lisaroquin (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} lisaroquin) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} lisaroquin_fic,@ 2009-01-22 07:07:00 |
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FIC: Thursday--30stm/SPN, adult, Tim/Castiel, Jared/Shannon, Sam/Dean
title: Thursday
author: lisa roquin
rating: adult
fandom: 30stm/SPN
characters/pairings: Tim Kelleher/Castiel (Jared Leto/Shannon Leto, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester)
disclaimer: all copyrighted characters and their "universes" belong to their respective authors, writers, creators, production companies, producers and long lists of people that are so very much not me. Quite simply, if you recognize it, it isn't mine. No profit made, no harm intended, just having fun.
summary: an angel and a bassist meet up in a bar.
warning: Slash, S&M, Letocest, Wincest, probably shit characterization of Castiel with the amount of current SPN I've actually managed to see. Probably-Evil! DefinitelySadistic!Sam, Maybe-Evil! DefinitelyExhibitionist!Jared... uhm lisa is sleep-deprived and stuck on work in progress again? How's that for a warning?
author's note: kynxpirations prompts for 1-20-09
word: leather
quote: The simple sexual act is different from eroticism; the former is found in animal life, wheras human life alone admits of an activity defined perhaps by a "diabolical" aspect, aptly described by the word eroticism.--"Tears of Eros", George Bataille
quote: All angels are terrifying.-- Rainer Maria Rilke, "Duino Elegies: The Fifth Elegy"
Somehow my tired brain went to...an angel and a bassist meet up at a bar...
Castiel for those who may not know is the Angel of Thursday.
also fits Jynx's wish for getting caught fics though that is entirely coincidental--on second though yeah claims that's it. Not that this took 2 days of massive distraction.
wordcount: 3700ish
The bar was kind of a working class dive. A handfull of clumps of factory workers or construction workers or something like that by the jeans and tshirts, workboots and hoodies. The maybe six groups of three to seven guys obviously groups that worked together. Guys that didn't have families or didn't give a shit and liked their beer better, still nursing a bottle at eleven on Thursday night at the bar. Three strays drinking alone besides himself dotted along the bar Tim was sitting at the end of with a clear view of the door, and the guy that came in.
The guy looked...a lot like Tim felt. Dazed, didn't know whether to be sick or turned on, guilty and confused as fuck. Tim looked not too out of place with tennis shoes, jeans and hoodie himself, this guy stuck out like a sore thumb. Shiny loafers, dress slacks, button down and tie and long tan dressy-ish overcoat, trenchcoat, whatever the hell you wanted to call it. Tim was pretty sure Jared would take exception to one or the of those other descriptions, which brought his mind right back to what he was—either trying to drink himself into forgetting what he saw, or get drunk enough to appreciate it...he wasn't sure which. Freaking out was for when he was sober. Maybe. Oh hell, yes, definitely, because what the fucking fuck they'd been fucking. But...right now...shock and alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol, please.
Shannon naked from the waist down, shirt rucked up to his armpits. Jared kneeling, jeans shoved down his thighs, sitting back on his heels and Shannon sort of kneeling with his legs further apart, not exactly sitting in Jared's lap—moving, writhingfucking himself on Jared's dick.
Oh yeah. Lots of alcohol. To either drown the images from his brain, or be too drunk for his dick to appreciate those images so much, one or the other. He shifted a little in his seat, the half-erection that had finally gone away when he'd almost distracted himself making a return.
The guy sat on the very last stool, right next to Tim. “Whiskey, please,” he said sounding a bit shocky.
*
Castiel shuddered at the burn of the alcohol as it went down his host's throat and settled in his stomach. It stung unpleasantly.
His host's body was sustained by Castiel's energy. Earthly food and drink were not necessary, nor were they a concern of Castiel's. Castiel's concern was Dean, his ever increasing worry was Sam. It hadn't even occurred to him to be curious about earthly things such as food and drink, other than perhaps Dean drank a bit too much alcohol, which was worrisome. Dean was important. Necessary. Sam had the potential to be far too dangerous. Dean was perhaps the only thing that could stop Sam, if, no, he was ever more convinced when, Sam needed to be stopped.
He had watched humans since they had existed, so often not comprehending their cruelties and hatreds, but he had watched. Especially he had watched those he had been charged the care of, like Dean. Those who were marked for a fate, a destiny they needed to make the final choice over and fulfill.
He understood Love on a purely spiritual level, all its forms and glory and beauty. Physical sexuality he didn't understand, had avoided studying for it had been the start of the downfall of so many of his brothers so long ago.
He took another drink. It burned, not as badly as the first though. Still unpleasant but a warmth starting in his host's stomach that was not unwelcome. What he had witnessed left him chilled.
“Another,” Castiel said sitting the empty little glass out in front of him as he'd watched Dean do countless times.
The bartender poured the whiskey and took a few ones from the change from what Castiel had back from the first drink. He swallowed the whole of the little glass down at once with a shudder, it was slightly more pleasant this time, and was stil unable to get what he had seen from his mind.
