Meg digs her hands into his wings. His grace crackles in anger. It slips past the edges and singes her bones. The stains in her quiver, dark and malicious scars in her soul that speaks of eons in hell. A delicious mix of fear and power rush through her veins.
She is sitting on his stomach, digs the heels of her boots into Castiel’s sides but his expression doesn’t change. His mouth pressed into a tight line and his eyes burning blue as he looks up at her. It irritates her—the fact that he looks at her like, like she’s a fucking child throwing a temper tantrum.
Meg pulls, spreads his wings in a harsh tug. Black massive things laid out to the sides. She starts out slow, voice soft, singing much too beautifully for a demon. Castiel thinks that somehow that is a sin in itself.
“Alouette, gentille Alouette.”
She curls her hands into downy feathers. They shake underneath her palms.
“Alouette, je te plumerai.” Her lips curl into a smile. Her body swaying forward but Castiel doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink.
Meg leans in, dangerously so. She ignores the static of grace, threatening to obliterate her very existence. A hand wraps around a feather. It’s thick and sleek in her hand as her mouth presses against his earlobe, whispering with all dark hatred and heated promise.
“Je te plumerai les ailes.”
Meg yanks the feather out in one swift motion, making Castiel wince.