Author's note: Well, as the title of this chapter implies, there's some NSFW stuff. You've been warned.
Previously: Dean and Castiel reach Waterville after a road trip that gave them plenty of time to talk and get to know each other. They locate Archangel Raphael's vessel in St. Peter's Hospital, but it's empty. To set a trap for him, Castiel goes to Jerusalem to collect an amphora of holy oil. The ritual will take place at dawn and is so dangerous that Castiel isn't sure he'll survive. Dean decides that Castiel will not die a virgin...
This chapter takes place in season 5 episode 3.
oOo
The den of iniquity
Wet Paradise.
I wonder if Dean chose this place specifically for its name as a questionable form of humor, but the reminder of the divine authority I defied and was banished from is definitely not one I enjoy.
The red neon lights draw the letters and the shape of a woman's body, whose proportions are more than anatomically questionable. They glow like a beacon in the night, painting the lonely street in scarlet shades. When Dean parks the car between two others, a large man standing in front of the bar door shoots us a sharp glare.
The dynamic melody of Reptilia by The Strokes vanishes after Dean turns off the engine, leading to a deafening silence. I suddenly feel constricted in my vessel. I can't help sharpening my senses, intensifying my perception of the steady, muffled beat of Dean's heart, the swallowing sound in his throat and the rustle of fabric on his skin as he turns his chest to me, resting his forearm on the steering wheel.
"Here we are, champ. Ready to pop your cherry?"
I glance over at him, and just seeing his smirk and the teasing gleam in his eyes is enough to increase my uneasiness. I tuck my wings behind my back and try to avoid his gaze, keeping my attention focused on the paintwork of the building that is crackling under the neon light.
"I'm not so sure I want to use my vessel's reproductive functions, Dean."
"Oh come on, you're not gonna bail now that we're here. Just wait and see, I'm sure you'll enjoy it. You trust me, right?"
His voice dropped to a husky, solemn pitch on those last words. I slide a pointed glance at him, even though the answer is obvious.
"Of course I do. I wouldn't have betrayed Heaven for you if I didn't."
His eyes soften, and he reaches out to squeeze my shoulder.
"So trust me on this one. We get in there, have a drink or two, and once we find a girl you like, we pay her to send you to seventh heaven. Easy peasy."
Human cultural rituals may be sophisticated, but at heart they still behave like social animals. I remember having a conversation with Hester and Uriel on this subject about fifteen years ago - they qualified the human monetary system as a mutant evolution of wolves' or apes' pack hierarchy, where the strongest male gets the females and the bigger share of food. I had no arguments to oppose, so I agreed with them. I guess transactional sex follows the same general logic, since I've witnessed these practices reproduced in every culture and geographic territory since the species acquired the ability to walk on two legs.
Watching from afar and actually taking part are two very different things.
Is this really happening? Am I going to wallow in lust and debauchery the way Anna did before me? Is this how a lifetime of devotion to the Lord will end? Deeply mired in decay, fornicating with one of those hairless apes I've watched evolve over millions of years? By crossing this line, will I draw His divine wrath upon myself? And what would my brothers and sisters from the Garrison think?
Probably mistaking my silence and inner turmoil for hesitation, Dean leans in to seek my gaze, his eyebrows raised slightly patronizingly.
"Please tell me you know how your junk works."
He lets go of my shoulder and slips a finger into the ring formed by the forefinger and thumb of his other hand, mimicking the act of penetration in a ridiculous back-and-forth motion.
"You know how it's done, right?"
Now that's just plain offensive.
"You seem to forget I've been in this world since Humanity's earliest days, my knowledge and experience outweighs anything you could possibly imagine. I know a lot more about sex than you ever will."
Surprisingly, Dean lets out a cheerful laugh and pats me on the knee.
"That's the spirit!"
The door squeaks as he pockets the key and exits the car, leaving me no choice but to follow.
I'm making a terrible mistake. This thought keeps circling in my mind as we walk through the door and the cool night air gives way to a hushed atmosphere. The interior is not very large, dressed in shades of pink and black blending into the dim light. The central counter is the only thing gleaming brightly, haloing the more or less undressed female bodies present.
There are tables and chairs in shadowy corners, where men sit with women. Hands running up bare thighs or wrapping around satin-clad breasts, eager mouths exploring bare skin or lapping up alcohol from the hollow of a navel. Over there, by a heavy blue velvet curtain, a woman frantically wriggles her hips, straddling a seated man who guides her movements with a firm grip on her rear. Although she's in her underwear and he's fully clothed, their hurried breaths, the fact that their sexual organs are rubbing against each other through the fabric, it all hits me with the raw, filthy reality of what they're doing, and what I'm going to have to mimic tonight. Barely muffled by the thick walls, I can also hear throaty moans, screams and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, suggesting acts of penetration in adjacent rooms.