Dean on his knees, leaning forward with his wrists bound to the headboard of the motel room bed. Sock stuffed in his mouth and his belt tight around his head to keep the sock in place, cutting into his cheeks, which were marked with sweat and tears. Muffled pleading sounds strangely mixed with almost-pleasure from behind the makeshift gag. Angry red welts, a few fine smears of blood where skin had split colored his back. His ass livid, thrice the welts as were on his back, darker, criss crossed and starting to bruise, more smears of blood from broken open skin. Sam's hands bruising on Dean's hips and every slam of his hips, driving his cock into his brother's body, slamming brutally against those welts. Dean's face as blissful as agonized..
“He is going to be the downfall of his older brother, destroy them both,” Castiel murmured.
The man next to him, who seemed something of a kindred soul in confusion and upset at the moment, jolted.
“You psychic or something?”
*
“No, I am not,” The man said blinking a bit, almost as if Tim had startled him.
“Trust me, that sounds pretty damn prophetic to me,” Tim muttered mostly to himself. Honestly fucking anyone could have walked in the practice space they were using. Okay well...not anyone who didn't have a key to the practice space, and there had been no one with time booked there for the rest of the night...but still. It sure as hell wasn't a place to fuck without running a slightly fair chance of getting caught. And..yeah...he'd kinda proven that when he'd walked back in for his forgotten pack of cigarettes that had fallen out of his hoodie pocket when he'd taken his hoodie off during their practice.
Shannon's eyes closed, his head tilted back kinda on Jared's shoulder as he writhed up and down fucking himself on his little brother's cock. Jared's hand splayed out on Shannon's stomach, supporting, bracing him a bit, his other hand pinching and plucking at Shannon's nipple, each pinch making Shannon's leaking cock twitch...fucking gorgeous cock...
He jolted. Yeah, those words did sound really prophetic and he didn't just think Shannon had a gorgeous cock. He didn't. It might be totally true and Shannon had the nicest cock Tim had seen in a while but he didn't think that. He didn't.
Oh he was so fucking screwed. He wondered if he was still employed.
His beer bottle was down to only a few swallows. That wasn't gonna cut it. He needed more. He lifted his bottle up at the bartender. “Another and two shots?” he nodded at Prophecy guy with the trenchcoat.
“I've never had the gift of prophecy and it's unlikely to manifest now.”
“Yeah well, truer words in my opinion and all that. My friends are gonna fuck themselves up good, I think. I'm Tim.”
“Cas—I'm Cas.”
*
It wasn't a lie. Not the whole truth but not a lie. He had no way of knowing if the young man, Tim, would recognize his name or not. Dean had rather drunkenly called him Cas only a week before, he'd also informed Castiel that he needed to get the stick out of his ass, maybe getting laid would help.
Perhaps it would, if only to have some comprehension of why Dean would...
Azazel was damned already. It did no good to wish him damned again. Praying for his continued damnation and increased suffering was petty, spoke of spite and perhaps hatred, things that were to be avoided. Dean's destiny had been to be Sam's brother. His salvation or destruction, such an incredibly pure soul, exceptionally so filled with a gentle strength that was painfully beautiful at his conception with the potential for so much.
He debated praying for damnation on John Winchester's soul. That might need further thought at a later date, reflection on such an action if it still tempted him later. Azazel had made the mistake of thinking Dean the weaker link, the sons helpless without the father, in truth the father and younger brother were the ones who depended on the elder brother so much. Now Samuel's fate was nearly in Dean's keeping. Samuel was choosing his path, bit by precarious bit. He wasn't past the point Dean couldn't turn him back yet but skirting so closely, if he past that point. Dean would have to destroy him—or join him.
Indeed Castiel prayed for Dean. He'd loved Dean since he first saw that beautiful soul and been given the watching of it, that this soul was a special one. Watched it battered and near broken, twisted and tarnished and still have the core of purity, the beautiful strength no longer gentle but burned fiercely.
“Perhaps it was prophesied, though by another, not I. It is only observation of the almost inevitable.”
Dean breathing ragged and hard through his nose, agonized moan muffled by the gag, Sam's slam forward into his body connecting with jarring force that almost visibly vibrated up his spine his shoulders, arms, wrists, to the very fingertips of his bound hands. Sweat and blood smeared as Sam ran his hand roughly over the welts on Dean's back drawing a tremor and moan, body slick with sweat, muscles straining, quivering. Dean suffered so beautifully.
“Mine,” Sam had snarled and slammed into Dean again.
“Jared would like a prophecy about him,” Tim snorted.
Castiel downed his third shot of whiskey, trying to push away the image of Dean emblazoned into his mind. It didn't burn so bad, and the fuzzy-warm started to spread. He didn't think this body was used to alcohol at all. His host had been a very devout and self-disciplined man. He should perhaps counter the effects of the alcohol, but that would defeat the purpose of drinking it and clarify the images of Dean that much more.
