So Fell the Angels - Supernatural Fanfic/Fanfiction (Castiel Fan Fiction)

Chapter 3: The Devil Can Wait

Chapter 3: The Devil Can Wait

 

Tabitha closed her eyes and enjoyed the kiss, leaning further into its warmth as his hand snaked to her waist to pull her flush against him. She frowned a little at his much taller frame, the difference feeling strange and awkward to her. But when she lifted her hand to his face, her fingertips brushed against the familiar feel of a stubbled cheek, and she was able to sink back into the feelings the kiss had stirred in her. The memory of the last time she'd been in familiar arms that had pulled her close and kissed her so gently surfaced in her mind. The last time he'd kissed her before he'd…

A disappointed sigh blew across her lips as he pulled back from her, shattering the memory that surfaced in her mind. But he didn't pull completely away from her, simply leaned his forehead against hers as he spoke.

"After all these years, you finally show up on my doorstep—a thing I've been dreaming of for so long—but it ain't me on your mind when I kiss you."

Tabitha's eyes snapped open at the familiar, deep Southern drawl to stare up into dark brown eyes as he leaned back away from her. There was a small smile playing on his lips as he spoke, but those dark eyes still gave him away, even after so many years apart, revealing the disappointment he was trying to hide. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Cort," she tried to lightly tell him, hoping to hide the guilt she'd felt when she'd opened her eyes to his dark ones instead of the blue eyes of the one she had been thinking of.

He kissed her playfully on the nose as he released his hold on her waist, pushing the ornately carved door further open and ushering her inside from his covered front porch. She followed his invitation, pausing only to pick up her dropped bags.

"Now, don't you be lying to me, Chérie, I know a little something about what it's like to kiss a woman when she's thinking of me, and what it's like to kiss a woman that's thinking of someone else. And your mind was far from here with me," he teasingly scolded as he gallantly took her bags from her.

She glanced hesitantly around the spacious foyer just inside the door. If the size and obvious grandeur of the outside of the house had given her cause to hesitate in knocking on Cort's door, the opulence of the inside gave her pause to even take another step forward. Or breathe.

Cort's house in New Orleans was nothing like what she had imagined. For one, she had imagined a house. Or an apartment. Not an old, antebellum, plantation-style mansion in the Garden District. She'd been unfamiliar with the addresses of New Orleans, and when the cab had pulled up in front of the address she'd given him, she'd nearly told him to keep driving. Never had she imagined that the hunter she'd known years before was so wealthy as to actually live in the famous Garden District of NOLA.

Antiques likely worth a small fortune looked so at home in rooms adorned with white marble, crystal chandeliers, and Persian rugs. Even a baby-grand piano stood in the center of the room. There was nothing cheap or tacky about his place. It was all high-priced, one-of-a-kind type antiques. Not hand-me-down, factory-made furniture like had filled her own home. When she'd had one anyway.

"Does it meet with your approval?" Cort drawled, obvious humor in his voice at her stupefied expression.

"I feel like if I take a step or even breathe wrong, I'll break something or just get it dirty," she confessed.

He laughed deeply at her statement, dropping her bags at the bottom of an old-fashioned curved staircase and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, leading her into what she assumed would be called a "sitting room." She'd certainly never really known anyone who owned a home grand enough to have one, but she supposed part of it was the old-fashioned Southern charm at play. Southern homes had to have sitting rooms, right?