasting atop this beautiful wave of freedom. She’d been unable to concentrate on anything but the heady feeling of happiness and just…the complete absence of that bitterness that had characterized her life for so long. The dark and hollow feeling in her stomach caused by the fear of yet another phone call and summons home had vanished. The constant thought that she could never truly be herself and speak her mind because Jacob would never let her had evaporated. The trapped helplessness was simply gone.
But the best part was that the feelings of worthlessness were gone. Before June 17th, she’d cared about how much she was unwanted and spit upon because Jacob and the rest of those assholes had wanted her to care—because what was the point of using her as the pack scapegoat and whipping wolf if she didn’t take their insults to heart?
Now she didn’t care because she didn’t have to care. Just that thought caused her already huge grin to stretch wider as tugged on the zipper at her hip.
Of course, she hadn’t spent those four months just skipping around and squeeing every time she thought of how she was a lone wolf and herself for the first time in years. These whole four months straight she’d spent with Sam and Dean. It wasn’t just for company, but for protection. She was sure that those douchebag ass-pires would not forgive that particular humiliation at their hands, and she just knew that there would be a few stupid enough to take it into their heads to try and kill them for revenge. Dean had fussed and groused when she’d informed them that she was taking child-minding duties upon herself; he’d crankily (and proudly) pointed out that he did shank Captain Planet at the wedding, after all. But she had grimly informed him that as magnificent as it may have been, he’d gotten lucky. No vampire would sit still and let him get close enough to do that again, so unless he wanted to run the risk of getting killed in the night, he really needed to just swallow his pride and let her stick around for backup. Sam, predictably, was the sensible one about it and told Dean that they probably did need a heavyweight to ride with them for a while, at least until things calmed down. Sam had also reminded him that, as per her trade-offs for them coming to the wedding, she was going to make him pie and sleep in his bed; he had nothing to complain about. Dean had perked up considerably at the notion—which, incidentally, had pretty much been all that had been needed to change his mind.
And so Leah rode with them—sometimes opting out of riding and just running behind the Impala while they drove (Dean had made a snide car-chasing comment at her, and then had threatened to turn her into roadkill when she had made to lift her leg on it), because she could just wolf out and run free and wild and still be blissfully, utterly alone.
However, it had been four months now, and she had not caught the scent of a single vampire—not even the pansy fanged kind. In fact, the whole last four months had been decidedly dead. They’d iced a poltergeist in Iowa, broken a low-level but irritating curse in Buffalo that turned out to be on a teapot, of all things, and Leah had made exceptionally short work of a nasty shape-shifter prowling a college campus in Alabama, but other than that, it had almost been like they’d been on one long extended vacation.
Sam and Dean, of course, were going out of their minds. They hated long dry spells, hated afternoons that were eaten up with just poring over newspapers and finding nothing but extremely depressing yet unambiguously normal headlines, hated being trapped inside with nothing to do but piss each other off. Leah, on the other hand, had been having a ball. She’d never realized just how much she threw herself into her work strictly to vent her frustrations, taking all of her anger and fury at those assholes in her pack and unleashing on the monsters she hunted. However, she no longer had any frustrations to vent, and so she’d just been enjoying the months of silence and calm.
That, and her new…whatever Cas was.
Leah deliberately sidetracked herself from those thoughts, tugging the tops of her boots a little; if she spent too much time pondering that, she’d never get anything done. That simply wouldn’t do, especially for a day like today when she had plans.
Four months of silence—not a trace of a fangless freak. She’d cautiously decided a week ago that she could stop babysitting the boys for a day without fearing they’d be broken in half—apparently, the cowards had taken the “angels are watching over you” threat much more seriously than she’d thought.
As such, she was hopefully headed off across the country today. It was high time she paid a little visit to her new in-laws.
Leah shut her motel room with a thunk, wiggling her key down into her ridiculously tiny front pocket, and went next door to room 203. She knocked twice on the door, rolling her eyes when her sensitive ears picked up the steady buzzing noise coming from inside; did Dean ever get tired of the Magic Fingers? She was willing to bet Sam was just about to lose it in there by now. Sure enough, the door swung open and there was Sam Winchester, and he had the classic Sam Winchester Bitchface—which slid right off when he got a good look at her.
“Hey, Sam!” she said brightly, stepping around him and into the room. She glanced over across the way and saw Dean was still lost in the bliss of his vibrating bed and Black Sabbath, so she picked up a pencil from the table by the door and flicked it at him with her usual precision. It nailed him right in the thigh, and he started before glaring over at them irritably. Then his eyes widened and he sat up, yanking out his earbuds as he went.
“Damn—what’s up with that?” he asked without preamble, flinging his hand out at her.