The air is overloaded with a smell of sweat, vaginal secretions and semen that cannot be concealed by the artificial orchid fragrance lingering in the air.
"Cas, don't just stand there. A table just cleared up over there."
The touch of Dean's hand on my lower back makes me flinch - I wasn't aware I'd frozen like a statue at the sight of human lust and desires. Even through my trench coat, jacket and shirt, the warmth of his hand radiates to my skin, causing me to walk in shock.
I've witnessed far more graphic and disturbing acts in my life, though, for example when I was tracking the demon of Lust in Miz's city in the throes of orgies and murder. Maybe the reason why it affects me so much is because this is the first time I actually witness debauchery at human height, rather than three hundred meters above the ground, with all the precision of human senses at my disposal. Or because I know Dean expects me to take part in these bodily fluid exchanges any minute now.
Maybe I should flee while I still have the chance. I could spread my wings and fly away from this house of sin. Jimmy Novak is dead and his soul in Heaven, but that doesn't mean I should use the body he trusted me with for such trivial purposes.
"I ordered us beers. Just what you need to get that stick out of your ass before things get serious."
Dean seems perfectly at ease and relaxed, his gaze sweeping over the couples whispering in each other's ears and clinking their glasses. A lewd smile quirks his lips.
"Look at that lucky bastard who's about to have some fun."
I look in the direction he's pointing. The woman who had been straddling the man just stood up, revealing the pants fabric stretched by the erect penis, then she takes him by the hand to a hidden door behind the curtain, walking right past us.
Yes, I really should leave before I sink into the depths of debauchery.
A woman dressed in a black corset comes up to us with an enticing smile that only makes me more nervous, and places two large glasses filled with beer on our table.
"Thanks, darling," Dean winks at her.
The woman blows a kiss with her red-painted lips.
"Don't be shy, boys, we're all here to make you feel good..."
Dean watches her walk away with a smile lingering on his lips, as he sips his beer.
My Grace swirls in my veins and all fascination for the sexual act that Prophet Chuck's holy scriptures had awakened in me is smothered in fear and anticipation. I'm not even sure I'll achieve an erection when the moment comes, or know what to do about it. I shouldn't even have to wonder about this, Angels are sexless beings created to carry out the Lord's Will and certainly not to mimic human reproductive practices.
"Hey, relax."
I lean over to Dean and struggle to shut out the wet noises and moans coming from behind the wall.
"This is a den of iniquity. I should not be here."
"Dude, you full-on rebelled against heaven," he says in a lecturing tone. "Iniquity is one of the perks."
I stopped listening – a woman in white underwear walks straight to our table with a seductive smile, her hips swaying with every step, and her gaze locked on me.
"Hi," she says softly. "What's your name?"
Though I know that in my true form, this Human would fit in the palm of my hand and look to me like an ant, I can't help being intimidated by her. She is terrifying. I find myself unable to hold her gaze, knowing she's the one I might engage in the unforgivable act of fornication with.
Just the thought of touching her, wriggling, grunting and sweating all over her, slotting our genitals together like the Humans I've been watching for so long do frenetically in their homes, is the scariest thing I've ever experienced.
"Cas!" Dean's voice startles me like the crack of a whip. "His name is Cas," he goes on with such ease it's almost indecent. "What's your name?"
"Chastity," she smiles.
I'm a soldier. I've never feared going into battle. I've never feared death or pain. But this… I wasn't made for this. I'm way out of my comfort zone. I don't know what to say or what to do, and all my instincts urge me to flee while I still can.
In a desperate attempt to hold myself together, I bring my glass up to my mouth and gulp it down, letting the cold beer run down my throat and into my stomach with that now-familiar sensation of warmth. But that in no way eases the growing fear I'm feeling.
"Chastity?" Dean repeats. "Wow. Is that kismet or what, buddy? Well, he likes you, you like him, so dayenu!"
He lets me no choice in the matter. Judging by the inflection of his voice and the look of delight on his face, Dean has decided that this woman is the one I should cross the line with.
"Come on, baby."
Her hand is warm against mine when she takes it and I rise to my feet with no resistance. Chastity never stopped smiling with her teeth bared, which I know to be a friendly, non-aggressive sign in this species. As I'm moving to follow her to the back door where the other couple went earlier, Dean stands up and stops me, grabbing the crook of my elbow to stop me and turn me to face him. He's now within what he'd call my personal space, with less than three feet of distance between us.
