Edited
10
Planning for Hell
It was suffocating; every breath tasting like putrid garbage on his tongue.
A continuous itch plagued every inch of skin, but no amount of scratching brought Dean relief. Most likely because he was trapped in his own mind. Every breath burned, his eyes couldn't focus, and with absolute certainty, he knew, he'd go mad here.
It was hard to explain, what being possessed felt like. His blurred sight would tell him he was standing in some non-descript defunct room in an abandoned building. But it was a lie. Dean could vaguely sense the movements of his body, the sights the demon saw through his eyes. The whole experience was like looking through a two-way mirror inside his mind—seeing himself and not himself.
Nothing more than a broken shell, letting it play out. Whatever Abaddon did now, he hardly cared. She'd done enough. She had done something so unthinkable that he lost the strength to fight. She made him experience every second of it and she hadn't bothered to clean up after and so, even now, he could feel it on him. The evidence. The loathing and disgust snaked around in his stomach and he wished he were dead. He would beg for it if he'd had the strength.
With no other choice, he watched, detached, as Abaddon made her way into hell. The hot, humid air saturated with the smell of burning skin and that metallic tinge of blood. She was murmuring to him, a quiet whisper in his ear. How excited she was that they were together; how she would show him how great the world could be; how they could rule it together. She reminded him of the power he'd once felt in Hell from the torturing of souls and Dean sat on the ground within the room inside his mind and let it wash over him.
She continued to speak to him like a lover's kiss, soft and enamored. He didn't call her a bitch, didn't yell at her. He sat and stayed quiet, hoping that she'd forget he was there.
Abaddon spoke to a few underlings and then made her way to take in the sights of Hell from her perch up high on some balcony or jut out, he couldn't tell. Three areas of torture spread out below her. Each and every one not surprising to Dean. He'd been one of those rutted corpses once. And then the tides had turned and he'd caved and ripped through skin himself.
The Knight of Hell watched through his green eyes, smiling with pure ecstasy. She slid a hand down his front and the view switched, going from two-player mode, to single game play where he was shoved into the front row seat. Evidently, she wanted him to experience this as well. Dean might have shrugged, or sighed, if he cared enough anymore to do even that.
What did it matter now, anyway?
As she fixated his eyes on a knife slicing down the stomach of a victim, blood gurgling up sickeningly, she rubbed along the length of flesh inside his jeans and only then did he react. A flinch and then it abated. She continued to stroke him as she became aroused from the sight of torture. He wasn't there, not really. He felt the touch, the slip of skin as she pulled him out—demons below watching of course—and she began stroking him rough and hard. There was bile rising in his throat that he couldn't help—an automatic reaction. But his mind stayed blank as she continued masturbating, watching, reaping pleasure from the debasement below.
As distant from this moment that he was, a part of him still registered the very worst parts of it. It wasn't even that she was touching him, or masturbating to torture. It was that, from his vantage point he felt aroused. Not in that secondary, echo of feeling, but the direct burning hum of arousal and he hated it. He'd rather feel nothing. But he wasn't that lucky. The worst part… worst of everything, was the proof that still glazed his cock, easing her touch and slide of his palm.
Dean curled away from every one of his senses as best he could but it wasn't much use. She was in full control. When she climaxed, he shivered with pleasure, hating himself, wanting to break down and cry, but he didn't have the will, or even the presence of mind.
"It's okay baby, I run the show now. But don't worry, we will be so great, you and I," she purred, stroking him languidly before tucking his limp dick away.
He didn't reply.
What would be the point?
/\/\/\
Sam and Castiel hadn't rested since returning to the bunker. They'd been calling people non-stop. Castiel left every so often to bring people back, both of them thankful that the guy's wings were undamaged following Abaddon's apparent attempt to remove them.
Now, the formerly abandoned bunker was bustling with life.
Sam glanced around and took in the sight of almost ten hunters that had responded to their desperate plea. They weren't provided with full details yet but it astounded him how dedicated this lot were. Most surprising of all, was Crowley; helping at every turn. Sam assured himself that it was because Crowley wanted Abaddon out of the way but something nudged at him the more he thought about it. Maybe it was the trials and Sam's blood, but whatever the reason, Crowley was different. A shred of a heart or decency. It was hard to pinpoint exactly and Sam didn't much trust him either way, but he would gladly take the help offered to get his brother back.
The hunters that answered and accepted their request knew the danger, they knew it involved going into Hell, not many would do so willingly, but as Sam had learned long ago—hunters were ballsy and arrogant. Besides, if they could take a shot at evil, they'd do it wearing a grin.