*
Jared would like a prophecy about him. Probably. Well, it would depend on the day. But the Jared he saw earlier. Yeah.
He kind of got the impression Cas took prophecy stuff seriously. Tim was mostly kidding.
He downed his whiskey. It really didn't do much. He could still almost hear Shannon.
Gaspy little sounds not quite whimpers or whines, too quiet and too high and too short and jagged to be moans.
“So fuckin' tight,” Jared half groaned and bit at Shannon's neck drawing another of those little sounds.
Jared looked up and looked straight at Tim. Shock flared for a second, Shannon writhed down just right drawing a full out keening sound, however quickly stifled, and a full body shudder.
“I don't understand. I don't understand how they can risk the path of damnation like that. I don't understand how Sam could do that. Even such as he is. That he could do that to Dean...”
Tim tilted his head for a second what the hell was the guy talking about? He debated asking but he had enough mental images to make his jeans uncomfortable, he might get more maybe by the sound of that and the look on the guy's face. He decided alcohol first. Lots and lots and lots of alcohol first. He slammed down the shot. Cas waved the bartender over to get them each another shot.
Tim took a drink of his beer. “Damnation? You like really religious?” That sounded safely distracting. Religion and sex didn't mix...not in Tim's experience anyway and he had to get his mind off Jared and Shannon.
“You could say I was raised in a holy order...”
Tim raised an eyebrow. “I think I might...dressed like that and raised in a holy order. If you say you have a basement I might have to be scared.”
“What is wrong with these clothes? Dean says I look like the Holy Tax Accountant.”
Tim choked. “I think I'd like Dean.”
“Dean has a very special soul.”
Tim slammed down half his beer. “Please tell me you don't have a basement,” he said warily.
*
Castiel waved the shot glass at the bartender. Another shot for each of them and a beer for himself purchased he turned his attention back to Tim. “I don't have a basement—but I don't understand why it would matter if I did.”
“You don't get out much do you?”
“No.” Castiel supposed that was the truth. He watched his charges, his charge now. Dean. Things had progressed and changed that Dean was in need of all his attention. So much hung in the balance with how Azazel's manipulations had come to fruit, with Samuel's slow stumble downward. Dean's lack of faith, lack of belief in his importance and even lack of belief in Castiel himself was painful. All he had seen and experienced and Dean still doubted.
“Half the serial killers, always nicely dressed, quiet really nice guys who got kittens out of trees and helped little old ladies across the street and have neighbors shaking their heads in disbelief how nice the guy was after the cops found umpteen bodies in the guy's basement.”
Castiel sighed. “I am not a serial killer. After so many years of study, human nature still confounds me. This body is not used to alcohol. My head feels decidedly odd.”
Tim snickered.
Castiel downed his shot, already he seemed to have lost count. It didn't matter.
He appreciated physical beauty. Dean's form had grown to be quite handsome, Samuel as well was an exceptionally pleasant looking man. The two loved so fiercely it was almost pain the emotion that tied them together. No, perhaps he should pray for Mary's damnation not John's. Mary was the one who had offered Samuel to Azazel when she knew so much better. John did sacrifice himself for his son. Mary...
He reached for his beer. “Sam knew I was there. Knew I saw them.”
”Mine,” Sam growled again leaning forward biting hard on Dean's shoulder, leaving deep marks that would bruise, licked at sweat tinged with blood. “You're mine, Dean.”
Sam's head had turned looking directly at Castiel, his expression full of the darkness growing in him twisted with the all-encompassing love he had for his older brother. “MINE,” Sam snarled again, hips snapping back and slamming forward. A howl muffled by sock and belt torn from Dean as Sam's movement reverberated through his body.
“Their love is a terrible thing. Rare and beautiful in it's strength, but they've let it twist into something that will consume them.” Castiel sighed and took another drink of his beer. It didn't burn like the whiskey. He thought perhaps he liked the burn of the whiskey better than the cold soured-green of the beer.
He picked at the label just a bit. It was quite frustrating, coming off in teensy bits, soggy flakes dampened with the sweat of the bottle. He thought a nice rip of paper would be satisfying.
“You sure you ain't psychic or something, dude?” Tim said a bit oddly. Castiel realized he must have spoken his thoughts on Sam and Dean aloud.
“Yes, I am quite sure. Why do you keep asking such a thing?”
*
“Because you keep saying shit that suits Jared and Shannon to a t.” Tim said. It was eerie. Really fucking eerie.
Shannon and Jared were...yeah. They could be ready to kill each other. Someone looked at the other wrong, started talking shit, or worse fucking dared to hurt the other—oh goddamn watch out. Pissed off Leto ready to kill in defense of their brother. The two of them were so tight it was...Tim didn't know if it was weird or totally fucking awesome. But damn what he'd walked in on was so far beyond that it was...
