Ethanol swirls through Castiel’s body. There is not very much, compared to so much of it, but still it finds that the chemical alters its experience a little. The average blink rate of its eyes has increased about 8%, (up to 15% on its starboard spires), and there is a fuzzy, static feeling in the tips of its pedipalps. It doesn’t have a point of reference for this sensation, but when it digs in its vessel’s mind it comes up with sleepy.
It blinks its vessel’s eyes.
Dean’s attention has swayed from Sam, now. He’s standing by the fridge, talking to the Harvelle girl. He dwarfs her, his broad frame making her look like a doll, but there is some discomfort in his heart. Some chain around his soul, even as he speaks so lightly: “So, dangerous mission tomorrow. Guess it's time to eat, drink and, you know, make merry.”
The girl rears back, looks up.
“Are you giving me the last night on earth speech?”
The last night on earth speech. Castiel knows of this. There are two things I know for certain. Is Jo a virgin? Dean does not seem concerned in the same way as he had with Castiel. It sends out a tongue of grace, licks at her soul. Finds a boy in tenth grade and the back seat of a Honda. Perhaps this is why Dean is not concerned.
“If I was, would that work?” Work?
Castiel sees the girl’s nose wrinkle. It is learning to distinguish human faces and this one is maybe… disgust? And then… glee?
“Hmm. Only if you bring him along.”
Jo points at Castiel. It can’t see Dean’s face, sneaks a tendril into his soul instead, laps and sucks at the edges. He cannot perceive the touch, and yet Castiel sees his little finger twitch. His soul is swirling fearfearexcitementembarrassmentinterest. He turns to Castiel and his eyes are just barely wider than usual, a few millimeters, maybe.
He claps a hand on its shoulder, and heat permeates out from the point of contact. He licks his lips.
“Hey, Buddy,” Dean says, smile a little too wide, like it hurts somewhat. “I got a little proposal for you. Last night on earth.”
-
Castiel holds the Harvelle girl. Its vessel’s hands are well shaped to cup her hips. It likes her little body, soft underneath it, making noises. Likes the way she parts and opens for its dick. Her hair is very touchable, it wants to rake its fingers through again, but she had objected the first time.
Dean lies beside it. Just watches. Rests his hand on its back. His eyes scan, and he pets its spine softly as it thrusts into the girl. His mouth falls slightly open, little breaths beading moisture on his bottom lip. Castiel can feel his erection, pressing thick against its hip.
The girl’s legs twitch, and it has learned to bear down as times like this, fucking her deeper, pulling her up to him.
Dean gasps. The Harvelle girl’s breathing grows heavier, and so does Dean’s. It turns its vessels face to him; his face is not readable, it gives into its instincts instead. It plunges into him, his soul parting and opening for its pseudopods.
Underneath the girl’s Hey, hey, I didn’t think you were actually gonna go for it it finds pornographic magazines, an endless parade of girls, fear, disgust. Anna, her hand on Castiel’s mark, and Alastair grinning in his devil’s trap. The kiss of a crossroads demon, residue lingering for years. Watch out for Sammy, look out for your little brother, boy. And underneath that…
There are two things I know for certain.
And it knows, for certain now. It can feel him quivering, shaking against it, overwhelmed with its appendages in his core being. It finds what it wants inside him, down in the well of terror at his center. Thrusts deeper, in the girl, in him. Tastes of them both. It can feel the girl clenching, and pressed into its side, it feels wetness begin to spread from his dick.