"Hey, listen."
Any hope that he might have changed his mind and decided to save me from this position vanishes when he draws a wad of cash from his pocket and holds it out in front of me.
"Take this. If she asks for a credit card, no. Now just stick to the basics, okay? Do not order off the menu."
Half of what he just said makes no sense to me. But what I do understand is that there's no way back.
To refuse now would disappoint and embarrass Dean. And I guess he's right about one thing: I have nothing left to lose. I've rebelled, I've been exiled, I have my brothers' and sisters' blood on my hands and I'll probably die tomorrow at dawn. Why not fall all the way down and see firsthand if reality matches up to Prophet Chuck's descriptions?
If God reproves my actions, may He come and stop me Himself.
"Go get her, tiger."
There's a flicker of fondness and a touch of proudness in Dean's eyes, where slivers of his soul melt into the clear green. I wonder why the fact that I'm about to have sex seems to please him?
"Don't make me push you," he says, raising his eyebrows.
I refrain from asking the question, and reach up to take the money. With one last distressed look at him, I turn to follow Chastity behind the velvet curtains.
There is a long corridor ahead of us, with closed doors on either side. Without Dean by my side to guide me, I have no idea how to act, and with increasing dread I let Chastity guide me to a door that she opens wide.
The room is cramped, almost entirely filled with a bed and nightstand that are reflected in a mirror fixed to the ceiling. And when the door closes on both of us, I suddenly feel trapped.
"So…"
My wings twitch at the touch of a hand reaching under my trench coat to loosen my tie. A warm breath grazes my neck as Chastity steps forward still smiling, drawing our bodies together.
"… tell me…"
Her hand slides down my chest, past my hip bone to my crotch.
"… what would make you happy?"
The gentle but insistent squeeze of her hand on my penis doesn't feel as good as Prophet Chuck's writings had described. Maybe that's because it's not erect, the sensation is not so different from having my ear or elbow touched.
Should I force the blood into my penis myself, or wait for it to flow down naturally?
"Don't be shy, sweetie, tell me what you want..."
I realize I still haven't answered her question, and I just wish Dean had come with us to tell me what to say, to help me behave like a Human would in this situation.
"Sex," I say, holding up the money Dean gave me. "I want to have sex. Only what's on the menu."
For a fleeting second, Chastity's smile wavers like a candle flame. But then it reappears, along with a high-pitched giggle.
"Mhh, so generous… You won't regret this."
Her hand slides off my crotch to pick the money from my fingers, placing it on the bedside table next to a white bottle and small silver plastic sachets. Then, she nudges me to sit on the bed, matching the movement by straddling my thighs - the same position the couple I was watching earlier were in.
"Let me take care of you, baby," she whispers, undoing my shirt buttons one by one. "I'm going to give you so much pleasure…"
Her pelvis moves forward to press against mine, radiating heat, and starts rolling to rub our genitals. Is this what Dean wanted so badly for me to experience, what Chuck so poetically depicted, what so many Humans desire so desperately that they'd sell their soul or commit all kinds of atrocities?
Though my body reacts adequately to the friction with my erectile tissues starting to fill with blood, the weight of this Human wriggling against me merely makes me feel oddly warm, which, while not unpleasant, is far from soothing my growing anxiety and the urge to just flee.
"You like that, mh? How about we remove our clothes?"
Chastity tosses her blond hair back, winking at me. Up so close, every detail of her skin's texture appears clearly. Her pores are clogged with a thin layer of concealer that melds with sebum, and there's something off in her eyes, lined with lashes heavy with makeup. For all her smile and soft gestures, her eyes look vacant, and I can barely catch a glimpse of her soul in them.
As she starts opening my trench coat, I realize I know nothing about this Human I'm about to commit fornication with, other than her name, Chastity. Quite spontaneously, I reach up to brush aside a blond lock of hair and touch her forehead with two fingertips, impulsing a fraction of my Grace through the skin to probe and explore her soul.
Instantly, a chaotic surge of memories engulfs me, drowning out the reality of the moment under layers of information made of sounds, colors and sensations overshadowed by a feeling of loneliness and abandon. The latest memories are usually the most vibrant ones, dominating the conscious part of memory - but in her case, the last ten years are merging into a dull mist of tears, alcohol and drugs, where sweaty naked bodies grind against her, hands touch her, bills crumple in her fist. I need to look deeper into the past to find the origin of this ever-present loneliness. A memory oozing with pain like a festering wound.
The soft ears flatten under her hand with every caress. The white fur radiates a kind of warmth that never ceases to delight Karen. She had to beg her mother for almost a year, but in the end she won and got a bunny.