It was hard to adjust to the change from being relatively alone for so long to now having to dodge people as they walked past him in the halls, to have to wait for the bathroom, or shower, or not having to cook because someone had already done it. The bunker had turned into a command center in many ways—perhaps as it should have been all along.
Sam made his way down the wide hall, brushing past Cale who gave a 'Howdy' as he sauntered past. He finally managed to get into the library and found a vacant seat at the big table. Cas was talking to a woman behind him in low hushed whispers.
"We'll get him back," she said quietly to Cas; clearly offering comfort. The angel must have nodded because Sam didn't hear a response otherwise. The female hunter walked past Sam and disappeared around the corner down towards the kitchen.
Castiel came to stand beside him.
"Do you think it's enough?" Sam asked.
Cas looked thoughtful for a long minute. "I sincerely hope so."
The guy's bravado from a few days ago had started wavering. Sam noticed the change instantly. Then again, he'd been watching Cas like a hawk ever since they got back. Neither had said a word about what they knew had happened. Sam tried to ignore it because Cas really didn't seem to be bothered by it any more than he would've from run of the mill torture. He tried hard not to let pity show through on his features but sometimes it slipped and Cas would give him a sad look.
Like…right now, actually.
"Sam, please stop thinking about it," said Cas, his voice low, trying not to be heard by others in the room.
"I'm sorry, it's just, are you sure you're okay?" Sam felt weary with concern.
"I'm fine." Cas clipped off, walking away. The response being anything but, Sam followed after him. They ended up around the end of a bookcase and out of view.
Cas spun to face him. "What!?"
"It wasn't Dean."
"Gee, Sam, thanks for the revelation." Cas' use of sarcasm didn't throw him off. Sam held back a response and decided to wait patiently, just in case.
Eventually, Cas' features softened, his eyes closing for a long breath. "Really Sam, I'm fine. I know it wasn't Dean, and to be completely honest, I don't think an angel would see it the same way as a human would. We don't have the same connections to our bodies that you do. Was it pleasant? Obviously not. The only part of it that haunts me is knowing what it did to your brother. I can handle what happened, but he can't. So, forgive me, but we need to make haste to Hell because I am absolutely terrified that if we're too late, there'll be nothing left to save."
Sam blinked as the understanding of Cas' words settled around him. He hadn't thought of it that way and now that his eyes had been opened, he knew what Cas said was true. Dean was going to be dead when they found him, even if his heart was still beating, that would only be a technicality of his body functioning.
"Oh, shit." Castiel nodded empathetically.
"I think it's time to brief everyone and make our plans. We need to leave soon."
Cas went off, rounding up the group. Sam knew he needed to be there but instead he found himself seated on the edge of Dean's bed fifteen minutes later, unable to move.
His head hung low between his legs as his breathing stuttered in his throat. He was so close to losing it and the only thought that kept him grounded was knowing that two Winchesters couldn't be out of commission at the same time. What would happen to the world? The bitter sarcasm left a taste in his mouth and he tried to swallow it away.
A soft, fresh smell entered the room as the air swooshed in as a result of the door being shut. Sam had grown accustomed to that smell and his muscles relaxed.
He wasn't sure when it had started happening. Maybe even so far back as when they'd fought the God of Time. Something about her eased him in a way that nothing else had since Jess.
Hands came to rest on his shoulders, subtly rubbing into the muscles and Sam angled forward to rest his head on her stomach.
"Sam, we'll get him back," Jody said, running a hand through his long hair.
He huffed indifference 'cause he really didn't know anymore. Would they get Dean back? Maybe his body, but Dean? Sam was losing confidence.
She shushed him and offered comfort and he took it. He was greedy for it because it was so rare that it come so easy to him, so natural.
When he sat up to look at her, she brought a hand to his face and rubbed below his eye with her thumb. "You look like shit," she said sweetly and it managed to bring a small laugh out of his tight throat.
"You say such nice things to me." Sam tried his best to smile for her.
"Cas is waiting for you," she reminded him. With a nod, he moved to get up. As he stood, he bent and wrapped his arms around her waist, her arms came up around his neck and he squeezed and straightened, lifting her off her feet.
"Thank you," he whispered against her ear. She squeezed tighter. When he could handle letting go, he lowered her to the ground and walked towards the door with her trailing behind him. Part of him should be thinking more about whatever this was but he'd worry about it at a time when the bunker wasn't filled with hunters readily volunteering for a trip to Hell to save a brother that might not even care to be saved by the time they got there.