Leah grinned and spread her arms, allowing them to give her a once-over. She watched them take in the too-tight shirt, the (few) closed buttons straining against her boobs, her black bra was clearly visible through the thin white fabric, while the bottom of the shirt was knotted to expose her midriff—a look only exacerbated by her tight, low-riding leather skirt that barely reached the middle of her thighs. She rocked back a little on the heels of the tall, high-heeled, black leather boots she’d purchased with her fake credit card.
“How do I look?” she prompted.
Dean was busy staring at her ass, so it was Sam who replied uncertainly, “Uh, like a hooker?”
“Oh, come on, Sam,” Dean protested, finally dragging himself into the conversation, “she doesn’t look that—”
Leah just beamed and waved her hand to silence him. “Relax—that’s the point. I’m going out today, and wanted to dress appropriately,” she said cheerily.
Dean snorted. “I didn’t think you need to go out and set up shop on a street corner to get laid these days,” he said scathingly. Sam grimaced.
Chuckling, Leah replied, “No, not that kind of going out.” She grinned nastily. “I’m paying a visit to my in-laws.”
Dean blinked while Sam just looked dubious. “Why would you want to?” he asked.
“‘Cause I don’t think we parted on the best of terms,” she said, very seriously. “I feel that we still have some issues to work through and resolve.”
“In other words,” Dean said wryly, “you’re taking advantage of our downtime to go dick with ‘em ‘cause you can.”
“Absolutely,” she said firmly.
“I approve,” Dean said, nodding.
“That I get,” Sam threw in. “But the clothes I don’t.”
“Oh, come on, Sam,” Leah sighed, rolling her eyes. “You met them. And you said it yourself—they dress like two-dollar whores. But they think that just so long as the clothes are expensive that they don’t make them look cheap. And you heard them at the wedding—they all think I’m nothing but a raging slut.” She smiled again, gesturing towards herself. “So screw them—may as well just dress the part, right?”
“That,” Sam added genially, “and look way hotter than they did in those ridiculous dresses.”
“Damn straight,” Dean said firmly.
“But,” Leah continued after flashing them a smile, “seeing as I don’t know where they are and just little ol’ me probably wouldn’t be enough to make ‘em really squirm, I’m planning on some company.”
With that, she raised her face to the ceiling. “Castiel! We are in dire need of your angelic services, so if you aren’t too busy, could you take an express elevator to Earth, please?”
She twitched a little when the air flexed and that great, sweeping noise brushed by her, but she smiled hugely when she turned and saw him there, stiff and dorky as ever.
“Hello,” he said by way of greeting, nodding at the three of them.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean said amiably.
“What did you need?” Cas asked.
“Well,” Leah chimed in, stepping forward (of course, the clueless angel didn’t look twice at how she was dressed—he never did), “they don’t need anything. I’m the one who needs to borrow you for the day.”
And as if she’d flipped a switch, he went immediately tunnel vision on her—and she sincerely doubted she was the only one to see it. She knew she was in imminent danger of having her plans ruined if she didn’t clarify fast; it would not be the first time that he had just grabbed her and whisked her away to some abandoned building when he got it into his head that it was time for Fun.
“Not that way!” she said quickly.
“Oh, Jesus,” Dean groaned while Sam just rubbed his face with one hand.
Leah ignored them. “I just need you to find the Cullens for me—you know, that coven of vampires we met four months ago—and then take me over there. And I want you to come with me just to freak ‘em out. Just be angelic and stuff, you know? Be yourself.”
Cas’s smoldering eyes had cleared as she’d explained, and now he was just looking confused. “Why?” he asked, his brows creased.
“Because I hate them,” she answered matter-of-factly. He still didn’t get it, but she knew he’d do it, particularly when she added, “And I want to show them that I hate them, and I want you there as my muscle, just to shake ‘em up.”
Dean snorted. At Leah’s inquiring look, he seemed to sort of waffle a little, but then amusedly said, “I know it’s Cas and all, but—it’s Cas,” he said, as if that explained things. “I mean, look at him.” Leah looked, and so did Sam. “Come on—using him to go intimidate somebody?”
Cas furrowed his brows at Dean—confused again, but was he ever anything else when it came to Dean?—but Leah did know what he meant. Though it made her happy in all the right (and all the wrong) ways, Cas’s vessel, as he termed it, was…not all that impressive. The Cullens were, as well she knew, only ever impressed with outward appearances, and Cas’s was small, stringy, and kinda dorky—the nerd angel, as she’d heard Dean call him more than once behind his back. She supposed that was why the three of them so often forgot the whole “hardass warrior of God” thing.
She was snapped out of her (not at all unpleasant) contemplation of Castiel’s physical traits by the sound of Sam’s voice. “Well, you know, if you really wanna scare them…” he said contemplatively, “why not have him flash the wings at them?”
“Yeah!” Dean said, brightening as he turned to Cas. “You think you could do that thing with your wings?” Dean flapped his hands over his own shoulders. “You know, like when you showed ‘em to me? They’ll totally piss themselves.”