« We'll be together forever, Toffee. From now on, you'll be my best friend. »
The rabbit stares straight ahead with black eyes, its nose twitching as Karen takes it in her arms, cradling it against her small chest and burying her face into the fur.
« You'll never leave me like daddy did. »
Of course the animal never replies, and the little girl's room remains silent. But in her child's heart, Karen imagines the comforting answer she longs for. With a wan smile, she reaches for a golden plastic tiara to crown Toffee. She starts looking for a doll dress sized to fit her new best friend, so he can join her in a tea party.
« Mom says it's not true, but I know daddy left because of me. If I'd just cleaned my room and been a good girl, he'd have stayed. »
The tiara falls from the bunny's head, and she has to restrain it in her arms when it tries to leap off her lap.
« No, Toffee! Stay with me! You can't leave me! »
The pet thrashes against Karen. And the harder it squirms, the tighter she squeezes it, tears rolling down her cheeks as she begs the animal not to hate her, not to leave her like her daddy did.
As soon as this memory recedes, I notice it was concealing another, partially faded and buried deep in her subconscious, so deep it could be mistaken for echoes of a forgotten dream.
Nestled in her warm blankets, Karen cracks open her eyes, barely awake. A noise woke her up, and there's an adult hand gently brushing a lock of hair from her forehead.
The nightlight casts blue shadows across the room and over the man sitting on her bed, leaning over her.
« Daddy? »
Karen rolls to her side, rubbing her eyes with her fist.
« Sorry, muffin, I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep. »
It's definitely her daddy, but his voice sounds weird. Choked. And his breath reeks of alcohol.
Karen looks up at him as he tucks her in, numbed with sleep about to engulf her again, and he bends down to plant a kiss on her rosy cheek. In the nightlight's pale glow, a wet trail forms on his father's cheeks and into his stubbly beard.
« Daddy, why are you crying? Are you hurt? »
There's a sob, and then a clumsy hand ruffling Karen's blond hair.
« I can't take it anymore… » he breathes out. « I can't work at this job any longer. I can't keep on like this. »
Five-year-old Karen looks at her dad's misery with wide, hazel eyes. He started shaking, his voice growing into a hateful hiss through clenched teeth.
« Every second I spend at the post office, I get this urge to take my father's rifle out of the attic and shoot every one of those asshole coworkers and clients in the head and then shoot myself. I keep dreaming about it, at night. »
The hand in Karen's hair clenches into a raging fist, and the little girl lets out a scream.
« You're hurting me, daddy! »
He instantly loosens his grip. A horrified look spreads across the man's face, partly veiled in shadow.
« See what this job does to me? I hate this entire city, and sometimes I even hate you and your mom. Best I can do is ditch everything before I turn into a violent, drunk bastard like my father. I'm going to do what he never had the courage to do, and leave. You'll be better off without me. »
Karen pouts, failing to understand a word her dad is mumbling. With a muffled yawn, she hugs her crocodile plush tightly, her eyelids growing heavier.
« Sleep tight, sweet Karen. Tomorrow, I will be gone. »
The door creaks open, allowing a ray of light to filter in.
« Gene? » A woman stands in the doorway in a robe, a thunderous look on her face. « Why are you coming home so late? »
Karen closes her eyes, dozing off into a deep slumber as her parents quarrel again, the sound of their voices fading into the night.
When my Grace withdraws from the soul and I get control of my senses back, barely a split second has passed. The room without windows, the bed soaked with organic scents and the weight of the Human straddling me are the same, but the way I look at them changed. I no longer see a creature of Lust, terrifying in her mastery of this world's sexual pleasures and rituals, but a sensitive individual, so tragically human in her vulnerability and buried wounds, in her suffering and shattered hopes.
Now I can read the pain in her eyes, the sorrow in her faltering smile as I brush her cheek with my fingertips.
"Why do you call yourself Chastity when your name is Karen Hammond?"
Karen's hands freeze on my trench coat collar that she was starting to slide off my shoulders. The friction of her crotch against mine stopped and her smile is completely gone.
"How do you know my name?"
She slaps my hand away from her face. There's nothing soothing in her voice anymore, her tone is harsh and panic flashes across her eyes.
"I know everything about you, Karen. I know you better than you know yourself. I know you wanted to be a veterinarian and that you had a pet rabbit that only lived for two years when you were a child. I know you spent most of your life blaming yourself for your father's leaving. I know you ran away when you were fifteen because you hated your mother for having replaced him. I know hope died in your soul ten years ago, and that you hide in the bathroom to throw up and cry after every client."