Shock melted away to pure fucking heat in the blue eyes staring at Tim. Jared's hand moved, teasing at Shannon's stomach. Shannon's next writhe had him choking back a moan and Jared's eyes dropping shut with a ragged gasp.
Jared's eyes opened again almost predatory as they stared straight at Tim. A hand trailed down Shannon's body, fingers wrapped around Shannon's cock.
“Is sex really worth that much risk?”
Tim gaped. The guy—really seemed dead serious. All confused and thoughtful and really, completely...”You can't be...”
“Can't be...”
“You're hot and like...maybe almost Jared and Shannon's age. Closer to their age than mine...”
“I am confused.”
Another round of shots and Cas wove a little in his seat as he declared he was beginning to really like whiskey.
Tim wondered how skewed his perception of drinking was that he considered Cas a total lightweight for being half-or-better-blitzed on just five shots and three fourths a beer. Probably pretty skewed since they were almost one on top of the other, but even with the time factored in it seemed pretty lightweight to him. He considered who he was used to drinking with, and decided his perception had to be pretty skewed, and he was finally getting a bit of a buzz, fairly decent buzz coming on fast with the shots on top of the steady drinking he'd been doing the last couple hours.
“You did not answer my question.”
Tim shivered at the strange kind of fanatical persistence. He frowned a little. Okay he'd play. Why not? This guy didn't give the impression that he meant any harm toward Tim even if there was a kind of...something scary about him.
“I'm...kinda confused on the damnation part...” Tim managed to get out. “But...what about sex?” Was that the question? He probably needed more alcohol for this. He waved his beer bottle at the bartender for another round.
Cas downed his shot and Tim could almost see the level of blitzed rise up in his eyes. “I don't understand...it was one of the contributing factors to the downfall of my brothers and now Dean...”
Tim scratched his head. He was pretty sure the guy was honestly confused—like virgin fresh out from under a rock at a remote monastary confused—not trying some bizarre serial killer type pick up even if the guy had something about him that was kinda scary. Tim was too used to kinda scary to let that phase him. “I could show you...”
Cas kinda blinked. “Yes, please.”
Why not? Cas was hot and maybe it'd get the image of Jared and Shannon out of his head.
*
“You alive?”
“nnnnn,” Tim forced a bleary eye open. The hangover had....passed huh. That had been about killing him earlier. He still felt like he'd been twisted into a pretzel and thrown in front of a train but drained aching muscles and still dazed feeling were all Cas' doing not the booze. “The fuck're you doin' here,” He managed to get out staring up at Tomo looming, leaning over the side of his bed.
“Shannon stole your keys and made a copy and slipped em back in your pocket way back. Probably an afternoon over at their place that he went to get beer or something and took forever.”
Tim stared lifting his head a little. Or attempted to. He was weak as a ragdoll and everything ached. Cas was a quick learner and when he got the hang of something, damn he was mindblowing. “Why?”
Tomo rolled his eyes. “Who the fuck knows. It's not like he ever uses the keys if he does that. Just a thing of his he has to have one just in case so if there is ever an emergency or some damn thing. Probably the fault of some Jared induced trauma from way back when.”
As far as Leto quirks went....that one kind of made sense. Or as much sense as Leto quirks ever made. And Shannon honestly was probably the crazier of the two. One was as batshit as the other naturally, Shannon was a little more nuts for the fact he was the older and tried to watch out for Jared even now. Jared was the more dramatic, Shannon was the more flat out fucking nuts.
It didn't quite make sense that Tomo was the one standing over his bed at the moment. The red numbers of the alarm clock on his nightstand said 12:00 and it was definitely Noon, his room wouldn't be so freaking bright at midnight. Thing was the last time he remembered looking at the clock it had read three and had been daylight. “What day is it?”
“Sunday. Just how fucked up did you get last night? And why are they freaking because you haven't answered your phone since Friday.”
“Thursday.”
“What?”
“Got fucked up Thursday.”
Tomo went from mild aggravation to serious worry in a heartbeat.
Tim stretched and moaned at the twinges and pulls, as much satisfaction as lingering aches. And he still felt like a truck hit him.
“What the fuck is going on? Shannon's having a nervous breakdown. Jared's gone fucking psycho. And you're still fucked up from Thursday? And what the fuck is with the feathers?”
“Cas said he was an angel, maybe he molted.” Tim yawned. “Fucked like a demon or something though...” he yawned again. “I gotta piss. Mm'sirsty too.”
Tomo stared as Tim managed to make his limbs obey enough to get out of bed. “THE FUCK?”
“Huh?”
“WHEN THE FUCK DID YOU GET A BRAND?”
Tim looked at the hand print that looked almost like a scarred burn on his hip. “Huh.”
Tomo's pocket sounded out with the ringtone Tim knew was Shannon's. “Tell him—whatever. Not sure if I need brain bleach by the gallon or am going to wear out my hand but...whatever. I'm not saying shit.”