Castiel's revelation had really hit him hard. The depression wrapped around him and threaded through his veins like a cancer. The optimism washed away and he was left with a black hole that felt fucking endless.
Despite all that, Sam did his best to put on a strong face when he entered the library. Cas needed him to be strong and so did the others. No matter what condition they found Dean in, Sam would still risk his life because he wouldn't give up on Dean, just like Dean hadn't given up on him.
And just like that, Sam couldn't care less about what Dean had done. Shoving an angel inside of him without his permission no longer felt like such a big deal anymore. This. Right now. Making plans to go into the realm of damnation—that was a big deal and it deserved all of his focus.
"You know why we've brought you all together and some of you know each other, some of you don't. I have been told that it is rare you work together but I implore you to heed my desperation for team work. Nothing else will give us more success than that. Trust me, this is not my first foray into perdition. Oddly, this will be the second time I make my way into Hell to save the same man. I believe you have all met Dean Winchester at some point and that is likely the reason you have all said yes without any hesitation."
There were nods around the room, smiles even. It warmed Sam's heart.
"We have inside knowledge, as it were." Cas said with a faint grin. On cue, Crowley walked in behind him. "Don't be alarmed, yes Crowley is a demon."
"King of Hell, in fact," added Crowley cheekily.
"Yes." Cas rolled his eyes and got back into it. "He is helping us because he wants Abaddon dead as much as we do and for the time being he's trustworthy. We will at least know where we need to go. She's cornered herself up in Hell because she that's where she is making her efforts to overtake the underworld from Crowley. Trust me, that if she were to succeed it would be…catastrophic. Hell won't be anything like you expect—of course it's dark and sticky, you feel disgusting the entire time you're there, but its reality is fluid and can take you for a ride if you let it. Focus and reliance on the others will be what holds you together. I am not affected by it, but you will be. Demons may take on the form of loved ones and try to slow us down, please don't let them. Basically assume everything is not real. Unless they are coming at you, then by all means fight." Cas continued his overview of Hell and what people should expect, it made him sound like a professor and Sam caught himself smiling, despite his recent bout of despair.
They went through the details: when they would leave, teams they would break up into, weapons they would need, and a number of other things. It occurred to him that they were waging a sort of mini-war and the thought brought a flood of dread crashing over him. As long as he'd been a hunter, he'd never been a part of something like this. Yes, the apocalypse had been huge but it was still just him and Dean fighting it for the most part. Now he was part of a mini group of soldiers getting ready to march through frigging Hell of all places. It was both terrifying and exciting.
They would be on their way in less than forty-eight hours. Sam decided it was time for a word with the King of Hell.
/\/\/\
Cale had his ass parked on the tiled floor behind a stack of books, his legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles propped on yet another stack of books. He was at ease with everything. He'd always loved a good fight, definitely a challenge. When Sam had put this gem in his lap, he'd slapped his leg in excitement.
He had blond hair but it was always buzzed short and tight to his scalp. A persistent tan that would no doubt turn into leather if he lived long enough—which was unlikely given his employment situation but he'd made peace with that long ago.
A hard jaw and toffee eyes made him a decent looking man. Not a ton smart but he could fight and he had sass by the bucketful. Raised in Millersview, Texas, just east of the I83, he had a strange welcome into the hunting world. The story was more than unique, as hunters go.
When he'd been shy of nineteen, a woman came through town that was so beautiful she made you sit up straight and wipe your mouth on a napkin instead of your sleeve. He didn't speak a word to her for months, gathering that she kept mostly to herself.
In late summer, a calf had gotten tangled up in one of the fences on his family's property. Babe musta been sick or runnin' cause they didn't normally volunteer for barbed-wire death for any other reason. He'd been makin' his way out on Willis with a shotgun slung across his back when the girl came from nowhere hightailing it across the land.
He trotted up to her, blocking her path, "Hiya, where you runnin' to?" Cale had asked.
"I don't want to go back. I'm not like that," she pleaded, her accent northern and sophisticated.
"You don't need to go anywhere you don't want," he replied and eased a hand down to pull her up onto Willis behind him.
She looked all shades wary of his offer but she saddled up behind him, arms slung around his waist and he headed forward.
"Just need to take care of somethin', and then we'll get ya figured out," said Cale.
She hardly said one word the entire time he rode out to the edge of the property and put the calf out of it's misery with a practiced shot. It slumped against the fence and the body would need to be taken care of but his priority was now seated behind him.