Karen practically stumbles in her haste to get away from me and to her feet, staring at me with wide eyes like a hunted animal.
"So you're a stalker, huh? I'm not scared of you, creep!"
"You have nothing to fear from me, Karen."
Karen yelps when I stand up and reach out to soothe her distressed soul.
"Don't touch me!" she hisses, recoiling. "And don't call me Karen! Who do you think you are, asshole?!"
She snatches the lube bottle from the bedside table, her eyes glowering, and she wields it like a weapon. Then she opens the door and clutches my trench coat by the collar with surprising strength for a Human, shoving me out to the corridor.
"Now get the fuck out of here before I call security and have them beat the shit out of you!" she hisses, letting go of me roughly. "And if I ever see you around here again, I'll call the cops!"
All that rage and misery grew in her heart because she believed her father abandoned her. I can't let her soul keep withering away when all I have to do is to make her see, to make her understand...
"You need to listen to me. Your father, Gene, it wasn't your fault he left..."
Again, I reach out and seize her wrist, and the racing beat of her heart pulses against my thumb.
"Let me go or I'll scream!"
Her voice rose to a high pitch. Doors swing open in the corridor, and all eyes are on us while Karen thrashes wildly, kicking me hard in the legs and tugging with all her might, unable to break my grip. Why won't she listen to me?
"… it's because he hated his job at the post office," I say, raising my voice as well. "Let me prove it to you."
All I need to do is retrieve the memory of Gene's tears from her soul and pull it to her conscious as I reach up to her forehead, leaning in close, she lets out a high-pitched shriek so piercing that I let go of her wrist in shock.
Radiating fury, her eyes brimming with tears, Karen staggers back a few steps on her heeled shoes.
"Get out of my face! Leave me alone! Bastard! Screw you, jerk!" Along with the insults, she throws the lube bottle at my face - which I reflexively flick away. "I'll kill you!"
Her blond hair swishes as she turns around and storms away.
"Screw you too!"
She just screamed these words at Dean on the way out, and only then do I notice he's here, walking up to me, his body language conveying surprise.
"The hell did you do?" he asks accusingly.
It all happened so fast I'm struggling to process what it was that I said that was so offensive to earn me Karen's wrath. I must have made something wrong at some point, but when?
"I don't know. I just looked her in the eyes and told her it wasn't her fault that her father, Gene, ran off. It was because he hated his job at the post office."
Various expressions flash across Dean's face: consternation as he rolls his eyes, and then a laugh I have no idea how to interpret.
"Oh no, man!"
"What?"
"This whole industry runs on absent fathers! It's the natural order!"
His answer only brings up more questions and fails to enlighten me as to why Karen was so angry. But then two men appear at the end of the corridor, bringing our conversation to a stop.
"We should go," Dean decides, grabbing my arm. "Come on."
He drags me hurriedly to the back door, while the two men walk faster, radiating threatening vibes.
"Yeah, you better run!" shouts one of them as we tumble down the staircase. "Don't ever try to come over here again or we'll smash your face off!"
We reach the ground level and rush out into the fresh night air behind the building. I guess Dean's out of breath from the effort, since there's a strange sound coming from his throat and he seems to be struggling to breathe, bent over.
Or so I thought, until I realize there's a huge grin on his face, his eyes sparkling with mirth.
Is he... laughing? But why?
"What's so funny?"
Still laughing, Dean straightens his back and wraps his arm around my shoulders, infusing me with his body heat. The weight is pleasant, and I gaze, mesmerized, at this newfound expression on his face, so open and radiant with joy.
"Oh, nothing."
He looks… happy. And while I don't quite understand why that is, knowing I've somehow played a part in this brings a smile to my lips.
This is how I'd like Dean to live the rest of his life. Unburdened, laughing and enjoying everything life has to offer.
"Whoo! It's been a long time since I've laughed that hard." With a final pat on my back, he unknowingly moves through my wings and steps away from me. "It's been more than a long time. Years!"
Together, we walk around the building to the car parked out front, and I can't help sighing with relief when the doors close on us with their now-familiar creak. I have to admit that Karen's unexpected burst of rage, while bewildering, was perfectly timed and spared me from the whole awkward experience of sexual intercourse.
The engine starts humming, and I instantly identify Led Zeppelin's Traveling Riverside Blues first notes - after ten hours on the road listening to Dean's favorite songs over and over again, I now know all the lyrics and melodies, along with the names of the bands and a few stories Dean shared with me about their concerts and lives.