“Be nice if someone in this fucking band would once in a while,” Tomo muttered and fished his phone from his pocket . Tim ignored him and headed for the bathroom.
title: Thursday
author: lisa roquin
rating: adult
fandom: 30stm/SPN
characters/pairings: Tim Kelleher/Castiel (Jared Leto/Shannon Leto, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester)
disclaimer: all copyrighted characters and their "universes" belong to their respective authors, writers, creators, production companies, producers and long lists of people that are so very much not me. Quite simply, if you recognize it, it isn't mine. No profit made, no harm intended, just having fun.
summary: an angel and a bassist meet up in a bar.
warning: Slash, S&M, Letocest, Wincest, probably shit characterization of Castiel with the amount of current SPN I've actually managed to see. Probably-Evil! DefinitelySadistic!Sam, Maybe-Evil! DefinitelyExhibitionist!Jared... uhm lisa is sleep-deprived and stuck on work in progress again? How's that for a warning?
author's note: kynxpirations prompts for 1-20-09
word: leather
quote: The simple sexual act is different from eroticism; the former is found in animal life, wheras human life alone admits of an activity defined perhaps by a "diabolical" aspect, aptly described by the word eroticism.--"Tears of Eros", George Bataille
quote: All angels are terrifying.-- Rainer Maria Rilke, "Duino Elegies: The Fifth Elegy"
Somehow my tired brain went to...an angel and a bassist meet up at a bar...
Castiel for those who may not know is the Angel of Thursday.
also fits Jynx's wish for getting caught fics though that is entirely coincidental--on second though yeah claims that's it. Not that this took 2 days of massive distraction.
wordcount: 3700ish
The bar was kind of a working class dive. A handfull of clumps of factory workers or construction workers or something like that by the jeans and tshirts, workboots and hoodies. The maybe six groups of three to seven guys obviously groups that worked together. Guys that didn't have families or didn't give a shit and liked their beer better, still nursing a bottle at eleven on Thursday night at the bar. Three strays drinking alone besides himself dotted along the bar Tim was sitting at the end of with a clear view of the door, and the guy that came in.
The guy looked...a lot like Tim felt. Dazed, didn't know whether to be sick or turned on, guilty and confused as fuck. Tim looked not too out of place with tennis shoes, jeans and hoodie himself, this guy stuck out like a sore thumb. Shiny loafers, dress slacks, button down and tie and long tan dressy-ish overcoat, trenchcoat, whatever the hell you wanted to call it. Tim was pretty sure Jared would take exception to one or the of those other descriptions, which brought his mind right back to what he was—either trying to drink himself into forgetting what he saw, or get drunk enough to appreciate it...he wasn't sure which. Freaking out was for when he was sober. Maybe. Oh hell, yes, definitely, because what the fucking fuck they'd been fucking. But...right now...shock and alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol, please.
Shannon naked from the waist down, shirt rucked up to his armpits. Jared kneeling, jeans shoved down his thighs, sitting back on his heels and Shannon sort of kneeling with his legs further apart, not exactly sitting in Jared's lap—moving, writhingfucking himself on Jared's dick.
Oh yeah. Lots of alcohol. To either drown the images from his brain, or be too drunk for his dick to appreciate those images so much, one or the other. He shifted a little in his seat, the half-erection that had finally gone away when he'd almost distracted himself making a return.
The guy sat on the very last stool, right next to Tim. “Whiskey, please,” he said sounding a bit shocky.
*
Castiel shuddered at the burn of the alcohol as it went down his host's throat and settled in his stomach. It stung unpleasantly.
His host's body was sustained by Castiel's energy. Earthly food and drink were not necessary, nor were they a concern of Castiel's. Castiel's concern was Dean, his ever increasing worry was Sam. It hadn't even occurred to him to be curious about earthly things such as food and drink, other than perhaps Dean drank a bit too much alcohol, which was worrisome. Dean was important. Necessary. Sam had the potential to be far too dangerous. Dean was perhaps the only thing that could stop Sam, if, no, he was ever more convinced when, Sam needed to be stopped.
He had watched humans since they had existed, so often not comprehending their cruelties and hatreds, but he had watched. Especially he had watched those he had been charged the care of, like Dean. Those who were marked for a fate, a destiny they needed to make the final choice over and fulfill.
He understood Love on a purely spiritual level, all its forms and glory and beauty. Physical sexuality he didn't understand, had avoided studying for it had been the start of the downfall of so many of his brothers so long ago.
He took another drink. It burned, not as badly as the first though. Still unpleasant but a warmth starting in his host's stomach that was not unwelcome. What he had witnessed left him chilled.
“Another,” Castiel said sitting the empty little glass out in front of him as he'd watched Dean do countless times.
The bartender poured the whiskey and took a few ones from the change from what Castiel had back from the first drink. He swallowed the whole of the little glass down at once with a shudder, it was slightly more pleasant this time, and was stil unable to get what he had seen from his mind.