He cracked the reins and the horse galloped back towards the house. Once inside, he'd offered her sweet tea because his parents had raised him right. She sipped it with nervous tension all around her like a cloud.
Her name was Hannah. Light blonde hair, straight as an arrow. Pale skin and black, black eyes (on occasion).
Hannah had been a demon.
He hadn't known at first, she never told him straight away. Just said she was runnin' from some bad people and that was all he'd needed to know at the time. He let her stay on the farm while his parents were up in Colorado visiting his sister for the summer, who'd just given birth to child number three. He'd stayed behind to keep up the place.
They never said much at first, she helped and made dinner and it was like having a housemate. One long night, he'd gone and kissed her and everything changed. He'd learned she was a demon but she hadn't wanted to be. She'd given her soul to save her father from a terrible illness, some long medical name that Cale could never remember. When she was sucked into Hell, the torture had been unbearable. The poor woman quickly gave in and they forced her to torture or to get back on the rack; she chose to torture. She didn't know how long she'd been down there but when she was set free as a demon and told to kill people on earth, she ran instead. And that was how she'd come to stay with him.
He wasn't scared of her. Perhaps he should've been, but in the end he discovered that his naivety was not for nothin' and he'd been right about her. Well perhaps stupid is what some would call it. Regardless, when they came for her, she protected him—gettin' herself killed in the process. He killed his first demon that night, but it would'na been his last.
Flipping back to the present, he found himself smiling. Hell was gonna look into his mug as he tore that hole up for what it did to that woman—turning her into something she'd never wanted to be—all for the sake of saving her dad.
Shit wasn't right.
/\/\/\
Abaddon loooooved her new meat-suit. This body was just so damn delicious; smooth and hard. Unfortunately, the man inside bored her. She couldn't get a rise out of him no matter what she did—and, boy, she'd tried a lot.
But not everything, she purred. Straining her senses to feel Dean inside, she poked at him, taunting a reaction from him. We're just getting started sweetheart.
They'd come for her and she would be ready, a grin spreading across her new face. She will say she missed the clothes and makeup that had come with the previous body, but where that form had been pristine and polished, this one was rugged and hard—perfect for taking over Hell.
Always ready for a fight, this body.
Her territory was well guarded, even from Crowley, and if Dean's boys managed to get this far? Then she'd just have to make sure that what they came for was nothing like the Dean they would know. She'd bend him and break him and mold him to her will. Dean Winchester would become her masterpiece.
"You ready for it, sweetheart? We're gonna have all kinds of fun, lover."
/\/\/\
Castiel found himself down in the vast garage. He and Sam had driven the Impala back that night and parked it here. They wouldn't need it with what they were doing so it was staying put. Safe, he thought.
Opening the driver side door, he slunk down into the worn seat. He ran his hands over the steering wheel, the leather smooth under his skin. The car smelled like Dean, clean like soap with an undertone of alcohol and sweat. He felt the heat rise up inside of him as he remembered what God had told him, his eyes burned with the memory of Dean's death, and most of all he struggled with the vision of Dean's soul that had shattered before his eyes that night at the motel.
Castiel hadn't lied to Sam, the physical component of the torture was nothing to him, but the emotional torment of watching Dean's soul, feeling it tear apart was what made him want to scream as loud as he could and break everything in this entire place with the resonance of his voice.
One step forward, two steps back. That was a saying he knew. Except it could be more accurately reworded as one nudge forward before being pushed off the edge of the earth, struggling and grappling in a pitiful attempt to stay on the spinning planet; all the while it doing its damndest to shoot you off into space.
His grip was tight around the steering wheel and the only thing stopping him from breaking it in half was knowing that Dean wouldn't be pleased. That is, if he even cared about such things anymore.
Castiel would have to be a leader tomorrow. It frightened him considering his last attempt in that department. But in the end, no matter what shape Dean was in when they found him, it wouldn't matter. Cas would go to the ends of the universe to save him, even if all he got back was pieces; a shattered soul and broken body.
He heard footsteps coming across the cement but didn't look up. The passenger door creaked open and Sam sat down with a thump, the whole car moving with his heft.
"You left out an important detail back there," Sam noted.
"I know."
"You need to tell me." Sam had turned to face him, a stern look making his features rigid.
Cas withdrew a small bottle from the inside of his coat pocket. It was a tiny clear vial that glowed bright with its contents.
Sam's reaction was as expected. Cas placed it back in its spot.
"What the hell is that?" It was an obvious question, with an obvious answer.