Dean turns his head to look behind him, spreading his arm over the back of the seat as he does every time he backtracks, his left hand sliding confidently over the steering wheel. The Wet Paradise's red neon recedes into a distant dot of light before finally vanishing as the car heads out onto the deserted road into the night, splashed with the headlights.
The sound of a throat clearing over the guitar. Dean glances at me with his hands on the steering wheel, still flushed from laughing.
"I guess you didn't have time to...?"
The suggestive way he raises his eyebrows gives me a clue as to what he's referring to.
"No, we didn't have intercourse."
Dean shakes his head disapprovingly, but his smile lingers on his lips.
"What a waste. I'd drive you somewhere else to have your cherry popped, but I know these guys at Wet Paradise. They take that shit seriously. They'll rattle us off in every brothel miles around with just a few phone calls. Please tell me you didn't give her the cash."
"… Sorry."
Dean chuckles and pulls one hand away from the steering wheel to pat my knee.
"You're unbelievable. What am I gonna do with you, Cas?"
This is a rhetorical question, judging by the warm tone in his voice and his casual attitude. So I stay silent, staring at the yellow stripes painted on the road. There are still about five hours until dawn, I need to do some preparations for the ritual and explain my strategy to Dean to be ready for whatever might happen.
We drive through a landscape of trees painted in shades of grey by the pale moonlight. Dean stares unblinkingly at the road, his fingers beating out the rhythm as the song hits its final notes - his smile is gone, replaced by his familiar inscrutable expression.
"It's gonna be trickier to get someone to pop your cherry now. We're out of cash and out of time to find another decent brothel somewhere else. We'll have to find another way."
I frown and turn my head to stare at him and make sure this isn't a joke. He looks deadly serious, eyebrows furrowed with his typical stubborn look.
"I assumed we were simply heading back to the hideout since the operation was a failure."
His lips press together, hollowing out the dimples on his cheeks.
"I gave you my word, right? I promised you wouldn't die a virgin. And I always keep my promises."
Dean's obstinacy would be endearing if it weren't so annoying. I opt to mimic a human facial expression by rolling my eyes dramatically - which turns out to be more satisfying than I'd expected.
"When an Angel makes a promise, all Heaven is bound by it. Whereas a promise made by a Human is only worth something to those who trust it. There's nothing unusual about breaking a promise for your species. In fact, it's quite common, and usually entails no consequences."
"Hey, Cas, you're trashing all of humanity here. I'm gonna make it personal if you keep saying shit like that."
Trying another human mimic, I shrug, though a bit too stiffly to achieve the intended effect.
"To tell you the truth, I'm no longer interested in engaging in any sexual activity. After what I've seen tonight, fornication looks tedious, gruesome, and requires way too many intricate social rituals. I'm definitely not missing out."
Dean grunts disapprovingly.
"You're only saying that 'cause you've never had an orgasm. That moment when you come, buddy, that's in the world's top 10 greatest things."
I look away, staring blankly at the shadowy parade of trees through the car door window.
"Maybe. But since I'll never experience it, there's no point discussing it any further. It won't make any kind of difference when we face Raphael tomorrow."
For a few seconds, only the engine's purring and the lyrics of Motörhead's Love me forever fill the silence.
"Oh to hell with this."
Dean's hoarse whisper snaps me out of my musing.
"Dean?"
His face is locked with determination, and he abruptly turns the wheel, engaging the car on a sinuous tree-lined path, dirt and pebbles crunching under the tires.
"This is not the direction of the hideout," I say, squinting.
The path seems to lead nowhere except for fields in the distance, and is probably rarely visited, judging by the weeds growing there.
"I know. But I'm not gonna let you die like this. You're not going to die a virgin, I won't allow it."
It takes me a few seconds to grasp how absurd the situation is, while the car bumps away from the main road. Is he still fixated on his stupid promise?
"Why do you want me to have sex so badly?"
"Because…"
Dean stops the car in a white pine shade. The engine whirs and rattles as he lowers the music to an unintelligible murmur and turns his chest to me, his eyes blazing with earnest conviction.
"… you're my friend, Cas. Hell, possibly my only friend, the only friend I've ever had, hands down. And I can't let you sacrifice your life again to save all of humanity without having enjoyed one of the best pleasures this world has to offer."
I remain speechless for a moment, staring at him but unable to find what to say, thoughts racing through my mind.
I never expected Dean to think of me as his friend. Even I wouldn't know how to describe the bond that formed between us when I dragged him out of Hell, and grew stronger throughout the last few chaotic months, bringing us closer with every ordeal we went through together.
