[FIC]: War Story (Castiel/Jo, Adult)
[War Story]
SPN. Castiel/Jo. NC-17. ~900 words; pornlet. Takes place in a corner of 5.10. This is for selu, who wanted me to write her some dirty het. ♥ Also for my kissbingo card to the prompt greetings: goodbye.
. . .
Maybe they're drunk, maybe they're lost, or maybe it's just the end of the goddamned world and Jo wants a taste of something holy, something more than the blood and death she's been living with for months.
Tonight there's a tension thrumming through everyone, their bodies sparking like live wires, dangerous and combustion-ready. There's Castiel yanking her panties off, and there's nothing angelic about the way he's looking at her when he does it. He fucks her rough, desperate, untamed and untrained. A careless tumble in the empty back room of Bobby's house. They're so loud she's worried they'll wake the entire house, wake the dead.
They fuck for hours. In between bouts, Jo takes a moment to wonder if Castiel has had any other human lovers, if he's been this hungry and greedy with anyone else. If anyone has seen him this out of control, this lost in the basest of human needs. She likes to think she alone does this to him; that she alone has the power to break an angel like this, to make him beg and whimper.
Jo likes the dark, focused look in Castiel's eyes when he gets her off with his fingers, leaves her cunt fucked open and aching, begging for his cock. How he marks her with his come, paints her body in strips of white. How he sucks at her clit, laps wet and slow at her pussy, mouths at her asshole; how he tastes every single part of her, sees every part of her. How he spends minutes mouthing at her nipples, his slick tongue tracing the gentle slope of her breasts. How his long, delicate fingers rub at her clit, those hands of his so goddamned perfect they send her arching off the bed, spilling words from her mouth, part Latin, part Greek -- incantations, prayers, spells to hold up the night.
The air in the old bedroom is warm, thick with dust that coats their damp, sex-flushed skins. Jo is lost in the sweet pain of their fucking. Limbs trembling, she feels raw, high, so damn good. But she wants more of him, all off him. When Castiel starts fucking her again, it's sweet, slow, and gentle this time. Jo opens up for him, takes him, loving the way he moves inside her, deep in her, like he's seeking out every part of her, seeing her in ways no one else really does.
Say my name, he whispers, voice firm, commanding. He drags his fingertips along the nape of her neck, down her arms, small touches that make her shiver.
She sobs, releases a soft whimper as Castiel pulls out then slams further inside, the feel of him so big, so hard. He brushes his hand through her tangled hair and down the side of his face. Joanna, say my name, he repeats, breathless, fervent.
She does, she does. Whispers Castiel over and over again as he pumps into her, fingers digging into her hips. They fuck slow and long and endless, and Jo tries to stay quiet, tries to swallow every grunt and moan. When she comes, she clenches tight around him; she bites down into his shoulder to muffle her scream, her nails scratching at the straining muscles of his back. She feels like she's ripping apart, spiraling outward, but then Castiel's coming, filling her up, all sloppy and warm. No condom, nothing between them, just Castiel's thick release slicking her pussy, dripping down her thighs. It feels like a blessing.
Afterwards, Castiel takes her into his arms, like he's a real man and she's a normal woman, and Jo wants to laugh. Instead she crushes their mouths together, her tongue darting out to tease between Castiel's lips. She kisses him through the aftershocks, kisses him until she can't breathe anymore. Kisses him because this might be the last chance she gets to do so.
Jo then presses her head to the crook of his neck, pants against his heated skin, exhausted. Castiel strokes down along her spine, fingers slipping in the sheen of sweat at her back. Jo wonders if right now Castiel feels more man than angel. All Jo knows is that Castiel feels good, feels real. Maybe that's all that matters.
Jo hates to admit it, but she's growing tired of the heat, the blood, the ceaseless fighting. But she can't deny this is what she's spent her whole life preparing for. Sometimes it feels like somewhere deep down she's always known she was heading here -- the apocalypse, the Winchesters, this epic holy shitstorm on the horizon. Like maybe she and her mama have some crazy little role to play.
She suspects not all the members of this little hodgepodge A-Team of theirs will come out of this thing alive tomorrow. But for now they are all alive, safe. So alive in fact that when Castiel fingers into the wet, damp heat of her cunt, when he moves down her body and licks her open, Jo's groaning for more, begging for it, reaching out for him across the dark, trying to hold on to this feeling for as long as she can. When Castiel pushes his way inside of her, she arches her hips, spreads her legs, lets his tongue fuck her raw and tender. In this moment, she feels so alive. So alive.
-fin-