"The grace I stole." The words disgusted him. He'd come a long way from Heaven, but no amount of distance could lessen the feeling of such a repulsive action as taking another angel's grace as your own.
"If that's the one you stole, that what grace do you have now?" Sam asked but then barreled forward before he could respond. "Which reminds me! How did you actually get your wings back? What happened Cas? Where did you go? Crowley said you like vanished, in a way he'd never seen before. Cas…it's time you tell me everything."
Shifting in his seat, he angled sideways, thoughtfully meeting Sam's hazel eyes. "It's a long story and some of it is not mine to tell, but I'll tell you what I can." He took a long pause and a deep breath. "I met God."
"Uhm, God? Like God God?" Sam sputtered, baffled.
"Yes. When Dean" —Castiel struggled to breathe "—died, God pulled me back to Heaven. There, he gave me back my grace and my wings. He told me how to fix everything… He told me a lot of things.
"I was so furious, Sam. That whole time he'd stood by and let it all happen. He'd even pretended to be our friend and did nothing!" Cas' voice crept higher, making the car feel shrunken.
"Our friend?" Sam cocked his head.
"Chuck."
And cue the jaw dropping. Yes. Castiel was past this revelation and didn't let Sam waste time freaking out over it. More important things demanded their attention.
"Yes. You can imagine my own surprise. But he gave me my grace back. Which is what I have now. And he's assured me he will or already has taken care of Metatron but everything else is up to us. Gadreel is dead by the way, I'm not sure if you knew that; if you saw him in the parking lot when you were there."
"Uh, no, I didn't." Sam stared vacantly. "Huh." The younger Winchester didn't appear to know how to react to this news. Happy the angel was dead? Upset it wasn't by his own hands?
"If we can reach Dean when we find him and get him to say yes, my grace will go into him and that will force Abaddon out. But we somehow need to get him in control…and so far I don't know how to do that."
"God didn't tell you?"
"No." Cas replied in obvious tone. "God didn't tell me how or even why it would work. Abaddon is a Knight of Hell, I'm nothing more than a foot soldier—why my grace can push her out, I'm not sure. Though I have suspicions, based on some of the things God told me. Each angel, all of us, was designed with a purpose. Sometimes that purpose was general: A leader, a foot soldier, a healer, and so on. Other times, possibly like myself it seems, some of us were made with extra…detail."
"Well that sounds ominous." Sam said, blowing a breath out through his nose.
"Doesn't it?" Cas shook his head in agreeable disbelief. The reality, of course, had a certain positivity—not one he'd be willing to share with Sam yet.
"So that's your plan? We slice and dice through Hell and somehow find Abaddon and attempt to get past her to Dean, and then after all that get Dean to say yes."
Summed up perfectly.
"Yes, but please try not to sound defeated before we begin," said Cas, forcing a smile.
Sam puffed his cheeks and blew out a long exhale, then turned and forced a smile back. "Well, let's give'em Hell then!" the brother said encouragingly.
They shared a laugh but it was bitter and dismal.
Sam clapped him on the shoulder and left.
In Sam's absence Castiel remained in the car. He let his mind wander aimlessly, trying not to focus on anything that would upset him. But the smell….God, the smell in that car crowded his senses.
Please be okay. I miss you. We… Dean, we deserve better than this. Please be okay. I will find you, I promise. I will always find you. We're supposed to be together, remember? It's what you said once…
/\/\/\
Many guests at the bunker that night sought comfort with one another. Friends that hadn't seen each other in years stayed up to reminisce and enjoy the company with a few drinks. Some went after the simple need for a quick, heated physical connection.
Cas never came back upstairs and Sam imagined he spent the night in the car, breathing in Dean's scent. Sam had taken Dean's room, letting someone else stay in his since there weren't enough beds for everyone. It had gone unsaid that no one other than Sam or Cas would be allowed in Dean's room. Now, though, Sam was tempted to break that unspoken rule.
He was lying over the covers on his back nowhere close to sleeping. He doubted he'd be able to sleep even if he tried.
The door creaked open and he sat up hoping it wasn't someone needing something. Jody closed the door behind her and walked over to the bed. She didn't say a word as she brought a knee up on the end and crawled towards him. He reached for her and pulled her down on top of him, closing his mouth over hers in silent acceptance of whatever this was.
She opened and let him in and, God, he savoured her warmth. Clothes were slow to come off. There was no rush and he didn't want it any other way.
Sam pushed her naked body down onto the bed and settled himself over her. He kissed her slow and deep, watching her reactions to his kiss, to his stare, to the way he pushed apart her legs with his knee.
