Haus of Gaga

Author's Note: This fandom is going to hate me for this, I bet. But the opportunity was too good to pass up; there are some pictures on dA with Casitel and Gaga hanging out and of course I had to write something up about them.

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“What is a Disco Stick?” Lady Gaga closed her eyes for a minute before turning around so hard and fast she almost gave herself whiplash. This had been perhaps the twentieth time that day that he’d asked her such a ridiculous question. Could he honestly be that retardedly innocent? Glowering darkly at the confused angel, she paused for a moment. With his head turned to the side and his blue eyes opened impossibly wide, the man looked like a puppy she had as a child. Sighing, she put one hand on her hip and used the other to remove the shades from her face.

The man had been rather loyally following her for the better part of a month, eager to help her on the few occasions that she dabbled in her “Haus of Gaga” religion. He called himself Castiel, and while the name was strange who was she to complain? Unfortunately, despite her insistence that he change his outfit every time she did, he refused and would constantly don an atrocious trench coat and suit.

“You want to know what a disco stick is, Castiel?” She leaned forward slightly, licking her lips as she spoke. Castiel nodded, his breath hitched a bit in excitement. If Lady Gaga was who he thought was she, then surely this “disco stick” was some clever modern euphemism for the Holy Lance. Castiel may have been slow on human customs, but he was no fool. And if he couldn’t find God in time, they would at least have a chance with the Spear.

“Come with me then, there’s something I want to show you.” And just like that, the woman had whipped back around, sunglasses back in place, and was almost trotting towards the Haus. Dumbstruck, Castiel took a second longer before following after her. She walked down a series of corridors, making so many lefts and rights for a moment Castiel thought he would be sick.

They don’t stop moving until Gaga reaches a set of large, double doors. And it feels like Castiel’s practically standing at the gates of Heaven themselves, his breath catching in his throat as he expects to walk into a grand room with the Spear proudly displayed. What he gets, instead, is a bedroom. The room is almost empty except for a king sized bed in the center and a night stand to the left of the bed.

“Go lay over there, I’ll be back.” She tips her head towards the bed, making her way towards one end of the room where there’s a door to a bathroom. Disappointed, Castiel falters for a moment before following her instructions. With it now plainly obvious that this “Lady Gaga” is not any sort of holy being in a human vessel fooling around like Gabriel, Castiel would need to leave. Preferably immediately, before anyone catches wind of how he’d been foolishly following this woman around for weeks.

Before he could teleport away, however, Lady Gaga is standing before him. Her hair, for once, isn’t done up in some insane fashion and is layered down to her back. She sports a black corset that’s so tight, her breasts look ready to spill out from the top and she’s nixed the underwear for a more… unorthodox garment. Castiel’s eyes can’t seem to look away from the slightly swaying, bright pink dildo attached to a harness and strapped carefully around her.

“What in God’s name is that?” His jaw has gone slack, and for once Castiel absolutely cannot fathom that such a creation exists. It’s not until Gaga opens her mouth that he can bring his eyes away from pink monster.

“This, Castiel,” She takes a moment to purr out his name, leaning in close and dropping her hands on his shoulders, “is my disco stick!” And then she pushes him backwards onto the bed, laughing like a little kid on Christmas. And Castiel is so unbelievably shocked that he can’t quite bring himself to leave or move or do anything except lay there. Gaga, on the other hand, wastes no time in getting ready, having already pulled off his tie and begun to rip apart the buttons of his shirt.

When the initial shock and horror wears off, Castiel’s eyes are dark and angry and he attempts to stand. Lady Gaga isn’t as light as she appears though, and within moments she is straddling his waist and pressing her cock into his stomach. Castiel is understandably flustered, hot hands roaming across his torso and her hips are rocking hard against his crotch.

Thin fingers pinching at his nipples bring him out of his dazed state, and he once again beings to struggle against the woman. She scowls, slamming one hand down on his chest and managing to knock him back into the bed. His eyes are wide and she can’t help but smile,

“You should really let me finish this ritual, Castiel. Once we’re done, I’ll have something of great importance to show you.” Her eyes twinkle mischievously and the angel begrudgingly relaxes. After all, how painful could a human ritual be?