Dean on his knees, leaning forward with his wrists bound to the headboard of the motel room bed. Sock stuffed in his mouth and his belt tight around his head to keep the sock in place, cutting into his cheeks, which were marked with sweat and tears. Muffled pleading sounds strangely mixed with almost-pleasure from behind the makeshift gag. Angry red welts, a few fine smears of blood where skin had split colored his back. His ass livid, thrice the welts as were on his back, darker, criss crossed and starting to bruise, more smears of blood from broken open skin. Sam's hands bruising on Dean's hips and every slam of his hips, driving his cock into his brother's body, slamming brutally against those welts. Dean's face as blissful as agonized..
“He is going to be the downfall of his older brother, destroy them both,” Castiel murmured.
The man next to him, who seemed something of a kindred soul in confusion and upset at the moment, jolted.
“You psychic or something?”
*
“No, I am not,” The man said blinking a bit, almost as if Tim had startled him.
“Trust me, that sounds pretty damn prophetic to me,” Tim muttered mostly to himself. Honestly fucking anyone could have walked in the practice space they were using. Okay well...not anyone who didn't have a key to the practice space, and there had been no one with time booked there for the rest of the night...but still. It sure as hell wasn't a place to fuck without running a slightly fair chance of getting caught. And..yeah...he'd kinda proven that when he'd walked back in for his forgotten pack of cigarettes that had fallen out of his hoodie pocket when he'd taken his hoodie off during their practice.
Shannon's eyes closed, his head tilted back kinda on Jared's shoulder as he writhed up and down fucking himself on his little brother's cock. Jared's hand splayed out on Shannon's stomach, supporting, bracing him a bit, his other hand pinching and plucking at Shannon's nipple, each pinch making Shannon's leaking cock twitch...fucking gorgeous cock...
He jolted. Yeah, those words did sound really prophetic and he didn't just think Shannon had a gorgeous cock. He didn't. It might be totally true and Shannon had the nicest cock Tim had seen in a while but he didn't think that. He didn't.
Oh he was so fucking screwed. He wondered if he was still employed.
His beer bottle was down to only a few swallows. That wasn't gonna cut it. He needed more. He lifted his bottle up at the bartender. “Another and two shots?” he nodded at Prophecy guy with the trenchcoat.
“I've never had the gift of prophecy and it's unlikely to manifest now.”
“Yeah well, truer words in my opinion and all that. My friends are gonna fuck themselves up good, I think. I'm Tim.”
“Cas—I'm Cas.”
*
It wasn't a lie. Not the whole truth but not a lie. He had no way of knowing if the young man, Tim, would recognize his name or not. Dean had rather drunkenly called him Cas only a week before, he'd also informed Castiel that he needed to get the stick out of his ass, maybe getting laid would help.
Perhaps it would, if only to have some comprehension of why Dean would...
Azazel was damned already. It did no good to wish him damned again. Praying for his continued damnation and increased suffering was petty, spoke of spite and perhaps hatred, things that were to be avoided. Dean's destiny had been to be Sam's brother. His salvation or destruction, such an incredibly pure soul, exceptionally so filled with a gentle strength that was painfully beautiful at his conception with the potential for so much.
He debated praying for damnation on John Winchester's soul. That might need further thought at a later date, reflection on such an action if it still tempted him later. Azazel had made the mistake of thinking Dean the weaker link, the sons helpless without the father, in truth the father and younger brother were the ones who depended on the elder brother so much. Now Samuel's fate was nearly in Dean's keeping. Samuel was choosing his path, bit by precarious bit. He wasn't past the point Dean couldn't turn him back yet but skirting so closely, if he past that point. Dean would have to destroy him—or join him.
Indeed Castiel prayed for Dean. He'd loved Dean since he first saw that beautiful soul and been given the watching of it, that this soul was a special one. Watched it battered and near broken, twisted and tarnished and still have the core of purity, the beautiful strength no longer gentle but burned fiercely.
“Perhaps it was prophesied, though by another, not I. It is only observation of the almost inevitable.”
Dean breathing ragged and hard through his nose, agonized moan muffled by the gag, Sam's slam forward into his body connecting with jarring force that almost visibly vibrated up his spine his shoulders, arms, wrists, to the very fingertips of his bound hands. Sweat and blood smeared as Sam ran his hand roughly over the welts on Dean's back drawing a tremor and moan, body slick with sweat, muscles straining, quivering. Dean suffered so beautifully.
“Mine,” Sam had snarled and slammed into Dean again.
“Jared would like a prophecy about him,” Tim snorted.
Castiel downed his third shot of whiskey, trying to push away the image of Dean emblazoned into his mind. It didn't burn so bad, and the fuzzy-warm started to spread. He didn't think this body was used to alcohol at all. His host had been a very devout and self-disciplined man. He should perhaps counter the effects of the alcohol, but that would defeat the purpose of drinking it and clarify the images of Dean that much more.