I used to count Uriel and Balthazar as my friends, since we shared some kind of familiarity and mutual understanding, but Dean? He's under my protection, he's the first important mission entrusted to me as General of the Garrison, my mentor in human ways, Michael's vessel, and the one who hastened my demise. Though he's mortal and has only been in my life for barely over a year, I feel strongly about him, irrationally so.
At my silence, Dean runs a hand over his face, taking a deep breath.
"Listen, Cas. It's no big deal. Just trust me, okay? I…"
He averts his eyes and taps the steering wheel nervously with his left hand. The car's headlights splash bright light on the shadowy trees, and the quiet purr of the engine muffles the melody of Love me Forever.
"We're kind of out of options here, so I'll do it for you. I mean, give you a hand. Literally."
He lets out a hoarse chuckle and gestures evocatively with his hand before dropping it back onto the steering wheel. His cheeks turn red, eclipsing his freckles in the car's half-light. I've never seen him so embarrassed, and my silence only seems to increase his uneasiness.
He clears his throat and gulps, moistening his lips.
"Yeah, 'course, it's not like having a woman, that's for sure. But still, it's better than nothing, right? So, what do you say?"
"Dean, are you offering to masturbate me?"
Dean froze and stopped breathing at the sound of my voice. He stares ahead at the deserted road and the trees lit up by the headlights, and exhales into the deepening silence.
"Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly what I'm offering. So, are you in?"
I remain speechless as I study his profile. The headlights' pale glow casts shadows across his forehead, his lashes, the graceful shape of his nose and the soft curve of his lower lip. The thudding of his heart inside his chest quickened.
Is this kind of offer customary in a friendly relationship between Humans? Our bond becomes increasingly hard to define.
I've read the Winchester Gospel excerpts depicting Dean in sexual acts very thoroughly, and yet, probably because of my male vessel, I never once considered the possibility when he suggested that I should try such practices. I merely complied with his idea to get a sexual act in exchange for money.
The prospect of indulging in debauchery with the righteous man whose soul is marked by my Grace, and achieving orgasm from his hand, is both troubling and enthralling. And infinitely less stressful without the obligation to conform to social rituals I know nothing about, to have to lie and pretend to be a mortal to a woman whose soul is radiating sorrow.
Dean knows me. He knows what I am, and won't mind my mistakes, as he's already used to them.
"… Yes."
I don't know how long it's been before I say the word, but Dean's body relaxes when he hears it. He turns his head to meet my gaze with renewed assertiveness.
"Okay then. But first, you have to promise you'll never tell anyone, not even your angel buddies, nobody at all. We'll pretend it never happened and never speak a word about it again. Capisce?"
It's obvious from his tone of voice and the vibrant index finger he's brandished before my face that this is a very important matter for him, so I refrain from asking him why he thinks I'd ever report something so vile to an Angel. I really don't want my brothers and sisters to find out how far I've fallen.
"I promise you, Dean. I won't tell anyone, and I'll pretend it never happened. You have my word."
There's something solemn about the look we share. There's no turning back now.
"Good. Let's get started, then."
Dean shifts on the seat, reducing the gap between us until his knee presses against mine. His right arm slides over the back of the seat behind my head, his fingertips brushing my shoulder. Then, resolutely, with defiant eyes, he places the palm of his left hand on my thigh, and the touch makes my Grace tingle in my veins.
All of my senses are heightened, making me acutely aware of the sound of our breaths, every rustle of clothing against my skin, Dean's musky scent of alcohol, sweat and soap. The intensity of his gaze feels like being burned.
"I've never done it to another dude," he mutters, his eyes wandering along my tie until they rest on my groin. "But it can't be that different than when I do it to myself."
Radiating heat, his hand slides up my thigh until his fingers, hesitantly, brush my penis through the fabric.
He swallows and moistens his lips, his lowered eyes veiled by his lashes.
This is really happening. I am about to cross that line, debasing myself by using my vessel's breeding functions, indulging in debauchery with the righteous man. At this thought, my entire body tenses up and I close my fists on the seat's leather. The hand moves on to my belt, tugging at the buckle to undo it with a clinking sound.
"Don't be nervous, Cas."
I nod and comply, trying to ease the tension in my muscles as he pulls the button out of its hole.
"Yeah, just like that… Relax and enjoy…"
He leaned in close and whispered those words right into my ear. The warm sensation of his breath and lips grazing my lobe sends a shiver up my wing feathers. A sudden rush of blood to my erectile tissue startles me, stiffening my penis within seconds. It's the same process that Karen triggered when she rubbed her pelvis against mine, but - possibly because I'm no longer hindered by any fear of doing it wrong - the sensation is stronger, building in my groin and burning with a kind of urgency I can't explain.