Laying flat against the bed, he watches with uncertainty as she begins unbuckling his belt and ripping his pants and underwear down to his ankles. The sudden rush of air startles him, although not nearly as much as when he looks down and sees her already stroking his member to hardness. And it really doesn’t take long; his vessel was unbelievably sensitive.

Before long she’s flipping him over, telling him to prop up on his hands and knees. He hesitates for a minute and she swats him across the ass, hard, before he complies. With his ass exposed to the cool air, Castiel keeps his eyes boring straight ahead to the wall. He can feel his prick throbbing and his ass still stings from where she smacked him. He can hear her rumble around in the nightstand and suddenly everything goes still.

It feels like an eternity before he can feel her hot breath on the back of his thighs, and it’s only a moment longer before she’s nipping and biting at the point where his thigh and ass meet. He gasps, unprepared, and can feel his dick harden even more. Without warning, however, she stops, and Castiel can’t tell if he’s upset or glad. He feels the bed shake softly with whatever moment she’s currently doing, and he can hear noises coming from behind him. He chances a glance over his shoulder and his eyes widen as he watches Gaga pour a cream onto her hands.

He’s about to open his mouth and ask what she’s doing when he can feel a single, slick finger push into him. He jerks forward from shock, the feeling of being stretched both overwhelming and unfamiliar. His anus clenches and Gaga growls,

“Stop tensing so much Cas, it’ll be easier if you relax.” He wants to reply that she isn’t the one that has a finger up her ass, but the words die in his throat when she wrenches her finger around and brushes across his prostate. Instead what comes out in a low moan, and he doesn’t have to turn around to know that Gaga has a shit-eating grin on her face. She adds a second finger and spreads him further and her fingers are moving around in ways that Castiel didn’t even know fingers COULD move in.

By the time she manages to work a third in, his legs are shaking from the strain and his dick is bright red and hard enough to hurt. Incomprehensible words about God spill from his lips, and in between the moans and gasps, he starts to bite his lip so hard that blood begins pouring down his chin. And finally, she removes her fingers and grabs the bottle of lube once again, this time rubbing her disco stick with the cream. And slowly, tortuously, she presses the tip of the dildo to his anus and it takes more effort than he’s willing to admit to not shout out in need. She only a few inches in when his hips jerk backwards onto her dick. She laughs before grabbing onto his hips, holding him steady, before continuing to slowly enter him.

He whines in the back of his throat, “Please.” And Gaga can’t find it in herself to be cruel. She pauses for a moment and then shoves the rest of the way in, hard enough to push them both forwards. A low moan comes from his mouth, and while Gaga pulls out and slams back into him with as much force as she can, Cas is practically ripping the bed sheets in half from his grip. She falls into a steady rhythm, thrusting with all her might.

“Harder.” The single word is spoken in a low, guttural tone, and Gaga stops for a second to catch her breath. She readjusts her grip on his hips and attempts to fuck him harder and only barely succeeds.

“Shit Castiel, I didn’t think you’d be this into it.” Her breathing is labored but Castiel still insists that she push deeper into him. She complies, the tip of her dick now hitting his prostate with every thrust. She removes her hands from his hips, draping over his sweat covered back, and slides one hand over his member. It’s already wet with precum and she only has to stroke twice before he’s cumming hard and fast onto the bed. His body convulses, his hips jerking forward, and his seed spills over her hand and it feels like forever before he finally stops. He’s practically screaming, his voice deep and seeming to echo in the small room.

Letting out a deep breath, she pulls out of his ass and rolls over to the other side of the bed, not bothering to remove the strap-on. After a moment, she turns over to face Castiel, only to see his blue eyes starring right into her hazel ones. She jerks back, the blank look almost making her feel guilty.

“Show me,” Gaga frowns, feeling even worse when his face is eager and impatient. She coughs lightly, turning her gaze from his eyes to the bed sheets,

“I don’t really have anything to show you Cas. I was just trying to…you know.” The words sound even lamer than she thought they would, and when she finally looks up again Castiel looks exactly like a kicked puppy.

“I am beginning to think this Haus of Gaga is not a true church.”