*
Jared would like a prophecy about him. Probably. Well, it would depend on the day. But the Jared he saw earlier. Yeah.
He kind of got the impression Cas took prophecy stuff seriously. Tim was mostly kidding.
He downed his whiskey. It really didn't do much. He could still almost hear Shannon.
Gaspy little sounds not quite whimpers or whines, too quiet and too high and too short and jagged to be moans.
“So fuckin' tight,” Jared half groaned and bit at Shannon's neck drawing another of those little sounds.
Jared looked up and looked straight at Tim. Shock flared for a second, Shannon writhed down just right drawing a full out keening sound, however quickly stifled, and a full body shudder.
“I don't understand. I don't understand how they can risk the path of damnation like that. I don't understand how Sam could do that. Even such as he is. That he could do that to Dean...”
Tim tilted his head for a second what the hell was the guy talking about? He debated asking but he had enough mental images to make his jeans uncomfortable, he might get more maybe by the sound of that and the look on the guy's face. He decided alcohol first. Lots and lots and lots of alcohol first. He slammed down the shot. Cas waved the bartender over to get them each another shot.
Tim took a drink of his beer. “Damnation? You like really religious?” That sounded safely distracting. Religion and sex didn't mix...not in Tim's experience anyway and he had to get his mind off Jared and Shannon.
“You could say I was raised in a holy order...”
Tim raised an eyebrow. “I think I might...dressed like that and raised in a holy order. If you say you have a basement I might have to be scared.”
“What is wrong with these clothes? Dean says I look like the Holy Tax Accountant.”
Tim choked. “I think I'd like Dean.”
“Dean has a very special soul.”
Tim slammed down half his beer. “Please tell me you don't have a basement,” he said warily.
*
Castiel waved the shot glass at the bartender. Another shot for each of them and a beer for himself purchased he turned his attention back to Tim. “I don't have a basement—but I don't understand why it would matter if I did.”
“You don't get out much do you?”
“No.” Castiel supposed that was the truth. He watched his charges, his charge now. Dean. Things had progressed and changed that Dean was in need of all his attention. So much hung in the balance with how Azazel's manipulations had come to fruit, with Samuel's slow stumble downward. Dean's lack of faith, lack of belief in his importance and even lack of belief in Castiel himself was painful. All he had seen and experienced and Dean still doubted.
“Half the serial killers, always nicely dressed, quiet really nice guys who got kittens out of trees and helped little old ladies across the street and have neighbors shaking their heads in disbelief how nice the guy was after the cops found umpteen bodies in the guy's basement.”
Castiel sighed. “I am not a serial killer. After so many years of study, human nature still confounds me. This body is not used to alcohol. My head feels decidedly odd.”
Tim snickered.
Castiel downed his shot, already he seemed to have lost count. It didn't matter.
He appreciated physical beauty. Dean's form had grown to be quite handsome, Samuel as well was an exceptionally pleasant looking man. The two loved so fiercely it was almost pain the emotion that tied them together. No, perhaps he should pray for Mary's damnation not John's. Mary was the one who had offered Samuel to Azazel when she knew so much better. John did sacrifice himself for his son. Mary...
He reached for his beer. “Sam knew I was there. Knew I saw them.”
”Mine,” Sam growled again leaning forward biting hard on Dean's shoulder, leaving deep marks that would bruise, licked at sweat tinged with blood. “You're mine, Dean.”
Sam's head had turned looking directly at Castiel, his expression full of the darkness growing in him twisted with the all-encompassing love he had for his older brother. “MINE,” Sam snarled again, hips snapping back and slamming forward. A howl muffled by sock and belt torn from Dean as Sam's movement reverberated through his body.
“Their love is a terrible thing. Rare and beautiful in it's strength, but they've let it twist into something that will consume them.” Castiel sighed and took another drink of his beer. It didn't burn like the whiskey. He thought perhaps he liked the burn of the whiskey better than the cold soured-green of the beer.
He picked at the label just a bit. It was quite frustrating, coming off in teensy bits, soggy flakes dampened with the sweat of the bottle. He thought a nice rip of paper would be satisfying.
“You sure you ain't psychic or something, dude?” Tim said a bit oddly. Castiel realized he must have spoken his thoughts on Sam and Dean aloud.
“Yes, I am quite sure. Why do you keep asking such a thing?”
*
“Because you keep saying shit that suits Jared and Shannon to a t.” Tim said. It was eerie. Really fucking eerie.
Shannon and Jared were...yeah. They could be ready to kill each other. Someone looked at the other wrong, started talking shit, or worse fucking dared to hurt the other—oh goddamn watch out. Pissed off Leto ready to kill in defense of their brother. The two of them were so tight it was...Tim didn't know if it was weird or totally fucking awesome. But damn what he'd walked in on was so far beyond that it was...
Shock melted away to pure fucking heat in the blue eyes staring at Tim. Jared's hand moved, teasing at Shannon's stomach. Shannon's next writhe had him choking back a moan and Jared's eyes dropping shut with a ragged gasp.