“Like you almost did?” Sam asked dryly.
“Screw you,” Dean answered, his voice sour.
Leah wasn’t paying attention to that, though, but rather whipped around to stare accusingly at Castiel. “You mean you’ve been hiding feathers under that coat and have never even bothered to show me?! Where? Why?! I wanna see! You whip ‘em out right now!” she said, mock-scolding.
“Uh, it’s not like that,” Sam interrupted before Cas could reply. “They’re just shadows—you know he doesn’t really have a body like that. I don’t think we can actually see anything without burning out our heads.”
All three of them turned in surprise to Cas.
“Simply revealing the shadows of my wings is more convenient, to say nothing of remaining inconspicuous when I am walking the earth,” he began.
“Says you,” Dean muttered.
“But on certain occasions,” Cas went on, “an angel can manifest his wings into a physical, tangible form that the human eye can see. Human visual media always portrays us with physical wings,” he added, stating the obvious. “Those images were originally inspired by angels who appeared in such a manner.”
“Why would you even need to do that?” Dean demanded.
“It is…mostly for performance,” Cas admitted, looking vaguely embarrassed.
Leah didn’t really care why they did it. She just nodded eagerly and gestured at Cas. “Well, there you go. Just do that.”
Cas glanced up at her, at her eager expression and Sam and Dean’s expectant ones, and then with something almost something like a sigh of resignation, looked around at the tiny motel room before moving to the largest area he could find, the open space between the tiny kitchenette and the beds. She saw his hands twitch as he bowed his head and closed his eyes. His shoulders rolled a bit and flexed, and then Leah once again flinched back as the air crackled and hummed and made her hair stand on end. Sam and Dean, of course, didn’t seem to feel it. Even so, she could see them squinting as the air around Cas began to warp and twist like the shimmer of a blacktop on a hot summer day. But then Leah could only jerk her head in pain as that ever-present thrum that surrounded him rose up, heavy and powerful in her skull and she doubled over and clapped her hands over her ears even though it never did any good, until suddenly with a crack of displaced air and the smell of ozone and burning cotton, it stopped. She looked up—and her jaw dropped.
There was an angel standing in the room.
“Whoa, dude!” Dean exclaimed, starting backwards. And then did a double take. “…Black?”
Castiel’s face was sober. “I Fell,” he said simply.
Sam and Dean both looked at each other, seeming vaguely uncomfortable…but Leah just stared.
He had wings…and they were black.
Huge and feathered and black, and despite being tightly folded they arced up over his head to touch the ceiling even as the tips brushed the floor. The glossy black feathers were smooth and sleek and sharp, and yet they seemed to…bleed into each other, as though her eyes could not see his wings in their entirety, could only take in the smaller details but not the whole. Just their sheer presence somehow made the room seem smaller—or maybe it was that Castiel suddenly seemed so much bigger.
Dean shifted a little, eyeing him, and then offered, “Well…they’re sure a lot more badass-looking than fluffy white ones.”
Castiel cocked his head to one side, his forehead creasing a little, then he turned, and one wing unfurled, just slightly, and the movement was fluid and smooth like a coiled snake. The low light of the lamp and the bars of sunlight coming through the shuttered windows rippled across them in lines of blue-green iridescence, each feather picked out in the play of light. He curled it around himself, to peer curiously at the blade-like line of primaries, sharp and crisp and yet still seeming to run at the edges like smoke. Then he looked up, and the wing snapped back into place with that familiar rustle, leaving a wispy trail of darkness in its wake and a whiff of sandalwood and spice in the air.
Leah wasn’t even aware that she’d moved until she found herself reaching out, and her fingertips just brushed along the edge of his wing.
It twitched beneath her touch; this was no prop or statue. It was real, and it was alive. Mesmerized, she ran her hand along it, stroking. The inky feathers were smooth and slick, overlaying the impossible hardness of the cords of muscle and sinew beneath, like iron wrapped in silk. Her breath quickened; she could feel a pulse beneath her hand where she curled her fingers around it, and her own pulse sped up to match. It wasn’t a heartbeat, because his vessel didn’t have one, but, then again, these wings weren’t really part of his vessel, despite rising up from his human shoulders where they’d burned through the clothes on his back. They were simply part of him, and it was as though they were laced with veins that were filled with frozen fire that throbbed burningly cold against her skin, into her skin, running through her body to pool deep in her belly.
The spell was broken when Sam cleared his throat loudly. Leah started, and looked at Cas, who was regarding her questioningly, and then to Sam and Dean, who were both staring at her—and looking more than a little appalled.
Her cheeks flushing, Leah shut her mouth with a snap and jerked her hand away from his wing, her fingers tingling.
“Right,” she croaked, her mouth like cotton, and she swallowed noisily. “New plan.”
Part I | Part II
New plan indeed. What’s the plan? Find out tomorrow.