"Dean…"
I barely recognize my own voice - a pleading whisper, almost like a prayer. I can't help but reach out and grab his shoulder, squeezing hard and tight. There's a muffled laugh and Dean moves his head back just enough to wink at me.
"Easy, cow-boy, I've not even started yet. The good part is yet to come."
The leather creaks as he shifts to access my pants' fly and slides it down. Then, with the tip of his finger, he traces the rigid girth of my erection straining the fabric, and applies pressure with his palm, shooting a wave of pleasure through me.
"Wow," he breathes, almost reverently. "You're so hard already."
"Do it again."
Dean arches an eyebrow, his mouth curling into a smirk.
"So you're the bossy kind, huh?"
My eyelids flutter shut against my will when he applies pressure a second time, harder, and pleasure rushes through me but instantly recedes, too brief, still not enough. It's incredibly frustrating.
"Again," I order harshly.
Dean's breath grazes my neck, growing heavier. A hoarse, broken moan comes from my mouth as his palm starts stroking up and down my erection, intensifying the burning tension in my lower abdomen. This is the same kind of grunting I've heard Humans utter during sex a million times, and I should be mortified by it, but all I can feel is growing frustration, the need to get more.
I open my eyes again when the rubbing stops but swallow back any kind of protestation when I realize Dean is trying to pull down my pants along with my underwear's elastic waistband.
"Move your hips up a bit... Yeah, that's it..."
Once it's all the way to mid-thigh, my naked ass cheeks nestle back on the warm leather, and I spread my thighs as far apart as the pants will allow, pressing my knee against Dean's more firmly.
"Holy shit…"
His eyes are locked on my erect penis, rising heavy and rigid, slightly tilted to the left. His fingertips graze my inner thighs, kindling the nerve endings there, and brush against the dark, thick pubic hair. His mouth parts, revealing his teeth and the wet tip of his tongue licking his lower lip.
"I can't believe I'm doing this…"
His hand withdraws, and he brings it to his mouth to lick up the entire length of his palm and fingers, then wraps it, slick with saliva, around my penis. Another groan escapes my throat as his thumb starts drawing tiny circles on my glans, spreading the seminal fluid beading and dripping from it.
"Mmh, you're so wet for me, Cas… You like that, huh?"
Dean buried his face in my neck again, whispering those words right against my skin, where my jugular is pulsing. His hand moves up and down in a way-too-slow rhythm that makes me grunt impatiently.
"That's a really stupid question," I manage to utter, covering his hand with mine. "Faster."
A stifled laugh, then the sensation of his lips on my neck, just below my earlobe, as he finally speeds up to the quicker pace I'm imposing.
"Ah… Dean…!"
I can barely keep my eyes open - the exquisite friction on my penis and the pressure of his lips and tongue on my neck's thin skin intensify the building waves of pleasure, eclipsing the rest of the world. But it's still not enough, I keep contracting my abdominal muscles to push my hips up and more actively penetrate the tight, wet tunnel his hand shapes.
Wet flesh sounds join our ragged breathing, and Dean's body warmth and scent wrap around me.
I squeeze Dean's hand tighter, my Grace churning in my veins as my penis grows even harder, throbbing and producing more seminal fluid that drips down our fingers. My glossy, flushed glans keeps popping in and out of our clasped hands, faster and faster. I can feel my testicles tightening, climax almost within my reach.
"Dean… Dean, I'm going to…"
Dean speeds up his strokes even more, panting into my neck, and I squeeze my eyes shut, throwing my head back as he presses a kiss to the angle of my jaw.
"Just let go Cas… Come for me…"
That whispered order sparks a white-hot burst of pleasure that tears a gasp from me, floods my vision with light and snaps my wings wide open. A few seconds of ecstasy, then it all recedes like a tidal wave, my Grace flows calmly again through my veins and my body slumps back onto the seat. I can feel Dean's hand letting go of my penis, still throbbing with pleasure and starting to soften. His warmth vanishes, as does the contact of his knee against mine.
"Satisfied?"
I open my eyes to see that Dean is back at the steering wheel, wiping with a tissue the hand he masturbated me with. His cheeks are flushed, pupils dilated, and he's removed his jacket to lay it across his lap.
"It was more pleasant than I expected."
Dean lets out a rough laugh and turns the volume up, filling the car with the frenzied chorus of Scorpions' Coming Home as I fumble to pull up my pants and tuck my penis back in.
"See?" he proudly declares as he backtracks the car to the main road. "Told you so."
oOo
In the next chapter
"Why do you say Raphael is a turtle?"
"Not a turtle, Cas. A ninja turtle. Not the same thing."