Jared's eyes opened again almost predatory as they stared straight at Tim. A hand trailed down Shannon's body, fingers wrapped around Shannon's cock.
“Is sex really worth that much risk?”
Tim gaped. The guy—really seemed dead serious. All confused and thoughtful and really, completely...”You can't be...”
“Can't be...”
“You're hot and like...maybe almost Jared and Shannon's age. Closer to their age than mine...”
“I am confused.”
Another round of shots and Cas wove a little in his seat as he declared he was beginning to really like whiskey.
Tim wondered how skewed his perception of drinking was that he considered Cas a total lightweight for being half-or-better-blitzed on just five shots and three fourths a beer. Probably pretty skewed since they were almost one on top of the other, but even with the time factored in it seemed pretty lightweight to him. He considered who he was used to drinking with, and decided his perception had to be pretty skewed, and he was finally getting a bit of a buzz, fairly decent buzz coming on fast with the shots on top of the steady drinking he'd been doing the last couple hours.
“You did not answer my question.”
Tim shivered at the strange kind of fanatical persistence. He frowned a little. Okay he'd play. Why not? This guy didn't give the impression that he meant any harm toward Tim even if there was a kind of...something scary about him.
“I'm...kinda confused on the damnation part...” Tim managed to get out. “But...what about sex?” Was that the question? He probably needed more alcohol for this. He waved his beer bottle at the bartender for another round.
Cas downed his shot and Tim could almost see the level of blitzed rise up in his eyes. “I don't understand...it was one of the contributing factors to the downfall of my brothers and now Dean...”
Tim scratched his head. He was pretty sure the guy was honestly confused—like virgin fresh out from under a rock at a remote monastary confused—not trying some bizarre serial killer type pick up even if the guy had something about him that was kinda scary. Tim was too used to kinda scary to let that phase him. “I could show you...”
Cas kinda blinked. “Yes, please.”
Why not? Cas was hot and maybe it'd get the image of Jared and Shannon out of his head.
*
“You alive?”
“nnnnn,” Tim forced a bleary eye open. The hangover had....passed huh. That had been about killing him earlier. He still felt like he'd been twisted into a pretzel and thrown in front of a train but drained aching muscles and still dazed feeling were all Cas' doing not the booze. “The fuck're you doin' here,” He managed to get out staring up at Tomo looming, leaning over the side of his bed.
“Shannon stole your keys and made a copy and slipped em back in your pocket way back. Probably an afternoon over at their place that he went to get beer or something and took forever.”
Tim stared lifting his head a little. Or attempted to. He was weak as a ragdoll and everything ached. Cas was a quick learner and when he got the hang of something, damn he was mindblowing. “Why?”
Tomo rolled his eyes. “Who the fuck knows. It's not like he ever uses the keys if he does that. Just a thing of his he has to have one just in case so if there is ever an emergency or some damn thing. Probably the fault of some Jared induced trauma from way back when.”
As far as Leto quirks went....that one kind of made sense. Or as much sense as Leto quirks ever made. And Shannon honestly was probably the crazier of the two. One was as batshit as the other naturally, Shannon was a little more nuts for the fact he was the older and tried to watch out for Jared even now. Jared was the more dramatic, Shannon was the more flat out fucking nuts.
It didn't quite make sense that Tomo was the one standing over his bed at the moment. The red numbers of the alarm clock on his nightstand said 12:00 and it was definitely Noon, his room wouldn't be so freaking bright at midnight. Thing was the last time he remembered looking at the clock it had read three and had been daylight. “What day is it?”
“Sunday. Just how fucked up did you get last night? And why are they freaking because you haven't answered your phone since Friday.”
“Thursday.”
“What?”
“Got fucked up Thursday.”
Tomo went from mild aggravation to serious worry in a heartbeat.
Tim stretched and moaned at the twinges and pulls, as much satisfaction as lingering aches. And he still felt like a truck hit him.
“What the fuck is going on? Shannon's having a nervous breakdown. Jared's gone fucking psycho. And you're still fucked up from Thursday? And what the fuck is with the feathers?”
“Cas said he was an angel, maybe he molted.” Tim yawned. “Fucked like a demon or something though...” he yawned again. “I gotta piss. Mm'sirsty too.”
Tomo stared as Tim managed to make his limbs obey enough to get out of bed. “THE FUCK?”
“Huh?”
“WHEN THE FUCK DID YOU GET A BRAND?”
Tim looked at the hand print that looked almost like a scarred burn on his hip. “Huh.”
Tomo's pocket sounded out with the ringtone Tim knew was Shannon's. “Tell him—whatever. Not sure if I need brain bleach by the gallon or am going to wear out my hand but...whatever. I'm not saying shit.”
“Be nice if someone in this fucking band would once in a while,” Tomo muttered and fished his phone from his pocket . Tim ignored him and headed for the bathroom.