They seemed to captivate each other with a level of comfort that one wouldn't normally find in such a new relationship. It was so damn easy with her, he realized. She just welcomed him to her, letting him take what she offered and it was beautiful, and he felt terrible for it.
She pushed up to kiss him, a soft wet tongue slipping into his mouth. Everything about her was soft, and honest. Sam moaned into her mouth and it seemed to startle her as if she hadn't expected him to make a peep.
The kiss broke apart and they stared at each other; a list of questions with no answers.
"I want you, Sam. I'm not here for pity," she said, brushing the hair off his forehead and holding it away from his face.
He glanced away as he tried to gather his thoughts, it wasn't fair to her. He couldn't give anything back, but he settled for the moment's truth in the end. It was all he had.
"I want you too."
Jody kiss him and wrapped her legs around his waist, the movement set him up perfectly in line with her core, the heat already starting to warm him.
Sam hit the brakes—a light coming on inside his head. "Uhh… Shit, we almost forgot!"
In the middle of wondering where Dean kept condoms in this place, Jody reached up and took his face in her hands. "I'm on the pill and clean, so if you're good?" She let the question hang between them.
Relieved, his head dropped into her shoulder. Thank God! Because he wasn't sure Dean had any condoms in his room and was not about to ask any of the other hunters.
Out of nowhere, Sam laughed. "How sad is it that I actually haven't had sex in, like…months."
She smiled up at him and it was damn beautiful. "You and me both!"
Her acceptance of him, even as messed up as he was with Dean gone, made the hollow sensation in his gut lessen. Dipping low, Sam kissed her cheek as sweet and reverently as possible as he pushed forward feeling her heat and wetness consume him. The connection burned the recent chill right out of him.
He kept an eye on her reaction because he knew that he was a bit on the larger side but her face seemed to melt with every inch he gave her.
The first full thrust, she surprised him by practically shouting. Automatically worried about travelling sound, he put a hand over her mouth and they gazed at each other, giggling like teenagers.
"Holy mother of fuck, Sam! You're huge!" she blurted the second he moved his hand. Though it was a compliment he'd heard before, only her saying it got him to blush. Her brand of directness was a definite turn-on for him.
Hips advancing and pulling back, Sam smoothly controlled his thrusts, giving her as much or as little of him as the notion struck him. The vice of her legs held firm around his hips, her heels digging into his ass. Jody was loud, he discovered, but he loved it.
It wasn't long before he fell in love with the sound of her voice and decided he couldn't get enough, wanting to find new ways for her to moan, new positions that would make her yell his name.
Easing up and back, keeping her legs tightly secured around his waist, he adjusted himself into a kneeling position with her up around his hips. His long arms wrapped around her smaller body, holding her up off the bed. With his hands gripping her skin, Sam started pistoning her down over him. Every time she bottomed out with a loud smack, her ass hitting his thighs, she cried out.
The exertion of lifting her up and down over him left him slick with sweat, his thighs straining as he held himself in the position. And, damn, the feel of her wet heat engulfing him had him moaning and yelling almost as loud as she was.
He slowed down as he felt his orgasm building up and started rocking her over him in slow measured thrusts, her head fell back with breath flowing out of her like water, rippling and loose like she was high. Arching over, Sam sucked at her throat, keeping one hand around her waist and the other moving down to grab her ass for greater leverage.
Sam bent them both towards the pillows and hooked his arms under hers, wrapping his fingers over her shoulders from the back. The grip and position gave him purchase to fuck her onto his cock as hard and rough as they both seemed to want.
With all of her bared to him, Sam saw when her muscles began to quiver. Moving hard against her, Sam sealed their lips together, circling his tongue inside her mouth. Their teeth banged with the increasingly jarring movements.
At the very peak of pressure that tightened his nuts, Sam abruptly slowed the pace. Easing her onto his cock, feeling every inch get lost inside, the plush, soft grip travelling from tip to base.
"Ahhh… fu-u-u-ckkkk." Sam's cock kicked once, twice, and all at once his orgasm spewed into her. This set her off, both of them shouting curses as they pressed together.
After a heartbeat, she was shuddering, her insides gripping him. Sam crushed their bodies together, trying to crawl inside as deep as he could during the post elation of his release.
He kissed her for a long while after that. Even after pulling out, they settled down into the bed, his arms wrapping around her damp body, both of them falling back into a slow kiss.
Despite the dread of the following day hanging over them, they both managed to drift off, getting the rest they would desperately need.